Chapter 4 - The Eviction of Vivian
The weekend dragged on, marked only by the ticking clock and the dull, throbbing ache in my chest. On Sunday afternoon, I was finally discharged from the hospital. A close friend, Sarah, drove me back to my apartment.
The moment we pulled up to the building, my blood boiled.
Vivian was sitting on the front steps, surrounded by four massive, expensive leather suitcases. She looked completely disheveled. Her usually immaculate hair was frizzy, and she was wearing the same clothes from Friday night. When she saw Sarah’s car, she leaped to her feet, her eyes wide with a manic, desperate energy.
“You!” Vivian shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at me as Sarah helped me out of the passenger seat. “You absolute witch! You locked me out! My key doesn't work!”
“I had a locksmith change the deadbolts on Saturday morning while I was in the hospital,” I replied calmly, adjusting the medical brace under my oversized sweater. “You don't live here anymore, Vivian.”
“I have nowhere to go!” she screamed, her voice echoing down the quiet suburban street. “My friends won't take me in! My credit cards are declining! You canceled my son's cards! You stole his money!”
“I took what was mine,” I said coldly. “The joint account consisted of ninety percent of my income. Daniel has been broke for years. But I guess he forgot to mention that while he was buying you designer bags.”
Vivian looked as if she had been struck by lightning. “You’re lying. Daniel makes six figures!”
“Daniel owes six figures,” I corrected her, stepping closer. I didn't flinch. I let her see the dark, swollen bruises creeping up my neck. “He hit me because he knew I was finally waking up to the truth. He hit me because he’s a coward. And you cheered him on.”
Vivian’s face crumpled. The arrogance shattered, leaving behind a pathetic, terrified old woman. Suddenly, her tone changed. She fell to her knees on the concrete, tears streaming down her face.
“Please,” she begged, grasping at the hem of my jeans. “Please, I’m sorry. I didn't mean it. Let me stay. Just for a few nights. I don't have money for a hotel. I’ll cook, I’ll clean… please don't leave me on the street.”
I looked down at the woman who had spent six months treating me like a servant in my own home. I remembered her kicking my chair while I gasped for air with broken ribs. I remembered her laughing.
“Get your hands off me,” I whispered.
Vivian recoiled as if burned.
“If you are still on this property in three minutes, I am calling the police and pressing charges for harassment,” I said.
Sarah helped me walk past her, up the stairs, and to the front door. I unlocked the new deadbolt, stepped inside my beautiful, quiet apartment, and shut the door firmly behind me. Through the peephole, I watched Vivian struggle to drag her heavy leather suitcases down the sidewalk, sobbing as she walked aimlessly toward the bus stop.
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The apartment smelled like my lavender candles. The heavy, toxic energy that had suffocated me for years was completely gone. I was finally breathing free air, even if it hurt my ribs to do it.
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