Chapter 80

The motel's ceiling fan rotated so slowly that I was able to count the blades. Mounds of dust avalanching down in each sloth-like resolution. My mouth a desert, desiccated from the cheap vodka I'd drank the night before. My injured hand twanged a bit, jerking on its own. I threw my arm over to the other side of the twin bed. Nothing but the indent of the person who'd slept there last night woke up early and disappeared.

"Genevieve?"

No response, just the continuous buzz from the broken refrigerator beneath the antiquated television box. Naively, I called out again.

"Genevieve."

My bladder sent signals to my brain. There were gallons of urine begging to get out. Upon lifting the toilet bowl, I was greeted with a small bundle of toilet paper, swathed in blood, spinning in the brown water. Two revelations. One, she was long gone. No letter, no notice. Two, she wasn't pregnant, any excuse would've worked. She wanted to get out. So for her, mission complete.