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Adrenaline, embarrassment, the fear of having to sit there day after day staring at his office door, the realization that he and his wife would be at company Christmas parties and summer picnics, and the insane, swelling desire to throw something at his stupid, perfect head all bubbled over to bring me to the conclusion that I most certainly could quit, I should quit, and I was quitting.
“We’re good here,” I said, my voice laced with ice. It felt so satisfying to see the look of shocked confusion on his fuckwit face that I nearly pulled my phone out to take a picture. “How’s it feel? Y’know what, don’t answer that. Welcome to Doyle Medical Group and good luck with your new position, David. I have a feeling you’ll need it.”
I didn’t stick around to hear whatever he’d say once he untied his tongue. I didn’t have to — in that moment, I felt free. Free of my dead-end job, free of that dead-end town, and free of that dead-end love, David Sorrin.
Fate may be a cruel, vindictive little bitch sometimes, but karma always had my back.
It just turned out that karma’s support only lasted until I got into my car. The panic set in then, the gripping, squeezing, tugging, nagging feeling that I’d done something terrible — and I had. What the hell was I going to do without a job? Hadn’t I just told Kylie I couldn’t quit because there were no other jobs around here? She already wanted me to get my own place, and while I had more than enough money to tide me over, I wasn’t the fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of woman. I needed a plan, I needed structure.
Discipline.
And I’d just thrown all of that out the window for a chance to stick it to my ex-fiancé.
Oh, fuck. God damnit, Zepp, what the hell did you just do!
Breathing became harder as I started to drive. I drove past the diner where we’d had our first date, the dress shop where I’d picked out the floofy white nightmare I should’ve worn on the day that never came, the bar where I’d tried to move on by getting under someone else.
Memories everywhere.
Reminders everywhere.
David fucking Sorrin everywhere.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d made it this far — I’d quit, I’d thrown his own bullshit, cop-out words back at him and walked out. Why not make it a little further?
Just keep going.
My lungs heaved as I tried to suck in air to clear my head and talk myself out of what I was about to do, but the moment I remembered I kept a go-bag in my trunk for emergencies, it was over. I drove straight past my house — Kylie’s house — and headed for the highway.
I didn’t know where I was going, what I was doing, or what in the deep, burning hell was possessing me, but I knew it was time to go.
It was time to leave Point Isly and David fucking Sorrin behind.
