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Olivia
“We’re sorry, Olivia. We’re going to have to let you go.”
My heart plummets. I feel as if the rug’s been ripped from beneath my feet. Those werenotthe words I expected to hear when I walked into my boss’ office less than two minutes ago. That’s all the time it took for the dream job I’ve loved and worked tirelessly for the past two years to be taken from me. Why is this happening? What did I do?
“I’m really sorry,” Lacey, my boss, continues. “Like I said, we have to let a few people go due to budget cuts. It’s nothing you did or didn’t do. You just haven’t worked here as long as everyone else, and I can’t justify laying someone off who has more experience. But don’t worry, I’ll write you a glowing recommendation.”
Don’t worry?Did she really just say that?
Fighting back tears, I clear my throat. “Thanks.”
Lacey gives me a sad smile as she sits on the edge of her desk in front of me. “I didn’t want to do this, but it’s the way things worked out. I’m truly sorry, Olivia.”
“I—I just don’t know what I’m doing to do.” Unable to hold the tears back any longer, the dam breaks, and I begin crying.
After cleaning out my desk, I leave. It’s only ten in the morning, but I call my best friend Brianne who’s off work today, and she meets me at our local hangout.
Three hours later, after wallowing in my misery with Brianne by my side, I decide to go home. I was relieved Brianne was available to meet with me. My boyfriend Clint hasn’t answered any of my texts. However, that’s not unusual. He’s a police officer, and he’s often too busy to even look at his personal phone until he clocks out.
However, when I get home and find his car in our driveway, I find itveryunusual. Why is he home now? He doesn’t get off work for a few more hours. Maybe he’s sick? He would’ve called me if that was the case, though, and then he would’ve seen the texts I sent him.
I park my car, then head inside the house. It’s quiet, as if no one is home. He’s not in the living room or kitchen, which means he must be in our bedroom. Maybe he actually is sick?
Then I hear a thud. It sounds as if it came from our room, so I start down the hall.
But then I stop in my tracks.
“Yeah, baby, take it.” I hear Clint’s voice as a steady pounding starts. I know that sound.
It’s the sound our bed makes when we’re having sex.
What the fuck is going on?
“Oh, Clint! Harder!” A female’s voice calls out, and for the second time today, I feel as if
my world has been turned upside down.
“What the fuck,” I mutter as I storm down the hall. Our bedroom door is wide open, and the scene playing out in front of me leaves me frozen.
Clint, my boyfriend for the past five years, whom I’ve lived with for the past two, is fucking some other woman––on our bed.
“What the fuck!” I shriek, scaring both Clint and his little skank. He pulls out of her, shocked to see me, while she tries to cover her breasts and pussy as she springs off the bed, startled by my presence.
“Olivia––what are you doing home?” Clint stammers, daring to step toward me.
Tears spring to my eyes, and I lose it. “Is that all you can fucking say?” I scream, and he flinches, stopping in his tracks. “This isourhome, and you’re fucking some other woman onour bed!”
As the woman scrambles to get dressed, she says, “I didn’t know he was married.”
“I’m not––” Clint says, but I cut him off.
“We’re not fucking married, but we live together. Get the fuck out of our house!”
“Baby, can’t we talk––”
“No!” I can’t look at him anymore. I turn and head back down the hall to the living room.
“Olivia! Wait!” Clint calls as I wipe my eyes and try to make sense of what I just saw.
