Anxious Hart

Chapter Three

Adrenaline pumping, I pulled up my SUV to a screeching halt in the driveway. My commute home had been a blur with loud music, light traffic, and admittedly, a little aggressive driving.

I stormed up the steps to the front door of our historic bungalow, my hands shaking violently as I fought to put my key in the lock. Finally jamming it in with enough force to almost break it, I cursed to myself. Fighting with the handle, I was able to shove the large, heavy wooden door open with all my force. As the it slammed against the entry wall, I let out a scream of anger before slamming the door shut, leaning my back against it.

Taking in the empty entrance, A chill ran over me. It was a large house, more than enough space for two people. But Andrew & I had purchased it six years prior with the promise to eventually start filling the five bedroom home with a family of our own. Those promises fell to the side each time a new carrot was dangled before him to further his political ambitions. Even with the warm decor and personalized touches I added to each corner of the massive space, this house never truly felt like home.

Maybe I was selfish? He was a successful senator for our state with support from many others within his party to move up the ladder. But as time moved on, I felt less like his life partner and more like a piece of the puzzle in his agenda to maintain that all-American image. It was a wholesome image where I was not allowed to fully express my ideas or any trace of creativity.

Even though I was orphaned at thirteen, I still grew up to become a successful writer. I grew up with my grandparents in Boston and attended college at the University of Nebraska Lincoln to be close to my aunt, who later introduced me to Andrew. Admittedly, I came from a family with money, but not the most conventional way. My family was blue collar who landed on luck. Grandpa owned a few auto body shops and was the President of the Legion Motorcycle Club in the Boston area. He was happily married to my Grandma until she passed five years ago from a heart attack. Despite the stereotypes, my family was not trashy nor did they get in legal troubles like some MC’s. My backstory did pull at some heartstrings of Andrew’s supporters, even though his team did embellish a few details to make me sound even more like the wholesome partner for an ambitious politician. Denying parts of myself, dressing as a polished lady versus the artist within over time made me more of an accessory to his goal rather than a lifelong necessity.

Gritting my teeth at the memories, I began scanning for all the treasured mementos of the past ten years of my life. Ten years of dedication and sacrifice to that lying asshole.

I began removing pictures from the walls: a recent trip to DC, a gala fundraiser, a hiking trip in Colorado. Then I transitioned to my closet, where I had a box I had saved of nick knacks from over the years. My movements became more instinctive, faster, deliberate as each item triggered another memory of the lies with Andrew that I needed to remove from existence.

A familiar prance of paws on the hardwood distracted me momentarily. My gaze moved over to the doorway, where my sleepy dog, Riley, watched me curiously. The loyal Golden retriever let out a big yawn before flashing one of his pretty boy smiles. “Hi, buddy,” I cooed, before returning to my task.

Riley happily followed me throughout the home as I filled my arms and made my way to the landscaped backyard. The beautiful, established trees where a big attraction to this old neighborhood. Beautiful flowers were in full bloom, decorating the garden with shades of yellow, red, and purple. This zen escape was key in making me immediately fall in love with the property. Andrew appreciated we were rubbing shoulders with the wealthy and inspirational in the area.

I deposited about three armfuls of Andrew-related garbage into the fire pit. It was nearing noon and was starting to get really warm with the humidity rising under the bright Nebraska sun. Beads of sweat were forming on my forehead as I stood there, musing how my current life could be summarized by a pile of worthless possessions.

Still, sometimes the best way to cleanse your soul of the evil is to burn it.

Grabbing a bottle of lighter fluid from the grill, I began dousing the pile vigorously. Once the bottle was empty, I added it to the pile to let it burn with the rest of the trash.

As I struck the match to toss on the pile, the phone in my pocket began to hum. It snapped me out of my trance momentarily, only before I threw the match on the pile. A smirk crossed my face as I calmly released the first breath of elation...freedom.

Ten years.

I was finally free from my captor.

My relationship with Andrew was not love. It was comfortable. It was convenient. And yes, maybe I appreciated the image too.

But the extreme he wanted? Remembering his words?

Tears began to burn in my eyes once more as I swallowed the lump in my throat. No tears over him. He is not worth it.

Riley sat at my side and I scratched behind his soft, floppy ears. “We’ve got this, buddy,” I said, watching the flames dance in awe. He licked the back of my hand, reassuring me.

The phone in my pocket began to ring again. Staring into the flames, I answered without looking at the ID. “Hello, this is Claire.”

“Claire,” sniffed a voice, tearing my thoughts from the midday bonfire in my backyard.

My grip tightened on the phone. This was a voice I did not talk to on the phone often. She was Grandpa’s nurse, Becky, the kind-hearted soul I regarded like family. To hear the hurt in her voice made my blood run ice cold.

My grip tightened on the phone despite my trembling fingers. Finally finding my voice, I managed to choke out the words. “Becky, what’s wrong?” But I feared that I already knew the answer.

After a muffled sob, Becky collected herself. “I’m so sorry, my dear. He’s gone. Your grandfather is gone.”