63. Rosy
SIXTY-THREE
ROSY
My eyes feel raw as I blink through the dryness, needing to see as I drive to the office.
For the very last time.
Because I’m now unemployed.
Biting my lip, I hold in the whimper that tries to break free. I need to hold it together. I’ve already shown the world how much of a mess I am. At least with Steph I can pretend a little longer, as she decided to stay at her girlfriend’s.
Which means I can stay home and escape everyone for a while. After I get home from this, at least.
Peter had messaged requesting I come at the end of the day to collect my stuff, to sign some paperwork, and give back my keys. I wish he’d asked me to do all this when he’d told me he was firing me, rather than having to go back and face him.
The guys had so far listened to my request for space and had left me alone for the last twenty-four hours. But it scares me how lost I feel without that contact, how easy it’s become to centre my life around theirs.
Is this even something that can be forgiven?
My head thuds back into the headrest as I park the car in the building's parking area. This is it.
The pain hits again, and my face scrunches as I battle to push it back, hitting the steering wheel and letting out a scream. It tears at my throat, shredding through the quiet, and it’s a relief to let it escape.
Snuffling loudly, I wipe at my blotchy face before giving up and grabbing my bag from the footwell.
I push through the front door. The space is eerie in the dimmed lighting, so I head straight to Peter’s office to get this over with.
“Peter?” I call, peering into his empty office. Perhaps he’s in the communal area getting a drink. I turn.
“Wha—”
Something grips my jaw tightly, smothering my face and nose. Panicking, I suck in a breath, drawing my elbow up to retaliate, but my vision spins.
Fading to black.