Chapter 10 #2
None of it could ever work. And I’m a goddamn fool for wanting it anyway.
My alarm fails to wake me, and by the time I’m up, I’m already behind schedule.
I then proceed to knock over an entire mug of hot coffee, the contents flying and glass shattering, along with my mood.
Mid-cleanup, my mother calls me. She chats about wanting to grab lunch later this week and reminds me of something I’d rather not think about.
A particular date that comes and goes every year but still breaks me as badly as the day it happened.
I don’t need the reminder, because I never forget.
It’s woven its way so tightly in my mind that it’s become a part of me along the way.
The day I lost focus, and consequently, lost something irreplaceable.
Walking into work, I know I seem like I’m walking around with a stick up my ass once again.
It’s apparent in everything I do. My mood, my grumbly hellos, even my walk feels weighed down by this giant storm cloud over my head.
I’ve been trying to keep my door open. Be more approachable and say hello to people I’d typically ignore.
Not today though.
Today, I need space. I need to fume without snapping. I need to decompress so I can concentrate. I need to grieve, even if the grieving has been constant for twenty-four years.
So, I close my door. I shutter myself away. I revert back to the man I was weeks before, regressing in ways that I’ve only recently begun to learn.
Marley must sense my need for space because, for the first time since she started, she doesn’t forward a single call my way.
Instead, she fully filters them through email, neatly summarizing anything urgent in a way that requires minimal effort on my part.
No unnecessary interruptions. No forcing me to engage when I can barely focus.
It’s the first time I’ve had an assistant who knows how to read me.
I know I shouldn’t be like this. Letting the past claw its way back, dragging me under with it.
As the date grows closer, though, it presses harder, nearly suffocating.
I should be able to shake it off. I try, like I do every year.
And I fail. When I hear a splash into water.
When my hands brush against cold, wet fabric.
It’s like suddenly I’m back there. Mud caked to my knees, his body limp in my arms, river water dripping from both of us.
I can still feel the gravel biting into my knees as I knelt beside him, counting compressions, whispering please over and over like it might make a difference.
At five o’clock, a quiet knock sounds at my office door. The door creaks open before I can tell her to come in. Marley steps inside, careful, but not afraid. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Doesn’t press for an explanation. She simply watches me in that gentle way of hers.
And for some reason, I don’t tell her to leave.
I look up, and I have to physically remind myself not to stare. She’s so stunning it hurts. With her long dark hair wrapped into a perfect bun, lips painted red in a way that makes me want to ruin them.
“I’m heading out for the night,” she says, hitching a thumb over her shoulder.
I nod, knowing I should leave it at that. It’s not my business. Except for now, there’s this new, irritating part of myself. An intrusive, nosey side that wants to know everything when it comes to Marley.
“Any plans?” I ask.
Her mouth tips up, a flicker of sadness flashing quickly. “I have a performance in a couple hours. At The Cobalt.”
“Ah, I see. Well, good luck.”
There’s that familiar awkwardness between us. The silence filled with the mutual knowledge that the days left performing at The Cobalt are numbered.
“Thank you.” She reaches for the door, fingers curling around the knob. She hesitates, glancing back. “I hope everything is okay, Theo. If you ever need someone to talk to, I …”
Embarrassment hits me like a slap. Shame right behind it. I don’t know why. Maybe because she sees too much, and I don’t want to be seen. Not right now. Pity is harder to stomach because it means I’m weak. And I can handle a lot of things. But weakness? That’s never been one of them.
My tone comes out too short, too dismissive. “I appreciate your concern, but that would be highly inappropriate for our working relationship.”
I hate myself for the way she tenses when the words fly out. She was only trying to be kind. It’s also hypocritical as hell, considering I was the one who initiated this closeness, hugging her in my car only yesterday.
It’s easier this way, I remind myself. To be alone. To be closed off.
Once you’ve hurt someone so badly you lose them, you start to believe it will happen every time. Intentional or not. I feel like a man who touches something, and it withers to dust.
“Have a good night,” she says, not bothering to look back after I’ve been a dick. We both know our particular boss-assistant relationship is far from a normal one. Now I’ve gone and tarnished it.
The door clicks shut behind her, and like that, I’m back in the dark hole I’ve been drowning in all day.
For a few minutes, I sit there, staring at nothing, tapped in the slow suffocation of my own thoughts.
What I need is a distraction. Something to pull me out before the past drags me completely under.
In a matter of weeks, I’ll feel even worse, like I’m living it all over again.
And maybe that’s what I deserve. To carry this weight, to feel the infinite, gnawing pain as penance for what I’ve done.
But right now? I need a reprieve.
Grabbing my coat, I step out of my office, on time for once, and catch a cab to the only place I know will take my mind far from it.