Thread: Going Down? (Traveler & Charlotte)

He turned to apologize to their, no... to his neighbor, but she was gone. The frightened, abused, innocent girl had fled, and Jacob didn't blame her. He rounded on Vanessa one final time, warning her to stay away from the girl, to stay away from his work, and to never contact him again. They were done. He was done. Vanessa, though, tried to convince him to stay. She liked the way he had pushed her against the wall - it had gotten her juices flowing and her thighs trembling, but when Jacob went downstairs to the garage, his head shaking in disgust the way she had seen him do so many times when talking about business associates he wished would drop off the face of the earth, she knew that he meant what he had said. If she initiated contact, he would make her sorry. She watched as the door shut behind him, and she decided that she was going to make him regret sending her away. Now she simply had to ensure that the damned trollop suffered as well, and in the process convince Jacob to be the one to ask her back. The vixen's mind began to work overtime for the first time in years. He waited an extra day. Not because he was worried about bumping into Vanessa, but because he was dead tired from negotiations at work, and he knew that coming home would mean more work. After all, he didn't expect that she would clean up the broken dishes, and he sure as hell didn't expect her to leave his place better than she found it. No... knowing her the way he did, he almost expected to find a horse's head on his pillow. What he found was not that bad, but still... it was uncalled for. He set down the small designer bag of gourmet cookies and scanned the apartment. Un-fucking-believable. Dishes had been broken, that much he expected. What he didn't expect was the dried paint poured all over his cream colored carpet, or the knife stabs running down the curtains, or the emptied bottles of alcohol all over his leather and suede furniture. He hadn't expected her to turn off his refrigerator and leave the door open, so the smell of rot permeated his apartment. Nor had he expected the cut-up mattress, though he was planning on getting rid of it anyway. He noted that she had been very precise about pouring the contents of her cat's litter box on what had once been his side of the bed. And, of course, there was the closet. Thousands of dollars of custom made suits had been shredded, and in bright red lipstick across his grand mirror were written the words Fuck U. She hadn't even bothered to spell out the words. Vanessa knew how much he loathed text speak. Well shit. This place wasn't even habitable for a single night. He sighed and picked up his suitcase, then the bag of cookies. The confections were meant to be an apology to his neighbor. The suitcase? Well, he had hoped to unpack and start living in his apartment again, but it looked like the damn thing was going to need to be gutted and remodeled. As he waited for the elevator he put in a call to a designer friend of his and explained the whole bloody mess, then pushed the button for the third floor. After what he had just experienced, going door-to-door to find out where the mysterious neighbor lived seemed like it might be a bit extreme. He leaned against the shiny wall, his head pressed against the cool surface of the elevator, and felt the lift descend.