3. Ophelia
OPHELIA
“Always stay away from the crows,” echoes my mother’s voice the next day as I’m rifling through her belongings, tackling through old clothes, jewelry boxes, on a mission to find something that will relate to the tattoo on Salvatore’s chest.
So far, the only thing I’ve stumbled across is an ugly picture of myself. Thanks Mother.
I sit on the floor, raking a hand through my hair when my gaze veers over to my purse—the one I tipped upside down yesterday after work.
My dumb ass was too busy running across the street, into the coffee shop to fill Sapphire in on the latest. I totally forgot about my belongings in the meeting room, more specifically, the resignation letter.
Mr. Moretti gave my purse back to me, but the letter was missing…
I drag myself up from the floor, feeling sorry for myself on the bed instead. I collapse into the pillows, groaning. Mr. Moretti definitely saw the letter, but he never mentioned anything to me.
I have no other choice but to go into work on Monday and pray he didn’t open the letter.
I rebuke the resignation, and the sex.
Unfortunately, the damage has already been done for both, but I need to plow through and stay employed under this man. The crow tattoo has to mean something.
I lie on my bed, wishing my mother could answer my questions. She was a smart woman, working multiple jobs to keep us afloat, all while being a single mother. We never spoke about my father, since he left after she fell pregnant with me.
“Some things are better left unsaid,” is what she said every time I enquired about him.
Eventually, I learned to stop enquiring. The man ditched us with no explanation. Talking about someone keeps their memory alive, and my father has never deserved the attention.
My mother on the other hand…
I take it relatively easy for the rest of the day, tidying away my mother’s belongings, adding some of her clothes to my closet in the process.
Weekends are for relaxing, not overthinking, but I spend the rest of my Saturday spiraling and eating Chinese food on the couch.
When Sunday morning rolls around, I wake up thinking about my boss, and the way he fucked me over his desk.
Closing my eyes, I picture it happening all over again, and as the image grows stronger, I feel inclined to slip a hand under my pajama shorts and finger myself, imagining his cock inside of me again, sending me to heaven and back.
Nothing about that man is holy, but I like that about him.
Mr. Moretti wears a warning, but I acknowledge the warning and go in for a taste anyway.
Where’s the thrill in doing what you’re supposed to?
Some rules are meant to be broken. There’s no excitement in following the crowd and behaving, and my boss thinks that too.
I wonder if his rebellious personality links to the crow tattoo in any way…
The weekend rolls by in a flash. By the time I have finished completing all my weekly errands, the sun’s setting and I’m back on the couch eating leftover Chinese food from the night before, Sunday Scaries taking a toll as I prepare for what could be my worst week yet.
I was supposed to quit before I acted on my desires.
Working alongside Mr. Moretti is hard. The jealous looks I receive from employees on a daily basis can make me feel isolated, and people are already gossiping about us on a daily basis.
Continuing to work for Mr. Moretti after we broke the boundary of professionalism is a recipe for disaster, but there’s more to this man than expensive suits and power.
My mother never spoke for the sake of speaking. If she told me to stay away from the crows on her deathbed, something dangerous could be at large here, and now I’m questioning everything, including my mother’s death, and if she was ever truly sick…