The Ex 9: In Which She Dies A Million Deaths

Kelvin Heights was an ugly, brown block of buildings overlooking a dirty, almost stagnant, river that was said to join the Thames. I sincerely hoped that it didn't.

It was almost noon and the kids who had managed to skive off school were casually leaning against the building, sharing joints and drinks in brown paper bags. Petro shook his head in disgust, sliding my car into a vacant parking spot. He turned to look at me, waiting for me to make a move.

“Does she honestly live here?” I asked for the tenth time since we'd driven into this seedy neighbourhood.

He pulled off his sungla.s.ses, rubbing his eyes. “Well, she was let off last year on grounds of s.e.xual hara.s.sment.” He shrugged. “She probably can't get a good job. Stalking is a serious offence.”

“I can't believe she was hara.s.sing Konstantin.”

Petro chuckled. “She hit on anything with a pulse and her poor excuse was that she was an undiagnosed nymphomaniac. Naturally, many of her colleagues complained.” He gave me a pointed look. “Liliana's not exactly a catch. She has never been one.”

Not a catch? I thought to myself. The last time I'd seen that b.i.t.c.h, even I would've s.h.a.gged her.

“Got it,” I said instead, pushing open the door. Glancing over my shoulder, I added, “You don't have to come in. I'm a big girl.”

A smile pulled at the corners of Petro's lips. “I know. Promise me you'll at least dish out a black eye.”

“Why stop at one?” I muttered, and got out. The wind instantly bit at my skin and I wished I'd had the common sense to bring a jumper or at least wear pants.

Kelvin Heights had minimal to no security. The gla.s.s door of the entrance had a big jagged hole right in the centre and I opened it without much fuss. The elevator, as I'd expected, was 'Out of Order'. It was just my luck that Liliana lived on the tenth floor. Years of morning jogs around the town meant that I didn't exactly run out of breath easily but I wasn't going to lie and say that getting to the tenth floor was a walk in the park.

“Oh, you'd better be home, you fúcking s.l.u.t,” I murmured to myself, banging on the chipped, cream door of Flat 104 when I finally, finally made it to her floor.

I waited a beat, mentally counting the seconds until she finally wrenched open the door.

Liliana Josephs looked like something Couscous had dragged in from the beach – seaweed gunk or a dead crustacean. Dressed in a coffee-stained grey bathrobe with her blonde hair s.h.a.ggy from tossing in bed, she looked me up and down, her blue eyes set in a pallid face dawning with recognition. I felt the first surge of adrenaline shoot right through me.

“What do you want? Come to gloat?” she snapped, her voice nasal and raspy.
Had it always been this way?

“Are you alone?”

She scowled. “What's it to you?”

My fist had been itching to meet her face for so long and there was no way I was going to stand in the way of such a pleasant and overdue get-together. Liliana's face instantly snapped back from the impact and she doubled over, cupping her bleeding nose in her hands.

“Are you fúckin' nuts?” she choked out, backing away from me and inadvertently inviting me inside. I slammed the door shut behind me.

My stupidity and insecurity were what had led me to believe what I'd expected in marriage and because of this dim-witted s.k.a.n.k – for that was exactly what she truly was – I'd thrown away two years of being with the man that I'd never stopped loving when he needed me most.

“I'm a variety of crazy, Liliana, not just nuts,” I snarled, and I lunged at her, grabbing the dry locks on her head and pulling her towards me with all my might.

She had a very good pair of lungs because she ruptured my eardrums with the cry she gave out. Blindly clawing at me, she tried to slink away and I shoved her against one wall, reaching for the closest thing I could lay my hands on.

“Did you think Konstantin would ever invite you into his bed, you crazy whóre?” The closest thing just happened to be a lamp. I flung it at her, catching her shoulder where she was slumped on the tiles.

Liliana scrabbled to her feet, red-faced and grimacing. “Oh, but you were so stupid.”

“Come closer and say that.”

“You were so stupid!” She grabbed a stray running shoe and chucked it at me. I neatly stepped aside and it hit her door, falling to the ground with an unceremonious slap.

“Is that the best you can do?”

Screaming like a banshee, she threw herself at me and we fell to the ground in a tangle of kicks and punches.

“How pathetically insecure did you have to be to believe me?” She laughed hysterically, scratching my arms with her chipped talons. “It was so fúckin' easy to get you out the picture and if he hadn't been so hung up on you, he might've married me.”

I reared back and punched her, wishing I could crush her skull with one final blow. Her words were laughable but with a merit of truth to them – it had been easy for her to get rid of me...but I was no longer naïve and I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Konstantin loved me and only me.

“You're delusional and I pity you,” I bit out. I felt her draw her knee back and it landed in my gut, winding me.

Momentarily weakened, I rolled off her and she instantly crawled onto me, straddling me. “You can have that cúnt of a Greek,” she said, and punctuated her dig by spitting in my face like the trash she was. “He went and got me blacklisted! Because of him, I can't get a job packing groceries, let alone anything secretarial.” She let out a bitter laugh. “But he's sick and probably won't live to see his forties, so enjoy that.”
“Fúck you.” I heaved her off me and pulled myself to my feet, landing a satisfying kick in her side. “You're a worthless, STD-riddled bítch!”

Liliana tried to crawl away, sobbing softly and leaving a b.l.o.o.d.y trail behind her. “I'm calling the police,” she wailed, collapsing into a heap.

“You think I'm scared?” I grabbed her head and tried to pull her to her feet. “No one can save you and I don't give a d.a.m.n about what happens to me.” I made her look at me. The puffiness and goriness of her face did little to deter me. The only thing I could really see was the reflection of my stupidity. “I should kill you,” I said in a low voice, suddenly tasting blood where she'd split my lip, “but that would be too kind, wouldn't it?”

“I'm... sorry,” Liliana hissed as she looked up at me, and I saw the telltale white in her nostrils.

Stunned, I released her and she fell into a heap on the floor. “You do c.o.ke?” Typical. I was insecure because of a delusional c.o.ke addict.

“What, you want some? Will that make you go away?”

I wrinkled my nose in disgust, an idea forming in my head. It was vindictive and certainly not something I should be thinking but... “Have a nice life, Liliana. You deserve it.” Giving one last look at the pathetic, snivelling heap on the floor, I turned on my heel and left her apartment, closing the door firmly behind me.

Petro was waiting for me in the car. “Nice,” he said, nodding at the blood on the front of my dress. “Not so nice,” he muttered, pointing at my face as I got in. “Konstantin will have my head.”

“Do you have your mobile on you?” I asked him, closing the door.

“Theós, shouldn't I get you to the hospital?” But he handed me his phone. “If you look like this, how's the other person?”

I let out a heavy sigh. “I have an anonymous tip-off to make, love. How many years can you get for possession of c.o.ke?” I tilted my head to one side, trying to remember. “Seven, right?”

A slow smile spread across Petro's face. “Caught her in the act, did you? You are very bad, Francesca.”

“Let's get out of here,” I said, pressing his Samsung to my ear. I met his eyes. “Thank you, Petro. That was extremely therapeutic.”

But at night, when the high of beating the s.h.i.t out of someone had worn out, I surrendered myself to the wave of tears I'd been holding back. I tried to cry as softly as possible so as not to wake Yaya in the next room, although, as Konstantin pointed out, she was a deep sleeper.

What kind of a fool am I? I thought for the billionth time that day, mashing my face into my pillow and sobbing as quietly as I could.
I could get Liliana arrested, make her life a misery – but it didn't change a single thing, as Petro had first pointed out. If I were Konstantin, I wouldn't forgive a heartless, dense b.i.t.c.h who'd abandoned him when he most needed her. No, if I were him, I would move on with my life and easily forget about my idiot of an ex.

But I couldn't forget about him.

My door creaked open and I sat up, turning on the bedside lamp.

“Francesca?” Yaya said, her bedroom slippers slapping against the floorboards. “I heard you crying, darling.”

Feeling like a child, I reached out for her and she perched herself beside me, pulling me into an embrace.

“Yaya, how could I be such an idiot?” I wailed, waking Petro the least of my worries.

“I don't think you want to hear my answer,” she replied, gently petting my head. “But we do foolish things because we are human. Only G.o.d is ever faultless.”

“Do you think Kon will ever forgive me? That's all I want,” I whimpered. “It would be selfish of me to ask him to take me back.”

“I don't know what goes on in Christos' head but I do know that he has never stopped loving you.” Yaya pulled away from me, holding me at arm's length. Her eyes searched mine. “Do you still love my grandson?”

“I never stopped. G.o.d, Yaya, even after trying to, I never stopped.”

“Then don't tell me. Tell him,” she said insistently.

“I know Kon. He'll be mad that I found out about everything this way. He won't want to listen to a word I say.”

Yaya sighed. “You're not listening. He'll be here tomorrow, in Parishville, sealing the deal on some property he was interested in.” She paused, glancing at my bedside clock. “Well, I suppose it's today. The only reason he's interested in anything in this... bland town is because of you, Francesca. You shouldn't doubt that.”

“Does he know you're here?” I sniffled, wiping away my tears with one hand.

Yaya held a finger to her lips. “I was never here. Petro and I will be on the first flight out later this morning. My work here is done.”

“You didn't have to come, you know. You shouldn't be flying.”

Her brow furrowed as she eased herself to her feet. “Am I dead? Comatose? Paralysed?” she shot at me. “I'll fly until the day I use my own wings, my darling. You're only as old you feel, and I feel like one of those Jonas boys.”

I was antsy by lunchtime. It didn't help that my only customers were an ancient man I'd never seen before who'd wanted to buy Tolstoy's War and Peace, and Rodney, who'd greeted me and sat on his usual patch of carpet to read. Obviously they were the only two people in town that didn't care about how I'd cheated on Colin.
I'd been playing Solitaire since I'd come in at eight that morning after making Yaya and Petro a huge breakfast. It was refreshing to see that I hadn't lost my way in the kitchen, judging from how Petro had thirds of my good old English fry-up.

“Can I buy this one?”

I looked up from my computer. Rodney's pimply, expectant face was before me.

“You want to buy it?” I asked in shock, staring at the Captain Underpants comic book he'd placed on the counter. Pigs were flying, the fat lady was singing... Rodney wanted to buy something.

He nodded, reddening. “I don't want to freeload, Miss Vega. Besides, we should all get what we want sometime, right? And I want this particular book.”

We should all get what we want.

Poor boy. He had yet to learn that the world didn't work that way.

“Right. Great.”

Rodney handed me a pile of coins and collected his comic. “Thanks.” He turned to leave, paused, then spun back round to face me. “You know, you're a very nice woman. I don't get why everyone's being so mean to you right now,” he said, blushing some more. “I mean, Mr. Hanlon's cool now. They should stop acting like a bunch of c.u.n.ts.”

I felt a smile tug at my lips. “Thank you, sweetheart. That's very... charming of you.”

He smiled back. And then he was gone and I was left to be 'a very nice woman' in a very empty bookstore.

“Fúck this,” I muttered, and grabbed my bag. There was no use putting off the extreme grovelling I was going to have to do. A flutter of fear flashed through my heart like a b.u.t.terfly and I quickly breathed it away.

Once I'd locked up and given myself a ten-second pep talk, it proved to be a case of sheer serendipity to find out where Konstantin was. I only had to glance across the street to see him exiting the local grocery, a plastic bag in hand. The wind, which was astonishingly pleasant today, had whipped about the thick tufts of hair on his head but, in a raven-black trench coat, Konstantin was unfazed. The fact that he had been right across the street for G.o.d-knows-how-long and probably hadn't intended to see me cut me deeper than I'd expected.

Of course, he wants nothing to do with you. Turn the other way and get into your car and do him a favour.

Ignoring my conscience, I quickly crossed the road and approached him, heart thumping. He was even more perfect up close, and with a stab of guilt, I realised that he would always be, with or without me.

“What is it, Frankie?” he asked a soon as we were eye-to-chest. His voice was empty and matter-of-fact. That hurt me insanely.

“Can we talk?”

His eyes were fixed on me, as if he were seriously considering the question I'd just posed. “No.”

I felt my eyes widen at the flat-out rejection. “What?”

“I'm busy. In fact, this is the first break I've been lucky enough to get since I arrived today.” He held up the shopping bag. “Apparently, these are delicious m.u.f.fins. I bought sixty.”

I inhaled sharply. “Kon, this is important.”

“Is it?” His brow furrowed. “Last I checked, we weren't exactly on speaking terms. Perhaps it's best if we keep it that way. For both our sakes.”

“I was stupid,” I whispered, hoping that he'd hear.

He did.

“Stop chastising yourself.” He flicked a finger under my chin after a long pause, probably trying to get me to smile. “There's my ride.” He nodded at a slowing silver Lexus. “Have a great day, Frankie.”

I was dying inside. He hadn't called me his darling. He hadn't ravaged me with his eyes. He hadn't so much as acknowledged any feelings we'd once shared. As he neatly stepped around me and pulled open the backseat door of the car, I discovered the real meaning of heartbreak. It wasn't a feeling – it was a disease; a disease that ate away at the heart until there was nothing left but dust.

Dust and memories.