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I flicked on the apartment lights as I headed inside. The main living room still had the lingering smell of Dex’s cologne. The city lights were starting to flicker on outside of our ceiling to floor glass windows, the streets bustling below. The apartment had only two bedrooms, but it was a cosy size. The bedrooms were at opposite ends of the apartment, the living area in the centre, and on either side of that, the bathroom and kitchen. The kitchen was closest to my room, while the bathroom was next to Dex’s.
The kitchen had beautiful marble benches and a counter stove. Dex was a sous chef. Before our falling out, we spent so many hours in here just cooking and chatting. Well, he cooked and I watched in admiration. He had so much talent he deserved Michelin stars. You could tell he loved it, especially in the way he made his food. We used to eat together most days, but now he won’t cook for me. All I get is the insufferable smell of his delicious creations wafting through my bedroom door.
I hated to say it but my cooking skills were not great, and while I had always been a bit on the plus side, after losing my personal chef, I had resorted to eating a lot of take out to survive. I dreaded being in the kitchen with Dex, afraid of the way he might look at me. His silence hurt the most, so I spent my time in the apartment locked in my room eating garbage while he roamed the apartment freely and happily. As a result, my weight had crept up. I tried not to let it bother me but the truth was, it hurt and I was a mess.
Dropping my bag and mail down, I threw myself onto the bed and began scrolling through my UberEats to decide on dinner. I decided on sushi and placed the order, dropping the phone down on the comforter when I was finished. I had a bit of time before the food would be delivered so I headed to the bathroom to shower while Dex wasn’t home.
The water felt amazing on my skin. The hot droplets made my skin red but the heat loosened up my muscles. Gosh, I really needed a massage. But once again, trying to find someone locally to help me was a challenge.
I stood under the water for way too long, the promise of food finally getting me out as I panicked about having to get my sushi from the front door naked.
I dried myself off with my fluffy pink towel and slipped on a pair of leggings and a baggy shirt. I had just made it back to my room when a knock on the door grabbed my attention. My footsteps sounded softly on the padded carpet as I opened the door. An older teen with headphones on gave me a bored look as he handed me the bag of sushi without a word.
“Thanks,” I muttered, taking the bag and closing the door as he stalked off down the hallway, the music from his headphones playing so loudly that I could hear it.
The kitchen bench looked inviting but the thought that Dex could arrive back any minute tugged at me so I continued on to my bedroom. I was thankful that my bedroom had a nice decent sized window. I often perched myself on the sill, watching the city below. With my phone in hand, I pulled up my Spotify and put on a random playlist. Leaning the phone against the window, I started pulling my sushi out, breaking apart my chopsticks as I slowly ate while listening to my tunes.
Same day, same shit.
The weekend flew by in the same manner as always. I woke up, snuck downstairs to the coffee cart that lived outside our building, read books until lunch, ordered UberEats, read some more, ordered more UberEats, showered then went to bed. Rinse and fucking repeat.
Monday was always a shock to the system. Not only because I had to go to work, but because I had to interact with people. And in case you hadn’t cottoned on by now – I wasn’t anyone’s cup of tea at the moment.
No, I was more like a warm glass of piss. But not even Bear Grylls would want to give me the time of day.
I stood at my bedroom window watching the rain batter the glass panes with a sigh. I was going to have to walk in it. The firm was only 3 blocks away and by the time I ordered an Uber or flagged a taxi, and got through traffic, I would already be there.
My pencil skirt sat snugly around my thighs and I tugged at my pantyhose, trying to get them to sit comfortably. I’m not sure why in this day and age they still hadn’t invented a decent damn pair of non-ripping, sit-in-the-crotch-properly pair of pantyhose but it was better than having my bare legs exposed to the cold. I threw on my jacket over my blouse and grabbed my bag, quietly heading out of my bedroom. I made it as far as the living room before I came face to face with a shirtless Dex, who was sitting in his corner armchair, sipping on black coffee with a newspaper in his hand. Seriously, he was the only person our age I knew that read the news in paper form instead of Googling.
Dex looked up at me and I swallowed as his eyes quickly looked me up and down. A flicker of something crossed his face but he quickly turned his attention back to his newspaper, sipping on his coffee as if I wasn’t in the room.
Sighing, I walked past to the front door, grabbing my umbrella from the large vase where we kept them for rainy days. As I closed the door behind me, I threw one sneaky look back inside. My heart palpitated as I met Dex’s gaze before the door clicked shut.
It wasn’t fair. But try as I may, I could not get him to speak to me. I had tried countless times the past 6 months and just as I would move an inch, he’d step back a mile.
I squeaked as I stepped outside into the rain, desperately fumbling with the umbrella as I pushed it open. Thankfully, because of the rain, there wasn’t a line at the coffee cart, and I quickly grabbed my hazelnut latte before heading south. I could feel my feet slipping around in my ankle boots from the wet, and I resisted the urge to cringe. It was almost the equivalent of touching a piece of soggy food at the bottom of the sink when you were doing the dishes.
The rain provided some relief in that most people were driving to their jobs, so the footpath was relatively clear. I travelled the 3 blocks quite quickly, grateful to be out of the rain, when I stepped into the foyer of our building, the Grandese. My work – Tronic’s Financial and Accountancy – was on the 31st floor. We actually expanded over two floors, but I was on the entrance level. The floor above was for the tax freaks and senior leaders. I could imagine the intense conversations, drinking sessions, and banter that went on up there.
I crowded into the elevator, people throwing me looks but I wasn’t sure if it was just because of who I was, or because I was wet and they were trying to avoid touching me. Slowly, as we rose, more space opened up until I heard the ding and the familiar reception of floor 31 came into view.
“Excuse me,” I murmured, squeezing past a balding, little man. My boots clicked on the marble as I walked into the foyer, the elevator doors closing behind me. The bright green writing on the black backdrop behind the reception desk stood out, almost as much as the bitchy brunette manning the desk. Lisa was a few years younger than me, thin, pretty... had a chip on her shoulder because her daddy worked at a law firm a few floors above us. Her stark blue eyes looked me up and down, but her gaze was much more aggressive than Dex’s was.
“Morning, Harlow. Interesting attire,” she sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
I rolled my eyes, making no effort to hide it from her. “Lisa,” I greeted, striding past her to head down the corridor.
The office was structurally a fucking mess – almost as much as me. The back offices which lined the windows belonged to managers and important accountant folk, whilst the side rooms were the conference rooms. In the center of the floor were lots of cubicles – the pig pen as we called it – where us associates sat. We were the ones who did the brunt of the work, the dirty tasks. The boring, mundane shit that no one else wanted to do so it was passed down through the hierarchy until it landed on us – the bottom of the barrel. There were about 20 of us associates. We ranged from temps and worked our way up by years of experience. I had just become a second year – meaning I was slightly higher than the new oinkers, but not as high as the fifth years. Most of the fifth years were studying and about to become fully fledged accountants. Not me though, I was just good at crunching numbers and wanted to work in financials. I could happily reconcile and balance all day, but filing tax returns and dealing with business structures? No, thanks.
Reaching my desk in the middle of the pen, I eyed the pile of paperwork in my ‘in-tray’. It was going to be a long day. For some reason, the pile seemed bigger than usual. I put my bag down and flicked my fingers through the paperwork, trying to ascertain why I had been shit on, on this beautiful, wet morning. My eyebrows creased when I realized my pile consisted of two lots of bundled documents. The top bundle had my name on it in a sticky note, so I pulled it aside to survey the second.
I almost had to laugh at the sticky note. The second pile had accidentally been given to me, which was a relief in itself. But it was the owner who had my stomach in knots.
I picked up the bundle, giving myself a pep talk as I readied myself to find the tall, tanned God himself. As I turned from my desk, bundle in hand, I bumped into someone. Dark, soft curls you could run your hands through, light feathered stubble and Clark Kent glasses, I found myself face to face with the guy I had been madly in love with for the past year.
Bryson.
