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An image of a shirtless Dominik Lewis skating on ice.
What the hell?!
Did that name seriously just pop into my head?
Lunging forward, I sit up, and Greg instantly backs away. Running my hands through my hair, I focus all my energy on erasing that last thought from my mind. But the harder I try, the more I think about him.
“What’s wrong?” Greg asks, pulling me from my disturbing thoughts.
“I don’t know. I suddenly don’t feel so good,” I lie.
He smirks. “You just need some dick. Boss’s orders.”
I’d rather eat tuna, and I loathe tuna.
Reaching over to his bedside table, he pulls open the drawer to grab a condom. Greg is such a stupid shithead; instead of offering to make me feel better, he just wants to make sure he has the chance to come before I bail. I would feel like a total piece of trash if this was the first time this has happened to me, but sadly, it isn’t. I sure know how to pick ‘em.
Unfortunately for boss man here, I have exactly zero fucks to give and cannot be bothered to put up with a pity fuck session tonight.
Quickly slipping off the bed, I walk around the dim room in search of my discarded pieces of clothing. I left my bachelor apartment so quickly, I didn’t even bother changing out of my sweatpants and Sum 41 T-shirt.
“What are you doing? I just grabbed a condom.”
“I’m going to head home. I feel like I’m going to be sick.” I’ve never gotten dressed so fast in my entire life. Now, where are my shoes?
“Seriously?” He sounds pissed, but too bad, I don’t care.
“Rain check?” Finally spotting one shoe by the door, I nearly sprint out of his room. I don’t even bother waiting for a response. My skin feels cold and my stomach churns with unease as I pad down the dark hallway.
I wasn’t lying about feeling sick. Because I am sick of being this person. I’m twenty-five, and I have nothing to show for it. I haven’t had a promotion at work in years, I’m single, barely make enough to support myself and pay for my dinky apartment, which isn’t even close to my shitty office. My parents hate me and pretend I don’t exist. None of my friends truly know the real me, because I’m too scared to get close to anyone. Why bother when they all eventually leave?
My brother is the only person in this world who actually loves me, and he lives in New York City, which is hundreds of miles away. And he would absolutely murder me if he knew I was having a sexual relationship with my boss who happens to be incredibly power hungry. Greg wouldn’t even hesitate to bury me if the opportunity ever presented itself.
I knew all this before sleeping with him, and I did it anyway.
“You’re seriously just going to leave? Do you want to stay for a bit? See if you start to feel better?” Greg’s voice screeches from behind me.
Painting on my usual docile smile, I swallow down the large knot in my throat as I turn to face him. He’s standing in front of me, butt naked and still holding the condom. Pursing my lips, I glance up at his face.
“I don’t think so, unless you want me to puke all over your sheets. See you tomorrow.”
“You better not call in sick,” Greg mutters under his breath right as I turn to open the door.
Pretending I didn’t hear him, I slip out, and the door clicks shut, the sound echoing down the concrete hallway.
Jackass.
Forcing the tension to roll off my shoulders, I don’t bother waiting for the elevators. Instead, I climb down the stairway. Greg lives in a low-rise apartment, and I can use the cardio to sift through my thoughts. If there is one thing I’m great at, it’s pretending like I don’t give a shit, and I’ll keep telling myself that until it’s the only voice in my head.
Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to slip away into nothingness. To vanish without a trace, leaving everything behind. The thought brings me comfort, and it’s times like these when I wonder what is actually stopping me. Would anyone even miss me? How much time would pass before anyone realized I was gone? Sammy would notice and then maybe my brother?
These thoughts dissipate as swiftly as they emerge because, regardless of my readiness, tomorrow inevitably arrives. This feeling, as crappy as it is, will fade away too. Nothing ever remains permanent; everything eventually passes.
I’ll be okay.
Tomorrow, I’ll do the right thing and end it with Greg. Tell him we should go back to a professional relationship and never speak of this again. All will return to the way it was. I’ll continue to do his job for him, securing clients and networking with people in the industry to get him more business, and he’ll continue dicking around in his office like he always does.
Boston’s frigid, January air smacks me right in the face, making me shudder all over as I pick up the pace toward my car. Slamming my door shut, I don’t bother glancing up at Greg’s window even though I want to. Not sure why; it’s not like I care—I’m the one who ran out. The engine struggles to turn on for two terribly long seconds, but then the time flashes red, letting me know it’s past three in the morning. Grunting audibly, I rest my forehead on the cold, plastic steering wheel, knowing tomorrow is going to be an extra-long day.
