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“Apparently so,” he responds, amused.
“I can’t even… just stay away from me.”
I throw the sandwich into the trash and storm off back to my desk.
By three o’clock, I’m starving. My stomach is making a symphony of noises that sound like a bunch of angry lions. The vending machine provides comfort, but a bag of crisps and a chocolate bar are a far cry from lunch.
I immerse myself in my work until the office starts to clear out for the evening. Knowing I’m going home to an empty apartment makes it hard to leave. For the past week, I have purposely stayed late until that nagging voice inside my head reminds me it was my decision. I chose to let go of a perfectly good man for reasons that still haunt me. Being alone is something I have to get used to, but after five years of having a man beside me every night, sleeping alone has become tough, and insomnia has reared its ugly head.
Tonight, I want to curl up with a good book and visit my fictional boyfriends. The kind of men that drive you crazy yet you can’t stop thinking about them when you’re nursing the book hangover from hell. It’s why our romance sector is our strongest performer.
I pack my things, and just as my monitor shuts down, there is muffled chatter coming from Dee’s desk. I make my way toward the lift, happy to put this awful day behind me. Entering the lift, I hit the button to take me to the ground level when a pair of hands push the door open. I look up and see Haden’s arm draped over Dee’s shoulder. As the doors close, I move as much as I can to the corner and count down the seconds until we hit the lobby. Her lighthearted giggles and a possible pinch on the ass as he whispers something in her ear are highly inappropriate in this confined space.
When the lobby greets us, I have already made my way to the front of the elevator, ready to flee this nauseating display of affection which I’m sure is for my benefit—well, on his part, anyway.
“Have a good night, Miss Malone,” he mutters under his breath.
I ignore him, walking as fast as I can and exiting the building into the cool night.
It doesn’t take me long to get home, even after I stop off to grab some Chinese takeout. As I open the door to my apartment, I quickly notice that Jason’s things are gone. Throwing my purse onto the sofa, I walk around and focus in on the empty mantelpiece where his precious baseball trophies once sat. Even the groove in our sofa has disappeared. The more I walk around, the deeper my heart sinks into my chest. By the time I reach the bedroom, my tears are splattering down my face, and I’m leaning against the wall, then my body slumps to the floor.
It’s like he’s been erased. Not a single trace of him is left in our apartment, and never did I expect how painful it would be. I had been through relationships before Jason but none so meaningful, and usually, the guy cheated on me or was such a douche that breaking up was an easy and logical decision.
Lost in a pool of tears, it’s obvious that I am in denial thinking I can walk away from a relationship with a man of five years who had only ever treated me with love and respect.
But what am I supposed to do now? The temptation to grab my phone and call him is difficult to overcome. I am stronger than this. I’ve spent enough of my life watching people go through the same thing. Why can’t I forget and move on? Sometimes, I wish Jason would have hurt me. Perhaps that would make this easier. Taint his perfect image so our love
could never be repaired.
At some point during the night, I peel myself off the floor, ignoring the cold Chinese box that sits on the table. I take a long, hot shower to erase the day from hell and climb into bed with a bowl of ice cream. Having not eaten lunch and skipped dinner, ice cream is the only thing that sounds good right now.
I stare at my phone once again and contemplate texting Jason. It could be an innocent text, a ‘Hey, how are you’ and not an I-think-we-made-a-huge-mistake kind of text. Just as I type my opening line, a notification flashes on the top of my screen, and I exit out of the current message.
The text is from ‘unknown,’ but I read it anyway.
Unknown: I was a little distracted this afternoon with my extracurricular activities so I forgot to tell you that you have a presentation at nine sharp. Have your manuscript review ready.
This has to be a joke, right? And who the fuck is this? Seconds later, it dawns on me which jerk would send me a text this late. I am emotionally drained, and the last thing I want to do is climb out of bed and prepare a presentation. My fingers, however, are typing at record speed, almost spitting back at him.
Me: You’ve got to be kidding me? It’s late and how on earth do you think I can do that between now and 9 am?
I wait for his response, praying I can just shut my eyes and pretend today never happened. In my dreams, Jason is also lying beside me, massaging my shoulders and reassuring me that everything will turn out just fine. My happy bubble bursts as another text appears.
Haden: How would I know? I’m just a Jerk, right?
The nerve of him. Reluctantly, I get out of bed and walk into the kitchen. Sitting at the table, I open my laptop and make myself a cup of coffee. Who the hell drinks coffee just before midnight. Time is lost on me until a constant beep startles me, forcing my eyes to open, only to wake up with my head lying on the table. Shit! I must have fallen asleep. I flick the mouse on my laptop, and thankfully, the final page I wrote appears. Quick to hit save, I glance at the time. I have less than twenty minutes to get out of here.
My OCD is causing a mental breakdown. Being disorganized is foreign to me, and all of a sudden, I’m panicked and showering in record speed. With no time to iron, I grab the only dress that is dry-cleaned from my closet and quickly put it on. No time for makeup or my hair to be styled, I rush out the door armed with my purse, laptop, and a bruised apple from my kitchen.
The bus is heaving as usual, and at each stop, I balance myself and poorly attempt getting some mascara and lipstick on. My hair doesn’t cooperate, so I shove it up into the neatest bun I can manage while I’m wedged between a man who has a serious case of body odor and a woman who stinks like garlic.
I rush into the building with only minutes to spare, dumping everything on my desk and racing to the boardroom with my USB stick. Surprisingly, it is empty when I look around. The owner of our publishing company, Mr. Sadler, strolls in and takes a seat at his usual spot. Great, the Jerk didn’t tell me Mr. Sadler would be sitting in on this presentation. There had been talk of late of an upcoming restructure which could land me a promotion, something I am yet to discuss with him. And there had also been a rumor floating around that Haden is to be promoted to the same role. Why on Earth would he get a promotion given the guy barely clocked in. If he wants to rival me for that position, he has no clue who he is messing with. My career is the only thing I have going for me right now.
“Good morning, Miss Malone,” he greets me with a genuine smile.
“Good morning, Mr. Sadler. Will it just be yourself today?”
The second I ask the question, the Jerk strolls in casually, taking a seat beside Mr. Sadler. Unlike Mr. Sadler, who came with a notebook and pen, Haden is empty-handed, staring directly at me with a pompous grin.
