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I step inside, my boots echoing on the hardwood floor.

Everything is neat, tidy, just as it always is.

Except in the hallway, where bags of groceries lay forgotten against the wall.

Reaching down, I pull them open and look inside. Eggs, milk, ice cream.

All trash.

Ever so slowly, I reach down and gather the bags. I carry them into the kitchen and carefully put away what’s salvageable, and trash the rest.

When that’s done, I tie off the garbage bag and carry it outside, where I place it lovingly near the door.

I’ll carry that to the dumpster on my way out.

With the kitchen in order, I continue my quest.

I take my time wandering from room to room.

I make it into the bedroom finally, and I smile at the rumpled bed, the wide open closet door.

Everything is just as I left it.

Her phone is on the floor by the bed.

Reaching down, I pick it up and stuff it into my pocket as I turn away, making my way into the bathroom.

I gather what she needs—her toothbrush, her hairbrush, her medications.

I leave her Ambien behind.

Mostly, I do it because it’s an experiment.

She slept without it last night.

Can she do it again tonight, with only me to comfort her?

As I grab her things, I notice a small framed photograph on her nightstand. It’s Mercy, smiling, her arms wrapped around a younger girl—one of her cousins.

I know the girl, hate her with a passion.

I pick it up and run my thumb over Mercy’s face. Her smile is genuine, happy, light, and full of sunshine.

A pang of something unfamiliar hits me dead in the gut—jealousy, maybe?

I want that smile to be mine.

I want her to look at me like that.

Will she, ever?

Maybe?

I just have to make her love me first.

With an armful of her things, I leave her apartment, the door clicking shut behind me. The walk back up to my place is quiet, and my smile is gone.

My happiness is gone.