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For a few seconds I sat there, totally frozen. It wasn’t a question — it was more of a statement than anything else. Something cold stole over me, sapping my strength and energy.
Brooke? You there?
I was shocked. Pissed. A little bit frightened.
How the hell did you know where I was?
A few long seconds dragged by. Then:
A little bird told me.
I shook my head, rubbing at my temples. I could feel a migraine coming on. The first one in a long while.
No, seriously. A friend of mine works there. He saw you on campus.
My shoulders let go, and I relaxed a tiny bit. It was plausible. It made sense… sort of.
He said you were over by faculty housing. You know someone there?
Again, it seemed I was destined to do everything today except write my article. And now here I was, stuck again. Going back and forth with my weirdo of an ex-boyfriend, over absolutely nothing.
Chris, piss off. I’m trying to write.
I closed the chat window, thinking that would be the end of it. But my computer chimed again. The little flag started waving.
Oh for fuck’s sake.
I pushed my keyboard away temporarily and clicked the blinking icon.
I heard you were there late. Very late.
Really? Was he being serious? I couldn’t believe it.
Fuck you Chris! Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you
I kept typing, kept going, until there were nearly two full lines of ‘fuck yous’ scrawled across my screen. I punched the SEND button, then kicked back in my chair and threw open one of my desk drawers. The Advil bottle stared back at me innocuously, as if to claim it had nothing to do with the whole thing.
Not very nice, Brooke. Abusive, almost.
I popped two Advil, hesitated, then shook out a third one. I was about ready to pull my hair out. Ready to kick my monitor across the room.
Especially to someone who was only asking about your weekend.
God, it was so enraging! He knew exactly how to get under my skin. The worst part was that I let him. That I actually humored him, when I should’ve been wholly ignoring him.
I’ll let you go, it sounds like you’re in a bad mood. Sorry your weekend didn’t work out for you.
I was ready to kill him. To run screaming from my office, cross the building, and throttle him with both hands. But that’s the funny part. It was exactly what he wanted.
Next weekend we should hook up, Brooke. Who knows? Maybe we can start having fun again. We could--
I shoved off from my desk. Flew through the door to my office, along the hallway, and down the stairs. I considered going to Chloe. Or maybe even human resources. What he was doing was harassment, wasn’t it? It was infuriating and distracting and keeping me from my work.
He’ll point to the conversation, the little voice in my head told me, and say he was only asking about your weekend. He’ll say that you freaked out for no reason. That you told him to piss off, then cursed him out.
Shit. I could see the whole thing unfolding, word for word, line for line. I’d be accused of blowing things way out of proportion. Chloe would be annoyed at the both of us. She’d write it off as a “lovers’ spat”, and Chris would tell his sister that I was only frustrated because I still harbored feelings for him.
Fuuuuuck!
