Echoes of Departure
1616 Words
The beeping sound of the elevator distracted her thoughts yet again.
She vividly remembered the first time she had come here. The elevator had opened, and she had walked out, feeling repulsive with each step she took towards the apartment.
After entering the passcode, the one he had asked her to choose three months into the contract, he had wanted her to have access, warning her always to wear a nose mask whenever she visited. Those rules she had adhered to diligently over the years.
The door beeped, and it opened. She pushed it open and as she stepped in, the familiar smell of him hit her sense of reasoning, and for some minutes, she felt like breaking down.
He had made it clear that it was a contract. A contract with no strings attached. It was so unfair she had to feel this way, and with determination, she decided she was not coming back to his apartment again.
The living room was extremely spacious and lively. It used to be gloomy and depressing until she couldn’t bear its emptiness—the exact feelings he had unleashed.
With his permission to add some lively touches to the room, she had designed it into the homely look it had now.
With a deep sigh, she started by disposing of everything she got, even though he had funded them.
After seven hours at work, the house looked as loveless and lonely as when she had first arrived. She remembered his looks that day. There had been a glow of appreciation and warmth, though he had never mentioned it. “Were the changes enough?” was the only thing he had said, a way of saying he approved of the changes.
Calista rubbed her hands over her temple, feeling tired yet content with the work she had done. She picked up her phone and pushed out the luggage. All the clothes, jewelry, and bags he had gotten her were all packed in the large bag.
Minutes later, she cleaned the room. Satisfied, a sad smile crept onto her lips as she gave the almost barren house a final glance and closed the door behind her.
She was selling them off and taking the proceeds to charity.
She walked out of the building, giving it a last longing glare as she walked away, her bag filled with money she had gotten from trading the jewelry he had gotten her. She yawned, stretching her tired hands.
Her phone beeped, and she reached into her pocket, smiling at the caller ID.
“Emily?” she called, feeling warmth despite the odd feelings she had earlier. Her sadness disappeared in no time.
“It’s late already, probably 4 pm,” she said, stopping in her tracks. “You found a place already?”
“Yes,” Emily replied from across the call. “Your dad is with me. California seemed perfect to start a new life. We saw an apartment that you will like.”
A pleasant, appreciative smile crossed her lips as she headed in another direction leading to the charity. She intended to drop off the proceeds she got from trading the jewelry and clothes at the bank before heading to Windsor Law Firm.
“I trust you to find the perfect place,” she said, heading towards the cafe across the street. She was about to cross her way to the newly built cafe when she saw him. Her heart stopped as he typed diligently on his laptop.
She wondered what he was doing there, and when she caught his lips twitching into a smile, it wasn’t wide enough, but his eyes held amusement.
Her heart broke at the scene.
“When should I indicate you’re taking up the house, Cal?” Emily asked, her voice braced with eagerness.
But Calista couldn’t reply. She felt like she was a failure. She had never seen him laugh, not even the slightest twitch of his lips, nor had she seen him talk heartily the way he was doing now.
She twisted her hands as jealousy burned through her. He had moved on quickly. Just yesterday, and he already moved on, laughing as if she never existed. Her eyes tried to scan further to see who he was with, but her tears blurred her vision. He was obviously out with her, the only woman in his heart.
“Are you there, Cal?” Emily called. Calista nodded, finding it hard to voice an audible answer. “Calista, I asked when to indicate taking up the house.”
“He never takes me out,” she blurted silently, tears flowing down her cheeks.
Damn it! The last thing she wanted to do was cry. Why on earth was she crying?
“What?” Emily asked, hearing a faint whisper and thinking Calista was talking to her.
“Tomorrow, Emily. We’re leaving tonight,” Calista replied, stopping a taxi while tearing her gaze away from the sight.
“What?” Emily asked, shocked. “You booked a flight ticket already? When did you do that?”
“Now. I’m doing it after the call,” she said, ending the call to prevent further questions from her friend.
“Where are we headed, ma’am?” the driver asked, ready to move the car to her destination.
“Windsor Law Firm,” she said, putting on her shades.
After a few minutes of the ride, the car pulled up in front of the building. She alighted, asking him to wait for a few minutes as she walked into the firm.
She entered the elevator, pressed the last floor, indicating Ranya’s office, and just as the door was closing, someone slipped a hand, stopping the elevator from closing on Calista.
Her heart jumped, hoping it wasn’t Ranya. He was someone she never wanted to see again.
Calista raised her head to see who joined her in the elevator, and a slight “wow” slipped through her mouth as an extremely extravagantly dressed lady stepped in. Her strong perfume filled the confined space of the elevator.
She was extremely beautiful, tall, slender, and perfectly curvy. She looked like an actress or some soap opera model.
She slightly nodded in acknowledgment at Calista, who reciprocated with a nod. She pressed the last button, the one that housed a penthouse, one Calista had never had the privilege to visit.
Maybe she was a family member or sibling. She couldn’t possibly be Vivian.
Ranya didn’t like heavy makeup and thick cologne. She must be a distant cousin of some kind.
Talking of family, aside from the fact that he was Ranya Windsor, Calista knew nothing about him. To what extent was his discreteness that not even his family background was known on the internet? Or maybe she was so caught up in paying her debt that she had no time to ask and look him up.
She didn’t do that when they were together, and she was absolutely not doing that now. After all, he knew nothing about her either, not even her house, something she was utterly grateful for.
The beep sound from the elevator distracted her thoughts, and she walked out, bowing slightly at the woman whose eyes were up and glued to her phone.
Calista smirked as she walked, envelope in hand, to the secretary. “Arrogance is definitely Ranya’s sibling.”
She turned again, but the elevator had already closed. With a slight smile, she walked towards the secretary and handed an envelope to her.
*** Lewiston Villa, Texas ***
“You’re leaving Texas tonight, Anthony, and that’s final,” Mr. Lewiston said angrily, as he stormed out of his son’s bedroom, with his mother closely behind him.
“What?” Anthony, an extremely good-looking guy in his early twenties, exclaimed, looking troubled and unable to come to terms with what his father had just said.
“You’re not chasing him away to California because you want your good-for-nothing lawyer son to inherit that company, are you?” Mrs. Carolyn Lewiston barked, shoving her slim body into Mr. Lewiston’s presence. She exuded an air of wealth.
Observing her, one might mistake her for being in her mid-thirties. She looked much younger and vibrant.
“Are you even listening to yourself, woman?” Mr. Lewiston groaned angrily, pointing his index finger at her. “Would you rather have him stay and do more harm to my political agenda? Haven’t you both caused me too much trouble already?”
“Oh!” She laughed scornfully, contempt and anger laced in her voice. “If anyone is causing you trouble, it’s your son who changed his name and status to ridicule you. He stood against you three years ago, and you did nothing... absolutely nothing!”
“Watch your tongue, Carolyn. Watch your tongue!” Mr. Lewiston warned, anger surging through him.
“I will not have him take up the case. I would rather die than have him defend my son and take the glory.”
“Well then, have it all cleared,” he replied, turning towards Anthony, who was already seated on the sofa in the elaborate living room of the villa. “You can sleep, party, and do your filthy acts over there. But don’t return until the election is over. The only way to prove you aren’t the one in those pictures is if you are believed to be out of Texas.”
“But, Father...”
“Take any money you want,” Mr. Lewiston cut him off, preventing him from saying any further words. “Take whatever you want and get out! I would rather not have a son than have you.”
- Writer
