As soon as the message went through and I saw it had been read, I hurled my phone against the wall, jumping up and down like a madman as it crashed to the ground.
No more Crazy Dancer Chick. Good fucking riddance. I’d swallow my pride and call Gabriel, have him pass my new number to Michaela if she wanted it. But for now, I could finally breathe.
A knock on my door woke me up. After I smashed my phone, I’d slept for nearly two days straight, and I was groggy as I tripped over my feet to answer. I cracked it open, and a dour-looking man stood on the other side, a manilla envelope in his hand.
“Moses Aronson?” he asked.
I frowned, my eyebrows creasing. “Yeah?”
He held out the envelope and a clipboard with a paper for me to sign. “You’ve been served. Please sign here.”
“Nah, I’m not signing until I know what the hell I’ve been served with.” I snatched the envelope from him and ripped it open, pulling out stacks of crisp, white sheets of paper. At the top, printed in bold, black ink, were the words: “Petition for Divorce.”
My vision went hazy for a second, then it turned red. I scrawled my signature just to get the guy to leave, no idea what I’d written.
I closed the door, scanning the papers, narrowing in on “Desertion.”Ideserted her? Tight fists squeezed my lungs.
Anger stacked like Tetris blocks inside me, fitting into each crevice. In my kitchen, I tossed the stack of papers on the counter and filled a tumbler with whiskey. As soon as I let the amber liquid burn a hole in my throat, I launched the glass across the room, pumping my fist in the air when it shattered. Then I took the gold band I’d been carrying around in my pocket and tossed it in the garbage where it belonged.
It was easy to give in to the anger, because peeking out from behind it was a whole host of feelings I wanted nothing to do with. Anger was simple. Sadness and disappointment required examination, and I would not be taking a closer look tonight.
No, I’d give in to anger tonight. Tomorrow, I’d figure out what the hell I was going to do next.