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“I’m still here, alive and well. I’m sorry things went as they did.” I make a big deal of checking the time on the microwave before anybody starts demanding specifics on what happened that night. It’s been weeks, for God’s sake, only Todd can’t seem to let it go. “I need to get back to my desk.”
I'm starting to think Todd might have a tiny crush on me, which is a shame. Maybe if I didn't know Callum existed, things would be different. That’s a little difficult, since he does exist, and therefore no other man will ever measure up.
It's like living a double life sometimes. Going through my days as an average twenty-two-year-old working her first real, grown-up job while spending her nights as Callum Torrio's slut. It’s precisely how I feel today. I'm more than a little ashamed of how easy it was for him to twist things around until he had the upper hand, bending me to his will.
Out of all the places I feel like being today, seated at my desk with an inbox full of spreadsheets to review has to be at the bottom. I might be here physically, but mentally I'm on another planet. Nothing could matter less than whether somebody put a decimal point in the wrong place or didn't use the correct formula to calculate interest.
In my head, I’m in Callum’s house. Crawling on my hands and knees. Watching in the bathroom mirror while he fucks me hard enough to hurt me, maybe not physically but emotionally. Inside, in my chest where my heart is, he has peeled back the layers, refusing to let me see anything except him and me. It's amazing I can still walk after what he did to me last night.
My cheeks flush every time I think about it, meaning I've sat here all day looking like I have a sunburn. I can't get him out of my head, but since when is that anything new? It's times like this I wish I knew the magic spell that would break me free of his grasp.
At the same time, to be free of him would destroy me.
I would have a challenging enough time staying awake and alert if I wasn't already fighting for my life after a night spent tossing and turning. I worried Dad would be waiting for me when I got home. Thankfully, however, he was already in bed.
At least his bedroom door was closed, though a light shone from underneath telling me he was inside. I figured it was better to stay quiet and tiptoe through getting dressed for bed rather than disturb him. His night with Ken must have been an absolute rager if he didn't have it in him to fling the door open and demand a full play-by-play of the evening.
Instead of being tortured by his questions, I tortured myself for hours, wrestling with a sense of betrayal. What would Mom think if she knew I just got home from fucking a man not only old enough to be my father but also the man Dad blames for her death? What kind of person does it make me that I'm willing to have sex with the man, knowing how much Dad hates him?
I can't spend the rest of my life living like this. Forever torn between wanting Callum and feeling like I'm being disloyal to my parents. It's not that I don’t believe Dad’s theory about how Mom died—I'm willing to consider a lot of things, but seeing how far off the rails he seems to have gone, I can't help wondering how much of it is in his head.
No matter what, he believes it, and that’s bad enough. It involves everything he does now, along with the certainty of Callum’s guilt. Until I find a way to prove he's wrong, he will never accept the two of us together. How am I supposed to be happy if it means cutting him out of my life, which I would probably have to do? How am I supposed to choose between the man I love and my father?
By the time I fell asleep, one thing was clear: I had to prove he was wrong, which meant figuring out how much of what he was saying was true and how much was what he wanted to believe.
Now that I’m here, all I can do is stare blankly and wonder where the hell I should start.
“Are you okay?”
My head snaps up at the sound of Stephanie's voice. She’s standing at the entry to my cubicle, leaning against the wall with her arms folded. I can’t tell if she’s concerned or judging me. “Yeah, why?”
“For one thing, I've been standing here for a solid minute, and all you did was stare at your screen without moving. Second, you seem spacey.”
