The last time everything fit in three duffles, Mack was moving in. We’d only been dating a few weeks. A little fast for my taste—I didn’t even know his middle name—but he’d just been evicted, and he needed a place to stay.
“That’s code for ‘my last girlfriend dumped me,’ ” my friend Roxy warned. “Those types of guys either live with their moms or their girlfriends.” She went on to lament that Plenty of Fish was the wrong website to find love. The men there were always begging for money.
But he was so incredibly attractive, and I didn’t mind spending $100 a week on groceries in the beginning, or that he was still between jobs after living with me for six months. I’d convinced myself that in this economy, it was tough to find employment that didn’t pay a measly $7 an hour for workers to break their backs over ungrateful customers.
When you’re terrified of being alone, you tend to ignore the warning signs of a deadbeat.
That was until I found Roxy’s thong in his laundry, and I tossed all he ever brought into our relationship in three duffle bags over the balcony and into the street.
word count: 191
Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner is a weekly challenge for writers to create a story in under 200 words using the provided photo prompt and introductory sentence as their ‘muse.’ Click the froggy icon to read other stories inspired by the photo and add your own.