I had moved into that apartment when I started working for Mark, and I had loved it. But the last six months had been a time of turmoil and struggle. I hadn’t been able to pay my rent in months, and my Wi-Fi had been cut off. My blinds were drawn and had been since the marshals had delivered my subpoena in January. It didn’t feel like home anymore. It felt like a prison, and I wanted to get out. Weeks later, Mom and Paul would collect my possessions and move me out. I never set foot in that apartment again.
