61. Rosy
SIXTY-ONE
ROSY
Bry opens their front door, his greeting fading away as I push past him, glad that they’re all here.
“What did you do?” My voice is low, quiet even, but my mind is a turmoil of thoughts, too many coming at me with different questions and hurts. I might as well have screamed the words, though, because the air is thick with silent tension.
Someone needs to say something, because the longer they don’t, the more the molecules in my body vibrate. Inhaling sharply, I’m about to demand they answer when Noah steps forward, his face etched in guilt.
“Rosy, I’m sorr—”
My sob crashes in, interrupting his empty apology.
“Don’t,” I bite out angrily. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry. What did you do?” I try again, trying hard to control my breathing. They don’t even question what I’m asking, because they know.
“After seeing you lately, and the impact his treatment of you has had on you, we went to talk to Peter. But we shouldn’t have made that call,” Noah says grimly.
“You’re right, you shouldn’t have gone there. Do you not realise what you’ve all done? I’ve lost my job because of you. My source of income, my way to survive.” I inhale sharply, nostrils undoubtedly flaring with each panted word.
The words hurt to say out loud.
I arrived at the office this morning with no clue what was about to happen.
Peter called me into his office and fired me.
Just like that. Like all my time there had meant nothing, like I was nothing.
So whilst I’m breaking apart from the betrayal of the men in front of me, I’m struggling with the realisation that every thought of self-doubt I’d had wasn’t imagined, it was true.
My worth at the company was deemed non-existent.
“Not them, me,” Nate admits, stepping forward with his arms crossed tightly across his chest and head bowed. His stance does nothing to calm the seething hurt fuelling me, and I’m glad for it. Because I need to advocate for myself. I need them to know that they went too far this time.
“I lashed out. It’s on me, not them.” His jaw clenches so tightly I can hear his teeth grind. Good. He should feel shitty.
“We were all there, not just Nate. We’re all to blame, honeybee,” Max says soothingly, and the anger surges again. Does he think he can just smooth it over with his sweet words?
“How dare you,” I croak, my voice coming out as fractured as I feel. “All of you. What gave you the right to make a decision for me? You all thought I was some poor, fragile girl who needed you all to swoop in and save me? You might as well have cocked a leg and pissed on me.”
My rage lends me strength, and my words become biting. I don’t care about how they might wound, because malicious energy swirls through me. I want them to hurt like they hurt me.
“You don’t own me. I’m not your possession. When I say I’ve got something handled, you’re supposed to trust me.”
My heart teeters on the cusp of breaking; the betrayal cuts deep like a knife. They broke my trust, and it hurts.
Bry steps in front of me, his palms up placatingly, face etched in pointless apologies. “Please, Rosy.” His voice breaks, laced in desperation.
My eyes close. I don’t want to see his pain. I can’t let go of the anger yet, and I don’t want to push aside my feelings to try to soothe his. Tears prickle at my lids, threatening to fall, so I turn my back on them.
“I can’t trust you right now, any of you.” I struggle to swallow. Those biting words are hard to admit. “I need some space.”
I can almost feel them all flinch, but I push my shoulders back. I take a step to leave, wanting to escape so I can fall apart, but a hand tugs at my arm, halting me.
“Rosy…” Max’s voice falters, my name a whispered plea on his lips.
“No,” I snap, tugging my arm from his grip. “You all went behind my back when I asked you not to. You marched straight over that boundary like it didn’t matter. Now I’m the one paying the price, not you.”
Not wanting to linger any longer and risk being swayed, I walk away, not allowing myself to glance behind at them.
I can’t breathe.
Entering my flat, there’s momentary relief that Steph’s still away at her girlfriend’s as I shut the door behind me, the echoing thud releasing the floodgates of my pain. My tears fall in a torrent, and I sink to the floor.
Maybe it would’ve been easier if I hadn’t let them in, if I’d kept myself safe behind my walls. But I was foolish. Foolish enough to let not just one person in, but four.
Realising my mistake, another wave of pain cascades through me. I know they didn’t intentionally cause me pain, but their actions showed they weren’t thinking about my feelings. They steamrolled through and made decisions for me. Like I don’t matter.
I thought they all saw me, that they respected and really accepted all of me.
Their actions spoke louder than their words, and it showed that perhaps we can’t work out, that it really isn’t possible to have it all.
Using the sleeve of my jumper, I harshly wipe away the tears, trying to push down the panic trying to surge back over the thought of being homeless and jobless.
I hate crying. I hate how weak it makes me feel. But the tears won't stop. The aching pain buried deep inside my chest won’t stop.
I can’t see a way out of this, to keep going when life keeps knocking me back down.