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"They don't want to hear a pitch from you." Tyson's words were a steel rod to the gut.
I made a noise of confusion. We were in one of the glass conference rooms, the one closest to the art stations; our usual room was taken. I wished Tyson had kicked whoever it was out, because I couldn’t emote here without the rest of the office watching.
"I'm sorry, what?" I sat down but didn't kick my legs up on the table like I usually would. I wanted to do the opposite of stretching out. The fetal position wasn’t appropriate, so I opted for one knee up.
Tyson joined me, sitting in the seat next to me. His sitting was the world's worst sign. My throat was too tight for me to swallow.
"They aren't interested in hearing a pitch from you for the upcoming quarter," Tyson repeated in a soft tone. "I tried, Sage. So hard and often. They–"
"Why?" I think I knew. I knew and I couldn’t be mad at it, because she was the better choice.
"There are only so many projects they're willing to look at." Tyson sighed. "And because of what happened with your…."
"Mental health crisis," I filled in. "You can say it. It's not a bad word. I'm not going to have a tantrum or anything."
He gave me a look that made us both smile. Our amusement wasn’t long-lasting, but I appreciated its brief guest appearance.
“I’m a risk,” I said. “They found out about what I did, didn’t they?”
Tyson looked outside of the glass before answering. “No. I don’t think so, but your disappearance paired with the deletion of company files was concerning. They don’t want to bet on you on the off chance you bail when they need you most.”
I chewed on my bottom lip and nodded. There was no real excuse for what I’d done. The world had become so black and white, I didn’t see consequences anymore.
“I know. You’re right,” I said with a sigh. “And I’m sorry for that, for the situation it put you in, Tyson. I can never thank you enough. I know I’ve been difficult to work with, but I’m going to get better.”
He smiled. “I know, and I appreciate it, but none of your apologies will change their minds. If you want to know what I think…”
I nodded earnestly. “Of course I do. I understand they’re not going to regain faith in me overnight. I’m willing to work my way up again.”
A flash of sadness crossed his face. “I don’t think they’re going to want something from you, Sage. You’ve been here for almost a decade, grunt work and guest spots. You’ve proven your worth, but they don’t want to hear it. Now, with your break as fuel, they have enough of an excuse for another decade of putting off working with you. They like the stuff you produce, but they are not a fan of you and how you produce it. It’s a politics game, and you’re not a politician.”
I was all hollowed out inside. “Okay; what am I supposed to do with that?”
“I’m saying this as a friend,” Tyson explained in a gentle voice. “Not as your editor. If I was just your editor, I’d want you to stay with me until both of us were ready for retirement. As your friend, I want you to have everything you deserve.”
My chest ached with the care in his tone. I’d been a bitch to him these past few months, but he’d never stopped trying, never stopped reaching. I needed to be better. For him, for my family, for Noah. For me.
I would be better for me.
“You need to leave,” he said. “I hope you win Inkmic’s competition, but if you don’t and you stay, nothing’s going to change. That rut you got in before is going to come back with or without Leisah. You’re the kind of artist who needs space to grow. You stopped growing here ages ago.”
“Leave,” I repeated in a whisper. Such a simple word. Such a daunting task.
“Leave,” Tyson confirmed.
Noah was fidgeting when I came back. I needed a moment to think, so I only smiled at her before getting back to work.
I used to be the queen of planning. I could figure out any problem when given enough time. The problem-solving worked better on paper, but even after I pulled out a notebook and tried to write a list of steps, my brain wouldn’t compute. I dug my nails into my palm when I realized I was numb again—numb like I’d been that day before I set fire to my life.
“Hey,” Noah’s voice pulled me out of my spiral.
I took a deep breath, hoping my panic wasn’t noticeable as I turned to her. “Yeah?”
“Can we talk about it?” Her eyes were rounder than usual. She was scared to approach me; I hated myself for it, because I knew I’d helped make her hesitant to talk to me in the past.
“I feel like I won't be able to think straight or do anything right today if we don’t talk about it,” she rambled.
“Just give me a bit, Pastel?" I asked softly. "I need time to think and…figure out my next move."
