Chapter Text
Some days, Cash woke up and was someone he hated. Other times, it didn’t matter who he was, just that he was on his third bottle of the week and that he needed to spend his paycheck on six more. Some nights he would stumble outside to find his chalk outline, put it on, then teach it how to take a shower. Other times he’d feed it. Others he would turn out the lights, tuck it into bed, shut his eyes and wake up as someone else. But seldom did he wake up as someone he loved.
Today, he awakens on his bathroom floor to the sound of ruckus, bare head to toe and surrounded by broken bath crayons. Colorful smudges adorn the tile floor and the side of the tub, as well as his fingers, which he eyes with a disdain marked by confusion. The noise grows louder as its source makes speed down the hall and eventually there begins a staccato banging on the bathroom door.
“Cash?!” a stricken voice calls. “Cash!”
He clambers to his feet and yanks a washcloth out from the cabinet to cover his genitals before unlocking and cracking open the door. He’s met with his ex-wife, a scowl across her face.
“What the hell is wrong with you? I told you I was coming at four!”
“I had no idea,” says Cash.
“No idea what?” Arriane furrows her brows. “That your ex was coming to collect the shit you hid from her, or that you were playing with bath crayons in your birthday suit?”
Cash is silent.
Arriane sighs, stepping away from the doorway. “Just get some clothes on. And show me where you put everything.”
Between the lines, she says, “This isn’t my problem anymore.”
He shimmies into a pair of sweatpants, Arriane pacing the hallway outside their once-shared bedroom. Their marriage died in this room. Seeing her empty side of the bed and hearing her footsteps just outside evokes a rage within him that he tries to shove into a box and throw away, but at the end of the thought, he’s still left with his hands. And the rage isn’t even his. He isn’t angry in the slightest, simply heartbroken, but something inside him screams that it’s all his fault and that he should take out the room and then himself. He ignores the screams. The screams eventually ignore him, too.
The sleeves of his shirt get caught against his wet skin, evoking a grunt from Cash as he struggles to free his arm from the grasps of now damp fabric. He eventually wins the fight and meets Arriane in the hallway to lead her down to the only place he thinks he could’ve hidden her belongings: the basement.
At first, he’s hopeful. He’d give Arriane everything she needed so she could finally leave him alone and finalize the divorce. They’d never have to cross paths again. When he turns on the lights, he is disillusioned. The basement is empty.
“I thought you had my stuff down here.”
“I thought so, too,” says Cash, staring at the center of the room like he can summon whatever Arriane wants.
“I’m not here to play your games, Cash. I just want my photos. And my clothes. Don’t mess with me right now, I don’t have the patience.”
“I’m not messing with you,” he swallows, avoiding Arriane’s eyes.
She goes silent, raising her fist to her mouth as she looks away from Cash and off into the distance. Cash wonders what it’s like to take a bullet to the head.
“I’m going to ask for my stuff one more time,” She finally says after a stagnant pause. “And then I’m going to leave. Whether or not I leave with my stuff is up to you.”
“Then I’m going to watch you leave empty-handed,” Cash says, his words soft, like a smattering of afternoon rain. Arriane has only two words left for him.
“Fuck. You.”
And like lightning, she’s gone in seconds.