Without a word, she opens the door just enough to let him in. He smells like weed and she realizes that the apartment won’t smell like febreeze and lysol anymore. She knows he’s high because his eyes are glassed over. He’s wearing his favorite shirt, a soft black cotton tee with his band’s name ironed onto it “Downtown Liberation.” She made it for him after their first official gig. He sits on the couch, putting his legs on the dark wooden coffee table.

“Put your feet down,” she says. She wants it to be forceful, but her voice quivers.

“Wow, okay Indie, relax. Where’s my stuff?”

She points to the box on the floor. In neat black Sharpie, it is simply labeled “Theo.” Inside are the clothes and shoes he left at her place. She had washed all the clothes, and even cleaned off the shoes to the best of her ability before packing it all.

But he’s not concerned with that. He wants his bong back, a colorful piece of glass that she never quite understood. It’s packed in there, too. He left his grandfather’s watch on the bathroom counter, so she gave that back to him. It is one of his most prized possessions. He’s so scatterbrained that he probably doesn’t even remember that he left it at her place. She took all of the things he gave her and put them in the box as well. She wanted to get rid of all of him at once. She packed away the teddy bear that he gave her after a particularly tough finals week. There were music sheets in there too, the first drafts of the songs he wrote for her last Valentine’s day. In a small black velvet box was the necklace he gave her for her last birthday, her 21st. It was a rose gold heart locket she had been secretly admiring for months. He had gone into her search history to find it. If she went into his search history, she knew she wouldn’t find anything she would have wanted to see. She liked to give him his freedoms, even though he didn’t give her any.

“Thanks. So how’ve you been?” he asks kindly.

Indie just wants him to leave, but for a second, his voice has it’s power over her again. She answers, despite hating small talk. “I’m good. My classes are going well. How’s the band doing?”

“Real good. We have a show tonight in the bar on Main Street. You should swing by if you’re free. I’m sure the guys would love to see you.”

That was a blatant lie. The three other guys in the band didn’t like her because she had taken up too much of Theo’s time.

“I have a class in the morning and an assignment to finish for it, but thanks for the invite. Maybe next time,” she says, even though she doesn’t ever intend to go to another gig for his band.

“That’d be cool. Anyway, I should go. It was nice to see you.” He walks over to the cardboard box, two feet tall, wide, and deep, and picks it up. He walks toward the door, opening it with one hand. Indie follows. Then he puts down the box and turns to Indie. He reaches out his arms for an embrace. Nervously, she returns the gesture, closing herself in his arms. She circles her arms around his thin waist, smelling the hint of cologne on his chest. Her head rests on top of his, as he is about a foot taller than she is.

He catches the scent of her strawberry shampoo and remembers the nights they spent together at her apartment, when he would take out his guitar and play for her, and she would sing all of his songs with him. She remembers last Christmas when they put up a small tree, celebrating the holidays together, and sadder memories flood their minds: the bickering over dishes and sweeping, and drugs and trust; the night that she locked herself in the bathroom, crying until 5 am, while he sat outside the door, waiting for her to let him in. They recall all of these memories in silence, before she pulls away, and he turns to leave.