Page 8 of Malicious Marriage

“How strong is this hope?” Jack chuckles as I knock on the front door. “Place looks abandoned.”

4

CLOVER

Wind whistles through the tiniest crack in the crumbling window frame next to me, sending shivers down my spine as the rush of cool air brushes over my bare arm. I rub the goosebumps away and close my eyes, breathing deeply. Something I immediately regret as the faint stink of mildew tickles my nose.

I’ve cleaned this shitty apartment from floor to ceiling countless times, but there’s no scrubbing out the age or the decades-old damp that clings to the floorboards under my thin carpet. But it’s all I can afford, and at this point in my life, I can’t be fussy.

Opening my eyes, a rush of tension squeezes through my chest like a pulse of heartburn as I stare at the several open letters all stamped with the same red OVERDUE warning.

Do these kinds of letters all come from the same place? Or did all the companies get together and agree on one singular red warning stamp to use across the board when threatening people with overdue rent, overdrawn credit cards, and overdue car payments—on a car they already repossessed, so why do I evenstill have to pay? Underneath the pile of off-white and red letters rests another envelope. This one is cornflower blue.

It has to be advertising or something. I’ll even take another one of those leaflets I got last week asking if I’d made early funeral preparations in case of disaster. After carefully opening the envelope, I drag out a folded sheet of lined paper and open it. The scrawled words across the page make my heart sink even lower and a flush of prickling heat rushes across my shoulders.

Shit.

If it’s not one thing it’s another…

“What’s that?” Bobby enters the room with two cups of coffee and, like clockwork, almost trips on the raised corner of the carpet. “Why do you look like someone’s just died?”

I grimace and set the letter down on the table, sliding it across to him as he hands me one of the coffees. “Guess who it’s from.”

He squints down and raises one brow. “A handwritten letter in this day and age? I’m almost impressed.” He leans closer and his brow lowers. “Oh.”

“The only reason that prick sent a written letter is because I’ve blocked his phone number. And his email. And I never answer the door when he comes knocking.”

“I like the uhm…” Bobby presses his lips together. “I like the attention to detail about how he’s going to carve out your kidney with a stencil. Creative.”

“You think?” Within just a few seconds, Bobby’s presence has lessened the crushing weight of debt even just for a moment. “Maybe he can turn to fiction writing if the loan sharking ever falls through.”

“At the rate you’re repaying him, he might have to.” Bobby flashes me a grin that wavers when I don’t return one. “Sorry. Too soon?”

“No, no, it’s not that.” Wrapping my hands around the cup, I soak up the warmth radiating from it and sigh, strained. “Bobby… you’re fired.”

“What?” He drops into the rickety chair across from me and sips his coffee, then leans back and causes the chair to creak under his weight.

“You’re fired.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Bobby, come on. Yes you are.”

“You can’t fire me.”

“I’m your boss, I absolutely can. And I’m firing you!”

“Nah.”

“Bobby!” I slam my hand down on the table in frustration. “This is serious, you’refired!”

He looks at me with an easy smile and shakes his head. “No.”

“Yes! Look at this shit!” One sweep of my hand and the letters shift toward him in a flurry. “My money is almost gone. I can’t take out any more credit cards or borrow any more money from that asshole. I’m done. Spent. Penniless.”

“I don’t care.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Bobby.”