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I hiss, aware that I'm exploiting a mother's desperate situation. But that's life. If you want to achieve your goals, sometimes you have to step on others or risk losing everything. We all have to choose, and I can't afford to lose anything anymore.
“You asked for it. You discarded me so easily, like a rotten tooth, just when you needed me more than I needed you.”
“Fine. You can have your job back,” she rummages through her desk drawer and takes out an envelope with my name on it.
I step closer to her desk, feeling so freaking empowered. Is this how Masse feels when he knows he can have whatever he wants because he dares to snatch what he believes is rightfully his instead of asking politely?
Fuck! Why am I thinking about that idiot now, and worse yet, why am I treating him as if he's a role model to emulate?
“It's £100 short. Do you really have the audacity to rip me off, even in this situation where you're in a tight spot, deeply stuck with your carrot up your ass?” My eyebrows knit in the middle of my forehead, and I toss the envelope in disgust.
“Did this break erase any respect you had for your superiors?” Ford holds her ground, and this intrigues me.
“Superior? A fucking title doesn't make you superior in any way. You're only there because of nepotism, and while you fill your pockets with no remorse, you dare steal from people who work honestly for shit pays. You don't deserve my respect, Suzane!” I lean against her desk and motion towards the envelope of money.
Ford listens to me in silence, a vein pulsating on her temple. She's so wounded in her pride that she'd rather drop dead right now than consider my opinion, which is entirely justified.
“We're going through tough times,” she shakes her head and opens her wallet, pulling out my missing hundred. “You have to fight for your place. Keep it confidential,” she puts the money in the envelope. I'm not sure if her comment holds admiration for me or if she's just trying to save face.
“I'm also expecting a raise,” I grab the envelope and put it in my backpack. “Rest assured, everything will remain confidential, depending on your generosity.” I remain equally serious and cold, waiting for a response.
“Fine,” I see her sighing over my shoulder, and I swiftly turn the doorknob, stepping out into the nursing home hallway, my heart racing with an odd feeling. “What's happened to you since you left?”
“Life, that's what happened. I've given up crawling around; now I'm standing tall, determined to carve my path forward. Catch you next Monday, boss. There are a few matters I need to sort out, and I don't recall ever taking a break before. It's time, I think. Now, with all due respect, I'm leaving,” I motion towards the door with a hint of irony, refraining from expressing my gratitude.
“Just get out of my office!” Ford trembles.
“Gladly,” I give a casual sailor salute and exit the hallway.
I look at my trembling hands; it's a subtle quiver.
Adrenaline rushes beneath my skin in thrilling waves. I've just blackmailed someone, and not just anyone, but the notorious Ford, known for her high expectations of her employees, so his sense of power, of being in control, feels better than any drug imaginable.
Besides sex, my stubborn inner voice adds, reminding me of who was responsible for the strongest orgasms of my life.
Manasseh already stained me with what’s inside him, and I don't just mean the exchange of fluids, but also his pettiness.
I'm scared of myself, but power grants me security I don't want to let go of.
I sigh, unable to deny myself the satisfaction of what I gained through blackmail, but also unable to shake off the sense of concern awakened by the still rational part of me.
“Keep fighting, Becca!” I slap my face loudly, and it stings.
“How about we fight our way towards the rooms of our friends who can't wait to see you?” Sidney appears out of nowhere, and my heart almost jumps out of my chest as it races through the nursing home corridors.
“Fucking hell, Sid! Do you want me to have a heart attack?” I put my hand on my chest and breathe heavily.
“I thought you were talking to me,” the girl complains and grabs my arm. “Keep fighting!” she encourages me, and I laugh.
If I want to be capable of fighting, I need to change. I take a deep breath and head towards the halls of my friends, who will always remind me a little of the Becca from before Manasseh.
?? ?????? ??
I leave the nursing home late, with a much more pleasant feeling in my chest, after chatting with my elderly friends until noon. When I arrive at the apartment, my things are still there, stored in boxes. After talking to Tita, I decided that my things will stay with her until I find the future owner and pay the rent. However, when I go outside and try to contact him, hoping someone will answer, I find that his phone is turned off, and it goes to voicemail. I decide to leave him a voicemail, asking whoever gets the apartment to call me back.
With my coffee from the 5th next to me, an Irish coffee with hot milk, and a cigarette between my lips, sitting on the first block of stairs, I watch the fine rain and reflect on the future to the tune of Enrique's song, El Perdedor. It saddens me, and I press the button on my headphones for the next song, a slow version ofAdele's All I Ask. I cried so much to this song when I woke up alone, when all the words lost meaning, and his actions stabbed me in the chest and tore out my heart, then stomped on it. I grit my teeth; it hurts, but I can't cry anymore. I press next again. The Vengeful One by Disturbed, my favorite band. I close my eyes and inhale the scent of the damp earth, and the energetic chords change my mood and make me feel as I should, vengeful.
Forgive me, Father, for I cannot forgive, and guide me towards the light, but not now, later, after I pass through the valley of death to trample upon every soul that dared to harm us.
