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And when I do, I'll present Josh Crawley's head on a silver fucking platter.
3
WINTER
It was hard enough,facing the memories of what happened a few nights ago at the party. The humiliation. The heartbreak of failure. I cried all night and some of the next morning and questioned many times why I’m even alive anymore. Not my best moment, but then none of it has been.
The call I received from Susan down at the agency gave me hope. “I’d like to see you later this morning.” She wouldn’t say why, but she didn’t sound furious. I decided that was a good thing, then dragged myself to the shower so I’d feel like an actual human again.
The lack of hot water truly drove home my predicament.
I run a self-conscious hand over my hair after pulling off my knit hat, then take a seat across from her desk. The office is all decked out for the holiday, with red and golden shining garland hanging along the gray cubicle partitions. It doesn’t do much to cheer me up, but hopefully, it’ll give her a little holiday spirit.
When she heaves a sigh, lips pursed in disapproval, my heart sinks until I’m pretty sure it’s in my shoes. “I wish I had better news for you, but after spending two days looking for new placement, it’s clear that incident the other night works against you.”
“You're sure there's nothing else you can give me?”
“I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do. When the last job ended so badly, and I have the complaint from the hotel in your file, how can I assign you to another job?” She takes off her glasses to clean them on her corny Christmas sweater. “I really wish I could tell you otherwise.”
“It wasn't my fault!”
“Believe me. I listened to the four voicemails you left.”
I wince at the memory. Maybe it was unprofessional to spill my guts, but I had to tell somebody, and I wanted her to hear my side of the story.
“I'm sure it wasn't your fault,” she continues. “But that's how it goes, unfortunately. I don't usually say this to clients, but these rich bastards can ruin everything. Unfortunately, money talks. Management's always going to believe their version of things.”
So much for that, I guess. “I see. I don't know what I'm going to do now.”
“Have you ever considered donating plasma?” I don't know whether to laugh or cry as I shake my head. “They're always looking for donors, and they pay. In the meantime, I'll see if I can find you anything.”
Before I stand, she holds up a hand. “There was something else. Someone called here looking for you.”
“For me? Did they say why?”
“They wanted your name, address, phone number—whatever I’d give them.” When I gasp, she shakes her head. “It's our policy to never give away that information, but I did want to let you know.”
I hardly hear myself thanking her for her consideration before I stumble blindly from the office and out into the unforgiving cold of a late December day. It isn't just the temperature that has me shivering. I've never felt so entirely alone, not on my worst days. There was always hope somewhere for me to cling to.
Now, all I see around me is a world hell-bent on breaking me down. Susan was right. The rich bastards always find a way to come out on top. So what if that disgusting pig was hitting on me and making me uncomfortable? So what if there were already tears in my eyes when the manager found us? I'm not the one with money to my name, reputation, good social standing.
I'm the girl who will have to sell plasma to survive. I didn't have the heart to tell Susan I already did that this month.
Turning up the collar on my thin coat, I plunge my hands into the pockets, hunch my shoulders, and begin the walk home. The wind cuts straight through the worn-out polyester to the point where I might as well not wear one at all.
The sight of one elaborately decorated shop window after another reminds me of what a loser I am. It must be nice knowing you can afford gifts for your loved ones. It must be nice having loved ones. What happens to me now? What did I ever do to deserve this?
A cold gust of wind slams into me from behind, like a punch from Mother Nature herself. I duck between two buildings, hoping to escape the worst of it until it dies down again. The only thing that stops me from bursting into tears is knowing how much worse I'll feel with my face half-frozen.
Once the wind’s roar turns to a whisper, I step out and look across the street, where a man in a Santa suit catches my attention with his ringing bell and red donation bucket. He's not what steals the breath from my lungs, though.
It's the man standing near him, a man in a bulky black coat, the hood pulled low, concealing most of his face. All I see is his mouth, and something about the hard set of his lips sets off a warning bell in my head.
I almost forgot Susan said somebody was looking for me.
My mind immediately goes to the man from the party, the one who got me fired. Oh God, no. He didn't strike me as the type who would stalk a girl who turned him down, but who knows? With my luck, that's exactly who he is.
It isn't the cold that gets me moving so fast, my feet pounding the pavement, shoulders hunched against the wind, while I do my best to pretend I don't notice him watching me. I want so badly to look over my shoulder and see for sure, but I'm afraid I'll find him following me.
