Finally, I stopped, breathing hard, standing amid the remnants of our past. It was like the pieces on the floor matched what I felt inside—broken, scattered, irreparable. I looked around the apartment, realizing that staying here, surrounded by these reminders, would only suffocate me.
With a newfound sense of purpose, I went to the closet, pulled out the dusty suitcase I hadn't used in years and began packing.
I had barely bought anything for myself over the years, so the few belongings I owned fit easily into my old, worn-out suitcase. As I reached into the closet for the last of my clothes, the apartment door swung open. A thick wave of alcohol hit me before I even saw him.
"Emily, did you just call me?" Leon's voice slurred, loud and intrusive. He stumbled in, his unsteady figure filling the doorway. His eyes were glassy and he reeked of booze and cheap perfume. He forced a grin, one that was both apologetic and taunting. "Don't get the wrong idea—she's just some girl from the bar. Nothing happened between us… well, you know, nothing serious, at least."