“These papers need to be signed,” Albert Cross, the divorce attorney said. “I assume that won’t be a problem?” Katie McMurray nodded.
“No,” she replied. She glanced over to her ex-to-be as he nodded, confirming his choice. That man was Ronan McMurray. Wannabe millionaire, failure at just about everything, (including being a millionaire). His dishevelled hair and broken stubble distinguished him from the man Katie once knew.
“Give it,” Ronan growled. He snatched it out of Albert’s hands, practically ripping and crumpling it while staggering out the room. The door was ajar when he cracked out another cigarette pack. Kate stared in disgust and turned back to the attorney, who was raising his hand to signal his coming speech.
“Actually, I have a couple things to discuss-“
“Can it,” Katie lashed back. She leapt from her seat and ran to Ronan. “Can you just stop walking away from everything?” Ronan flicked around. He took his lighter and lit his new cigarette. A puff of smoke waved into Katie’s face. “I know this is hard for you but I need you to put this-“ she grabbed his cigarette and threw it. “away. This is hard for me too,”
“Hard for you?” Ronan said with disgust. “I’ve been working my ass off making money for us, paying the bills to make you happy and you went off and made it go to hell,”
“When I ‘cheated’ on you?” she replied. She emphasized the cheated in such a way that implied it wasn’t true. Of course, Ronan didn’t believe such things.
“Finally you admit it,” he asked. “Is this because I can’t seem to keep a job for longer than a week?” He snorted in Kate’s face. Every trace of any liking towards each other was very clearly gone to any bystander. To Kate, he did try hard to please her and make a good life for them. But it wasn’t enough.
Don’t marry him, her family had said. Back then Ronan had stood up to his father, who also expressed his disgust in Kate. It was adorable. The rich Brown family thought the poor McMurrays were disgusting, and the likewise emotion towards “snobby British” people came from Ronan’s father. But they got married anyway.
Love is everything, they all say.
Kate was looking at her feet. It was clear to Ronan that she was done talking. She struggled to not leave things badly. Possibly, they could be friends? A newly opened elevator door rang behind him. He stepped in it and Katie knew there was no reconciliation, not friendship, no turning back after this. She made one last look at Ronan, who was staring into his wife’s eyes.
The door closed.
“What the FUCK is that smell?” a shout shook the walls of Ronan’s apartment. Richie Marlo practically rammed the door into Ronan’s bedroom, completely disregarding the now broken lock. “How many TIMES do I have to tell you this?” he shouted again.
“What?” Ronan said. There were three halfway done cigarettes on his rotting night-table with a dysfunctional alarm clock. He was sitting on his bed, on the shuffled blankets with a depressed look on his face. He glanced to Richie with his eyes, heavy grey bags under them. A return glance from Richie changed to the cigarette in his mouth and on the night-table.
“That what,” he replied. “The disgusting shit in your mouth. How many times should I remind you not to do it? There are other people in this building,” Ronan dismissed his comment with a wave of his hand. He got up from his bed and pushed his lit cigarette into the blanket, depriving the life of the fire.
“Sorry,” he simply said. Richie snorted. He began to leave, glancing at the broken lock before he remembered something. `
“Rent is due next week,” he said. Ronan said nothing. He stared at Richie, who was now closing the door. It was like a deafening silence. He stared down at the floor, then to his clenched fists. What was it like to feel completely out of control?
Pause. Ronan grabbed his blanket and threw it across the room. He screamed in agony. He didn’t care about his new neighbours. Their baby could cry all they want.
It wouldn’t be close to what he felt, he thought.
Deven Patel taped his foot the smooth hardwood floors of a McDonald’s. Ronan McMurray was late again. What’s new? Every single day. Bathrooms weren’t cleaned. Manager takes a break but the employee is screwing around playing whatever game is on his phone now. Coffee with milk doesn’t mean coffee with white food colouring when we don’t have milk, he tells Ronan. Exasperated, Deven stomped to his office and grabbed his phone. He tapped the phone icon and took a good look at Ronan’s face. By this point, he was on speed dial, (not for the right reason, mind you).
The phone rang. Deven prayed to… really anybody that would get Ronan to pick up the damn phone for once. The phone rang a second time. Deven wondered if he was still sleeping. Then a third time. Now he was frustrated. Then a four-
*Boop*
Too long a wait. He groaned and went to the cashier to serve the old lady waiting for him. His hand hovered over the button to open the register.
“What would you like, ma’am?”
“Just a coffee, please,” she replied. Deven nodded. He processed the order. She gave him several requests. At the very least he could do this shift without any problems, especially with Ronan not here. He tapped the coffee button, then sugar. A big red button to open the register was glaring at him.
He hit it and within a split second, he realized one thing. Ronan had the night shift the night before. That person’s job was to flip the burglar alarm to on. And that very morning Deven had flipped the switch. Which meant if Ronan had forgotten to do this very important task, (which is certain he would) it meant that the burgl-
Klaxons. Oh yes, and police sirens about a minute later.
“Fucking idiot!” Deven spat. He practically screamed when he clicked several wrong buttons to call Ronan, who picked up as Deven repeated his previous sentence.
“FUCKING IDIOT,” The cry startled Ronan, who fell off his chair onto the floor of the 501 streetcar.
“What?” he whimpered. “stop yelling, it’s hurting my head,” Deven cursed under his breath as sirens came blaring louder and louder.
“Are you hungover?” he said, raising his voice over the sirens.
“Nah, just a little hangover,” Ronan replied. There was a pause. One for both of them to take in what Ronan just said. A slap on the forehead from Deven’s end finalized the interaction.
“Whatever, don’t bother coming to work today,” he said.
“What?” Ronan said. “Wait a minute,” he paused to listen to Deven’s end. “Why do I hear police sirens and the burglar alarm?”
“Because you didn’t even turn it on last night,” Deven replied. Both men paused. Deven waited for Ronan to figure this out. “And my job in the morning is to do what?”
Yet another pause. Deven waited to see if Ronan finally understood. The sirens just kept getting louder and he wanted to just get this over with.
“OH!” Ronan said.
“You’re fired,” Deven replied.
*Boop*
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