This is the eighth part in a series, so if you have not already done so, you might want to read Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, and Part VII before continuing.
As soon as Randy left, I started packing up his things.
Everything he had brought with him, or that he had bought while we were together, went into bag or a box that eventually found its way to the hallway outside our door.
While I was packing, I called a locksmith and made an appointment for someone to come and change our locks. Randy would never set foot in this apartment again.
When I was done, I rewarded myself with an extra-large glass of wine and a pint of Rocky Road ice cream. Cliché, I know, but some things are cliché for a reason. In the case of wine and chocolate ice cream after a breakup, it’s because it works. Men come and go, but chocolate will always be there for you.
I opened the Netflix app on my TV and the first thing I saw was something out of South Korea called The Glory. I read enough of the description to know it was about a woman getting revenge and clicked play on the first episode.
The show was intense and exactly the catharsis I needed. It was also really, really good.
I watched four episodes before forcing myself to click off the TV, dump the empty ice cream container in the trash and the dishes in the sink, then brush my teeth before collapsing into bed.
I was surprised to find that sleep came easily. I was so exhausted from the emotional workout I had gotten that I fell asleep just a few minutes after flopping onto the bed.
I did have enough energy to recognize that I was sleeping alone for the first time in years. So I spread my arms and legs out like a starfish. Just because I could.
Unfortunately, as cathartic as the revenge show had been, watching it right before bed had turned out to be one of my less-than-brilliant ideas. I had dreams in which I was the young girl getting tortured by her classmates, but the girl with the hot curling iron against my skin was Nikki and the boy holding me down was Randy.
I awoke with a start a full hour before my alarm was set to go off. I was hung over and operating on only a few hours of sleep, but I knew I had to go in to work. It was Ana’s first day as co-anchor, and since I had fought to add her to the desk, I had been assigned as her producer. That meant if she messed up, my job was the one on the line.
Fortunately, waking up an hour early gave me an extra hour to take some antacid and let it do its thing while I showered and made myself presentable.
Not for the first time, I wondered why I bothered to put so much time and effort into my appearance if the camera was never going to be on me, but I had learned too well that men could come dressed any old way without worrying about people disrespecting them. Women have to look just right: not too casual, but not too formal either. Not too feminine, but also not too masculine. It was a very narrow line to walk, but with some help and some practice, I had learned exactly where the line was and tailored my work wardrobe appropriately.
I hate to admit it now, but Nikki was the one who had taught me all that.
I shoved that thought aside as I jammed my mascara brush into its tube, grabbed my purse, put on my stupid heels, and went out to face a day full of distractions that would keep Nikki and Randy as far from my mind as possible, given the circumstances.
To be continued…