Not Coming Home
She stuffed his hands into the pockets of her leather jacket, but not before turning up the collar in an attempt to ward off the icy chill of the night air.
After downing several shots of straight Jack Daniels, an alcohol she despised, but she hadn't been looking for comfort from the bar she had been propping up.
Taking a swift kick of the empty beer can on the sidewalk in front of her; she took great satisfaction in watching it clang against a neighbouring trashcan and scuttle across the road, hitting the curb on the opposite side.
She all too well he'd be trying to ring her; hence, the reason her cell phone had been locked in the desk drawer of her office. And she also knew he'd be trying to ring their apartment and would be constantly getting their answer machine message and he would know damn well the reasons why.
That night she wouldn't be going home, she didn't care where she went – just as long as it didn't carry memories of their past together.