He watched the rubbish truck amble down the road. It was gone. He wouldn’t have to think of it anymore. None of it. He’d given her a chance to collect her stuff and she hadn’t. Hell, he’d given her several chances. If she couldn’t organize her time to come, it wasn’t his problem.
He wheeled his bin in and made a cup of tea. Extra sugar. She always told him off for taking sugar. Wait, this wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d thrown out her stuff, he’d removed her and all her friends from Facebook and from his mobile phone and he’d even started flirting with one of the girls from work. She wasn’t allowed to keep popping into his head like this. He didn’t know what else he could do.
The tea tasted odd. He went to the fridge to check the milk. As he went to open the door, he saw her photo peeping out from under the pizza menu. That was it! He grabbed that photo and the three others from the fridge door, then tried to remember where else he’d put photos. Eight years. There would be photos everywhere. He’d just have to burn the place down.
The room seemed to spin around him. He’d just have to burn the place down. He wouldn’t lose much – everything was insured. Anything that wasn’t insured was worthless anyhow. He’d just have to burn the place down.