Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95393 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95393 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
I sneak out of the room; my only thought is getting through this mission. “I will not waste away,” I whisper once I’m in front of the closet. Standing here, my whole body practically trembling, I lift my hand and flick on the light. I didn’t even come in here when the funeral home needed a suit. Eddie did. I inhale, smelling him. At the same time, my heart comes up to my throat, and I think I’m going to be sick.
I quickly put my hands on my knees, trying not to hyperventilate but failing miserably. “You can do this.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath before I look over, ignoring the wetness on my face. I walk over to the suits hanging on the side. So many suits, but they all look the same to me. I reach my hand up to touch the sleeve, slowly slipping it off the hanger. The silk inside the jacket slides through my hand and lands on the floor on my feet. The little plastic bag slips out from the inside pocket, right where his name is embroidered. Two white pills. My hands shake like a leaf on a tree in the middle of a windstorm. I pick it up, holding it in my hands.
“You chose this over your girls,” I say out loud, the sadness I felt not too long ago turning into anger. So much fucking anger, I walk over to another suit and rip it off its hanger, the hanger swinging back and forth as I search the pockets finding it empty, tossing it onto the floor with the first one. I move from one suit to the next until all his suit jackets puddle around my feet, and I hold twenty-seven little plastic baggies. I move from the suits, walking over to the T-shirts. Throwing them all on the floor, I look for more. His jeans are the next to go, finding more fucking bags, but this time with cocaine in them. Every single piece of clothing he had in that closet is now on the floor.
My knees then give out on me. Luckily, the jackets on the floor don’t mess up my knees as much as they should, or maybe I’m just numb. Looking at the baggies in my hand, all I can do is sob until it becomes too much. Even staying on my knees is a feat, and I’m on my side in a daze, my body limp, but my hand holding tight around the baggies I found. Blinking and looking up at the empty closet, all that remains is the hangers, some still moving from when I ripped the clothing off them. The emptiness of it all puts pressure on my chest. I don’t know how long I lie here surrounded by his clothes. I don’t know how I get the energy to get up to my knees and then to my feet. I hold the walls as I walk out of his closet and toward the bedroom door. The whole way down to the kitchen, I have to make sure I’m holding on to something so I don’t fall on my face.
Standing at the kitchen sink, I look over to the couch I found him lying dead on. The memory of his white face looks back at me. Holding out my hand, which is holding on tight as a vise to the drugs that took my husband away from me, I turn the water on. As the baggies fall into the drain, a couple of them miss, so I have to shovel them in there. When nothing is left in the sink, I turn on the garbage disposal, my eyes blurred from the tears. I softly tune it out and then turn the water off. I take one more look at the couch before I make a mental note to get rid of it.
I walk back upstairs to his closet, get back on my knees, and fold everything to place in the garbage bags. I have to go back down for three more bags, and by the time I’m done, they’re filled and placed in the middle of the room. I put my hands on my hips before making my way out of the room. Stopping one more time, I take one more look at the room before turning off the light.
CHAPTER FIVE
christopher
I turn in to the parking garage, taking off my pass before scanning it, and the white barriers go up as the black garage door slowly opens. Moving down the slated underground parking garage, I make my way over to my parking spot.
I toss the pass on the passenger seat before I turn the truck off. I grab my keys and phone, then step out. As I look around, the garage is half empty, but my eyes automatically go to Benji’s spot behind mine. It sits empty, though the nameplate on the concrete wall with his name and number is still mounted there. I exhale the deep breath I didn’t know I was holding before turning and walking toward the silver door.