25. Maddison #2
I've been blind, running away from my problems with this distraction. Using the adrenaline and excitement as vices, instead of being who I’m supposed to be.
“Maddison,” a deep voice sounds from within my living room.
I jump with shock, the voice of my father in my apartment causing even more dread to slink through my body.
No, not now. Please, not now.
I jump up on shaky legs, padding barefoot into the open living room to see my father lounging on the armchair.
His head twists in my direction, and when he sees me, a look of disappointment flashes in his eyes as he takes in my state.
My head drops as I realize I'm wearing one of Ash's shirts and just his boxers.
No shoes cover my feet; no pants cover my legs.
I can only imagine the state of my hair and my makeup after last night, but his face tells me it's not good.
Something sharp flashes in his expression as he rises from the chair, dressed in an impeccable suit as always.
“And where the fuck have you been?” he mutters, barely restrained fury vibrating through his voice as he watches me tremble on the spot.
“I...I...,” I stammer, but a sob breaks through, choking all the words.
I wrap my arms tight around my body, holding myself together as best as I can, even though I seem to be falling apart anyway. Looking up, I don't expect to see an ounce of empathy shining in my father's face. And I'm right. Pure cold fury stares back at me.
“Can you even comprehend the shit you left me to clean up last night while you're off...,” his hand reaches forward, gesturing towards me, scoffing.
“Doing God knows what.” His teeth grit as he spits the words out as if they taste bad on his tongue.
“Here I am, trying to save this fucking shit show of an event from exploding through the press, and here you are running around, being a disgusting little slut.
I don't know why I expected anything else from you.”
Shame burns my face, but right now, all I can see is the head of a friend lying on the floor, blood oozing onto the hardwood. Telling my father would get me nowhere. No excuse would ever satisfy his anger. It never has.
“I'm sorry,” I sob. “I'm sorry.”
They are the only words I can find as tears and snot leak down my face, the words heaving out of my chest as I feel like I'm being cleaved apart.
He strides towards me; face twisted in a sneer at the way I'm falling apart.
“You're going to get dressed, pull your fucking self together and meet me in the office for a meeting. “Somehow, we will make this look like it wasn’t our fault, and you will do your job for once,” my father demands, his tone leaving no room for argument.
But I just can’t. How can I sit in an office and pretend to care about the death of a man like Malcolm, when someone I actually care about is dead?
Someone who didn’t deserve it doesn’t get to live to see another day. There is no way I can sit there and try to make the senator look good in the press.
“I can't,” I choke out. “I can't today. Please just give me one day.”
Pain explodes across my face as his hand whips out and connects with my cheek. My head whips to the side, and I gasp in shock. It’s not the first time he’s hit me, but it’s the hardest.
“You will do what you're fucking told!” My father screams in my face as I clutch my burning cheek with my hand.
He takes a step back, smoothing his suit jacket down with his hand, looking down at me once more, as if I am nothing but a speck of dust on his shoe.
His face transforms back into that of the calm businessman, features hardening before he adds, “If you're not in the office in an hour, you're fucking fired, and you will have nothing to do with the Dally name again. I’ll see to it that you are ruined.”
And he simply turns away and walks out as if he didn't just shatter my entire world.
My sobs dry up, the tears evaporating as if they were never real to begin with. The tremors leave my body in a slow retreat, one muscle at a time, until I’m standing perfectly still in front of the floor to ceiling windows.
The sun sits high in the sky, burning brightly. Blue light glimmers off the water below, bright-coloured umbrellas blooming along the footpaths, cafes spilling out onto the streets. People walk hand in hand; dogs tug at their leashes. Life carries on, colourful and bright and offensively normal.
And finally, I understand.
There is no lightness here. Only layers of darkness, weaved so deep in this city, that people are blind to it.
Those people down there might seem happy, but only because they are blissfully unaware of the poison seeping through this city.
It doesn’t matter whether it crawls up from the underground or pours down from glass offices and fancy skyscrapers.
It’s all doomed.
Something inside me goes quiet. Familiar numbness dousing my grief.
Stiffly, I turn and walk toward my bedroom.
I’m not in my body as the shower runs. Water hits my skin, slides down my spine, but I barely register it.
I scrub my hair on autopilot, rinse until my scalp burns, until there is nothing left but the mechanical act of it.
When I step out, wrapped in a pristine towel, the mirror reflects a stranger back at me.
I paint over the redness in my face with steady hands. Concealer. Foundation. The makeup brushes feel distant, the texture not registering against my skin. My silk blouse settles heavy on my shoulders; heels click onto my feet.
Nothing feels real. And maybe that’s a mercy. Because if it did, I’d have to acknowledge the truth.
That I set something in motion I can’t undo. That a man is dead because of me. That blood doesn’t wash off as easily as I thought it would.
The thought of Thomas rises unbidden, sharp and unwanted, stirring something uneasy in my stomach. I drown it immediately, shoving it down until it can’t breathe. These are thoughts that I won’t survive. And maybe that makes me a coward. So be it. It’s the only way I will survive this.
My fancy car waits for me in the parking lot, pristine just like I left it. I slide into it like I’m stepping into another version of myself. The city unfolds around me as I drive; glass towers, traffic lights, familiar streets. But I see it all differently now.
I drive to my job as if nothing has changed.