AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Suddenly, some of that rage returns. I’m mortified, completely embarrassed, and all I want to do is get out of here.
I turn my back on him, head spinning. I need to leave, go back to my empty apartment, talk to the cops, sort my shit out. Let Johnnie do what he has to do. I said my piece to HR already.
“Where are you going?” he snaps. “We need to fix that in there. Hey, Dara, get the fuck over here! Where the fuck are you going?!”
I don’t look back. I walk away, as fast as I can, too self-righteous to stop.
My body’s fried. My nerves are shot.
I reached my limit. Here I am, I’m finished, totally finished. I can’t keep fighting, not after the last couple of days.
Everything I had is gone, and now I’m going to lose this job for real, all because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I should find some solace in that: at least I went down swinging. At least I did the right thing. At least I didn’t take my abuser’s bribe.
Maybe, if I was smart, I could’ve gone to HR privately without Johnnie right there in the room and made sure justice was served.
Instead, I made myself look unstable and guaranteed that he’d retaliate against me.
Johnnie will go running to his uncle, and all his problems will vanish.
While I’ll be vilified. It’ll be his word against mine with the weight of his Patagonia Cronies backing him up and the air of respectability he manages to cling onto by way of association with his uncle. Meanwhile, I’m just some girl working here.
This isn’t fair. This is so stupid. I should stay, make sure Harry understands my accusations, make sure Johnnie doesn’t wiggle his way out of this somehow.
But I’ve lost too much and I can’t keep going.
I’m giving up. To hell with it.
I head back to my cubicle, defeated, at my lowest, pack my things, and get the hell out of there before they have the chance to make this hellish day even worse.
Chapter9
Dara
Six Weeks Later
I pukemy guts up for the third time this morning and that’s when I know my life is really over.
“Are you okay in there?” Kathryn frets outside of the door. “You don’t sound good.”
“I’m fine,” I croak, flushing my sick away. I lean back against the wall, a sheen of sweat on my forehead. “Really, I’m okay.”
Except I’m not.
Because for the last few days, I’ve been throwing up first thing every morning, like clockwork, and my period’s late.
Like two weeks late.
I’ve been deep in denial. So much has gone wrong this last month and a half that I couldn’t bring myself to admit what’s happening.
Except I must’ve known last week when I bought a batch of pregnancy tests on a whim. A little,just in casesort of contingency. Or so I thought at the time.
Now, it’s obvious another part of me was trying to send the main, stupid part of me a message.
I crawl over to the sink, open the cabinet, and fish the pregnancy tests out. I stare at the box, barely able to read the words through the tears filling my eyes. I don’t know how I ended up here in my best friend’s bathroom, throwing up, wondering if I might be knocked up, no money to my name, no apartment, barely any stuff, but here I am.
I didn’t think I could get any lower.
But apparently, I was wrong.
