You Can’t Catch Me

The door shut behind me, shutting out the deafening music and the laughter of the rich heirs.

The sound-activated light at the stairwell had broken down because it kept flickering.

I held a torn canvas bag, and in it were all my belongings over the last three years. It contained a few washed-out T-shirts, a cheap razor, and a photo of me with Wendy.

My phone vibrated.

It was a message from Wendy.

[Stop throwing a tantrum. Clark was just joking around. Buy a pack of cigarettes in the convenience store downstairs and clear your head while you’re at it. When you’re back, apologize to each other, and we’ll put this behind us.]

It was followed by a money transfer message.

[You have received two hundred dollars. Will you accept it?]

[Use the extra cash to grab a ride. Don’t embarrass yourself.]

As I stared at the screen, I wanted to laugh, but I could not even find it in myself to smile.

Two hundred dollars.

In her eyes, the three years I invested in the relationship, along with my dignity, was only worth two hundred dollars.

She even spoke to me like she was humoring a beggar.

I did not take the money, nor did I reply to the message. I just blocked her.

Once I was out of the area, I felt the night breeze of autumn blow into my face like blades.

I tightened the thin jacket around me. I had bought this jacket three years ago, and the sleeves were torn.

In order to buy the heels Wendy liked so that she could have some dignity in front of her coursemates, I could not even find it in myself to buy some proper clothes.

Honestly, in hindsight, I was seriously cheap.

A black Maybach was parked by the road, and the car window was partially rolled down.

A few men and women dressed in fancy clothes were smoking while chatting with each other.

“Hey, isn’t that Ms. Stallone’s… you know?”

“That dishwasher? Why is he carrying that old bag? Has he been chased out?”

“Haha! He must have failed to force Ms. Stallone to marry him and has been chased out.”

“How pitiful. But he deserves it. Only he would dare dream of climbing up the social ladder, even though he’s so poor.”

The mocking words drifted into my ears, but I did not turn around. I just straightened my back and hurried away.

Loud jeers sounded behind me.

“Hey, Dishwasher! Ms. Stallone said that if you apologize right now, she’ll let you go back and be her housekeeper!”

“Hahaha! You’d still be flattering him by offering him a housekeeper position. At most, he’s a bedwarmer!”

I bit down so hard on my lip that I tasted blood.

‘Don’t cry, Zidane. It’s not worth crying over trash like her,’ I thought.

Then, I hailed a cab.

“To the train station, sir.”

The driver cast a glance at me through the rearview mirror. Perhaps he thought that I looked too pathetic because he asked, “Why are you going to the train station so late at night? Are you running away from home?”

I looked at the retreating scenery outside the window. The neon lights cast a strange, dazzling glow, and they pierced my eyes.

“I’m not running from home. I’m going back,” I whispered. My voice was incredibly hoarse.

I was going home to the place I had forgotten for three years, but where they would always keep a light on for me.

My phone vibrated again. It was from an unknown number.

When I answered it, I heard Clark’s voice through the phone, and he sounded proud, like he had already won.

“Why did you leave, Zidane? Wendy is still waiting for you to come back and cut the cake.”

Laughter rose in the background, and it was interspersed with Wendy’s impatient voice. “Why are you calling him? If he wants to leave, let him. Who does he think he is?”

Clark laughed. “Don’t get mad, Wendy. No matter what, Zidane has taken care of you for three years. Even if it’s nothing remarkable, he did work hard.”

“Work hard, my foot. He did it voluntarily. I never asked for it!”

Wendy was so loud, and every word struck my heart like needles.

I clenched the phone so tightly that my knuckles turned white, and my nails dug into my flesh.

So, I interrupted him, saying, “Clark, tell Wendy to buy a coffin for herself with that two hundred dollars.”

With that said, I hung up, took out my SIM card, rolled down the window, and threw it outside.

The small chip flew in an arc and disappeared in the night. It left no sound behind, just like how I had wasted three years of my youth.