No One Like You

(Claire's POV)

For so long, I had prided myself in not being that girl—the girl that sees the man and jumps at him, the girl that does things for men, the girl that is the man in the relationship. But as the years went by, I realized I had become that girl.

I walked up the stairs, heading straight for my apartment, when I heard my landlord speaking.

“Jeffrey, if you cannot pay my rent anymore, just get out!” he roared, and I took it as my cue to backpedal.

Backpedaling isn’t a crime, is it? Well, I did what I had to do to survive. Mind you, I wasn’t owing rent, but that man could come up with one thing or the other as soon as he saw me. So I decided to use the elevator with the risk of it malfunctioning.

The beep of the elevator jolted me to reality. I was already sleeping as I leaned against the mirror. My jet black hair was a mess from the heat of the summer. I adjusted the blazer, which was dripped on my arm, and held the plastic bag which contained my lasagna and the bottle of mallow. It had been a long day with passive-aggressive coworkers, a missed deadline, and to make the day worse, the strap of my sandal was busted again.

I stepped into the corridor, heading for my apartment. That was my home, my sanctuary. 

Tired and exhausted, I got to my apartment door, finally ready to rest my tired bones and just sleep. As soon as I stepped inside, my leg stopped moving. The plastic bag I had in my hand hit the floor with the thud. The bottle inside rolled out. I was in utter shock. My living room had been emptied. The beige sofa I bought with my first paycheck was gone. The frame artwork I found at this fair in Brooklyn was missing. The TV, the shelf beneath it, and the rug, the books and scented candles—even the Goddamn floor lamp—it was all gone.

I hesitated by the door, not able to move. Was I even breathing? My eyes swept across the room several times just to make sure. Was this some type of nightmare?

The outline of dust particles shifts the places where furniture were once placed.

“Ben,” I called.

“Ben, what the hell is this?”

There was no response. My chest tightened. I tried to move my feet, and it moved me toward the kitchen. The coffee machine was gone. Also were the mugs, the plate racks which we had put together. There was no trace of anything. It seemed as if people never lived here.

Then I shouted. At this time, panic and confusion surged inside me.

I ran out of the kitchen. My heart thudded in my chest. It looked like I never had a bed, nor a bed frame. His clothes were gone. Every drawer was left open and emptied. I’m surprised he even left the drawers or even the wardrobe.

I still had my things—my clothes. I looked around. Maybe I could find a letter or a clue as to what exactly happened here. I didn’t find anything.

I totally needed to call Ben. I picked my phone from my bag and began to dial his number. Ben’s number went straight to voicemail, and immediately my heart started.

I called again like I didn’t hear the feminine voice telling me, “Please leave a message on the beep.”

But there was no response. Still, I was placed on voicemail. I looked from room to room, hoping that this may have been a prank. But the more I walked, the more I realized it wasn’t.

I saw him today. I saw Ben. I kissed Ben and we had sex today. I probably would have said it was because of the sex if I hadn’t had sex with him, but it was too obvious. Ben had just left me—alone, stranded.

I moved into the bathroom and checked the small crawl space I usually keep my savings, only to find it empty. But there was a note in its place.

Dear Claire,

You have no business being with someone as magnificent as me. I’m tired of you, and I think it’s time for us to go our separate ways. Take heart. I know you’ll find someone who’ll wipe your tears away. Love, Ben.

In my honest opinion, that was the dumbest note I have ever read. But hey, something inside me was still looking for Ben. Ben had actually left. This note was the confirmation that he left me. And he didn’t just leave—he took all our furniture along with him.

As I was trying to assess the situation, a knock came on the door. As soon as I opened it, the one person I was trying to avoid was at the door—my landlord.

“Hello Claire, good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jason. Please, how may I help you?”

“Well, I think you know already. This is the day I’m supposed to come and collect the rent that you have owed me for the past month,” Mr. Jason said.

“But I paid you for the past month!” I responded in disbelief. How could he stoop so low to not remember that he was paid?

“I don’t think I received any payment from you, nor did I have any hand-to-hand exchange of money,” Mr. Jason insisted.

“Ben was supposed to pay you.”

“Your boyfriend Ben did not pay. I even asked him a few weeks ago, and he said he was working on something and would get back. I waited for him. I know you two have been struggling to make ends meet, and so I decided not to bother you. But it seems like you two decided to ignore the fact that I need my money.”

“I am sorry, but I gave the rent to Ben to pay,” I stammered. Insisting I gave the money to Ben wasn’t helping, because the more I spoke, the more furious Mr. Jason got.

“I don’t think you understand me, Claire, but none of you gave me any money. Please do well to gather your things if you cannot pay.” Those were the last words of Mr. Jason before he left.

As soon as I closed my door, I slid to the floor. Tears were not close to my eyes at all. As much as I wanted to cry, I was still in shock. I was in shock that my life changed in the blink of an eye. I was in shock that I trusted Ben, but he took me for granted. I was in shock because I lovedthe wrong man.

What will I do now?