Chapter 2
Rune carefully made her way back to her desk, taking each step with care, her eyes fixed on something far far away.
She had her professional mask tightly back in place, and her steady gait did not reveal the discomfort of the rawness between her thighs.
No, if she had headed straight to the restroom, Dorian would have spotted it from his vantage point and used it as yet another weapon.
Over the years, she had come to realize that the man she loved was all about his petty little victories.
There was a brittle kind of numbness that cocooned her as she made her way to her desk.
But it did not block out the soreness. Her inner muscles spasmed, useless in a strange combination of pain and frustration.
Dorian had never treated her like that before, like she was no more than that condom he threw away.
Rune gingerly pulled the chair back while the ache between her thighs acted as a bitter reminder of the encounter, for want of a better word. Her legs trembled slightly as she lowered herself into the chair. She tried not to wince. He didn't deserve that.
The intercom buzzed before she could even reach for her coffee with shaking fingers.
"Line up a few candidates for interviews. Two o'clock tomorrow, after the Tokyo call."
Click.
Dorian at his best. No pleasantries. Just instructions, clipped and final. His brand of arseholery which he imagined was professionalism.
Of course, he didn't need to ask if she understood. Dorian never repeated himself. If he had to, it usually meant you were out of a job. But then, was she not counting the days till they took away her ID and made her persona non grata?
Rune took in a long inhale. She knew he was probably watching her right now – he always did, in the moments when weakness might seep through the cracks.
But her face might have been carved of stone.
She had been reading about Jacques Lecoq and the five masks.
It had taken time and patience to understand, but she mused, hers had to be a Neutral mask.
Her fingers typed in her password with practiced ease, opened the draft email already prepared weeks ago, mad some minor changes and hit send.
The request to the recruitment agency had been waiting in her drafts for months.
Dorian never kept people too long. She had simply lasted longer than most.
The rest of the day passed as though nothing unusual had happened.
She brought in files. She took notes during the Lisbon video call in her spare pair of panties, her skirt just the right length, and her long legs gracefully crossed at the ankles. She smiled politely when her contact made a joke about the unseasonably good weather.
At 3:00 p.m. sharp, an email appeared in her inbox.
Her dismissal letter, a shining recommendation, and a severance package generous enough to feel like a pay-off for ‘Services Rendered’.
Like she was his dirty secret. Which she was in some ways.
She was like a multifunctional home appliance that was about to be upgraded to a newer model. Off with the old, on with the new.
Under "Reason for Departure," one phrase stood out in bold type: REDUNDANCY.
Rune let her mouth twitch in a wry smile. Appropriate in more ways than one.
For the first time since she started this job five years ago, Rune finished at five and walked through the door without asking if there was anything else that required her attention.
She missed the last bus more often than not, and he didn't deserve her loyalty to the extent that she was willing to walk two miles in the rain to catch the next bus.
The next morning, she had arrived at 8:00 a.m., not 7:00 like she used to.
No more 5 a.m. alarms and rushing to the office without breakfast. No more standing shivering at darkened bus stops in cheap shoes that looked posh but gave her shoe burns while juggling transfers across the city in the biting wind just to arrive well before Dorian Albury made his way into the office.
Today, she took her time. And wore comfortable shoes that was going to make Dorian’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline – one more little rebellion.
The walk was more leisurely. The bag in her hand had Dorian's usual breakfast: a classic bacon, egg, and cheese bagel from Bekki Bagels. Toasted just the way he liked it. No sauce, no frills. Just food to fuel the morning.
As always, she stopped at the breakroom and got to work on the stubborn coffee machine. She could've let Sara in housekeeping do it. But Dorian insisted she do it and old habits die hard, at least for the next two weeks of her notice.
She selected the black cup, Dorian's favourite, a slate matte ceramic with no handle. She filled it with black coffee, no sugar, no milk. The way he insisted all his staff drink theirs. "Clarity in, clarity out," he used to say.
Today, Rune added milk and two sugars to hers anyway. Let him judge. Her mouth took on a bitter twist as she recalled how pitiful she was yesterday night.
Waiting for the axe to fall hadn’t been easy but when it actually happened, she had felt like the walking wounded. Not even to herself did she admit that in her heart of hearts, she had hoped Dorian would not disappoint her yet again.
The moment she stepped through the door of her apartment, her knees had given out, and she'd collapsed just inside the threshold.
There was no warning in the form of controlled sobs, no slow buildup to the total collapse of her soul.
The mask she'd worn all day had slipped and shattered to a million painful shards as she let her control go.
Her shoulders, trained to stay upright, had finally slumped and started shaking.
The sobs tore out of her, harsh and gasping. Ugly and barely human.
A good cry, she decided after the first fit had died down. She deserved that much, didn’t she? Just for today.
She had wandered to the kitchen in a daze and opened her freezer mechanically.
She selected a Tupperware container from the stack she'd prepped the previous Sunday.
A Sunday that hadn't been consumed by Dorian or spreadsheets or damage control. She’d microwaved it like an automaton while buttered toast crackled in the toaster.
She wasn't hungry, but she ate anyway. She kept it down, even though nausea curled in her belly like smoke struggling to escape.
Later, she had squeezed into her tiny shower, water echoing off the cold, chipped tiles, and let go again. Of the shame. Of the fantasy. Of the ridiculous, beautiful dream of ever being enough for Dorian Albury. A dream that had consumed most of her lifetime was now dust.
She cried until the tears ran clear and her eyes were swollen. Then she scrubbed herself until she felt her skin would peel off. Then she wiped the fogged mirror to examine her ravaged face and whispered to herself, "This is the last time. At least until I'm safe and away from here."