𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃

2 | no. 7

Evelyn has called me twenty seven times ever since I left home. The last ten calls were bombarding my cell and my guess is that she's at home and she knows I'm gone. We discussed many times that we need time apart. If being together results in us getting hurt physically and mentally then there's something wrong with us. Maybe we aren't compatible or I'm just a terrible boyfriend. My right hand is on the steering wheel and my left is snaking over my shoulder feeling up the scar on my shoulder blade. That night when we fought, Evelyn didn't just break a few plates. She threw a glass over my head and one of the slivers ended up under my shirt, cutting the flesh. She doesn't know that she's cause of that scar because I lied to her about it. She didn't do it on purpose and it would only add up to the tension, so I decided to keep quiet about it.

On the twenty eighth call, I finally snatch my cell and turn it off then throw it on the empty passenger's seat. My phone landed making a lifeless sound on the leather seat and my mind flashes back to all the times, Evelyn and I rode together to uni in my car. I was behind the wheel most of the time, but she would like to drive over once in a while, our fingers always intertwined, her night blue nails slightly digging into my skin. The same night blue nails that clawed on my back when we made love.

I am a masochist when I'm with her. I laugh at that thought. Most men wouldn't dare admit that their girlfriend is in charge in the bedroom. I belonged in that category for a while, until Evelyn and I sat down and talked about it. She said that there's nothing wrong with a man wanting to be controlled once in a while. We even agreed that it would be interesting to spice things up by switching whenever we felt like it. Part of me though fed on the pain she inflicted. But we weren't rough all the time. We've had our soft and gentle moments as well, our love was special yet scary. She became overly controlling and I hated that. Evelyn would try to monitor me during some serious decision making and when I pointed that out she would become defensive and we would argue about that for hours. She would even say things like: 'What are you going to do without me?' or 'I don't approve of you traveling out of the state for that job' and she would try to convince me to stay put in one place. When I put the pieces together, I knew that what we had was bad for me.

I drive in the small neighborhood in Portland and I quickly find the apartment building on Sunleth Street. From a distance it looks like a gated community, but it's just the tall black fence that does the trick. A number of small apartments with the same architecture design are aligned in a slight curve and in the middle there's a yard with an old fountain. There are some tables lined up behind it along with some beach chairs and umbrellas. Those weren't here when I came to talk to to the owner. I was in luck to contact the man who owned this place because he was gonna leave the day after for a business trip in Canada. I seemed to have made a good impression on him and we settled on an agreement. Thankfully, he was understanding and considering because he told me that these most people that move in this particular area are college students because of the convenient location. The city is within walking distance and there's a lot of small shops, convenience stores, and the university isn't very far from here. The rent is reasonable and the owner is sensible so I guess I made the right choice.

There's also a parking place right in front of the apartment complex and I remember the owner telling me that it's arranged by your apartment number. I pull over in No 7 and begin unloading the trunk. The apartment manager had messaged me the entrance password a few days ago and I press the following numbers. I have no clue what this guy looks like.

The gate automatically opens and I walk inside with my suitcase in hand. I place it in front of the door then make a quick jog to my car as I begin unloading the boxes. As soon as they're all in the front yard, I look around for the reception.

"Hey, what is your suitcase doing next to the gateway?" A woman's voice asks firmly.

I look at my forest green suitcase, that I placed next to the gate to prevent it from closing on me.