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“I knew it,” she mutters, smirking.
“But that was so long ago. Why would he have waited until now to say something?”
“Maybe he just found out.”
“I can't imagine anybody on the team going straight to him. You know? Like, why not go to one of the guys? Why not come to me?”
Her face falls. “That makes sense. I wish I had the answers for you.”
“So do I.”
“It could be he was only going on a hunch…”
She’s almost as bad as Ryder. “Oh, come on. You're killing me,” I groan as I touch my forehead to the counter.
“I’m sorry, I'm sorry. I'm only making it worse.”
“It’s not like I haven’t been asking myself the same thing. What if he was only guessing, and I confirmed it? What if I’d denied it from the beginning?”
“That would suck.”
“Just a little, yeah.” I lift my head, sighing. “No matter how I look at it, the result is the same. I’m screwed.”
“I wonder what would happen if you went in tomorrow.”
“I wonder what would happen if I stick a knife in a wall socket.”
“Come on, be serious.”
“I am being serious. I know exactly what would happen. He would throw me out. Everybody would know by the time I left.”
“You don't know that for sure. You could go in there, and things could be weird and awkward, but they could eventually calm down.”
No way. He’d always remember, and so would I. I’d never get over the awkwardness.”
“Sometimes, work is awkward and uncomfortable. People can work together really well, but that doesn't necessarily mean they have to respect or even like each other very much. Believe me, I know. You should have seen some of the characters I had to skate with back in the day.”
I see her point, but I still can't imagine facing him every day, knowing how he feels. Maybe it makes me a coward, runningand hiding the way I have. Here I am, telling myself I've removed myself from the equation because it's what people with character and principles do when they know they're wrong. Now I'm starting to wonder if I should have stuck around and tried to fight for my job. There's just no telling the right way to go. “I feel like I'm wandering around in the dark, flailing desperately.”
“I can only imagine. But you're not alone. And believe me,” she adds, leaning in and hitting me with a stern look. “I understand the impulse to shut the door and close out the world. But you aren't alone. There are people who care about you and want to help you through this.”
“You're only saying that because you love my apple pie.”
She picks up her fork, shrugging. “Listen, I'm not saying that's the entire reason... but it doesn't hurt.”
9
HARLOW
Sometimes, you hit a wall without realizing you did. That's usually how it is for me. I'll never know until it's too late that I've pushed too hard or that I've run out of steam. It can come as a complete shock, out of the blue.
Other times, I can feel every single brick of that wall as I smash my face against it.
I would say this situation falls under the latter category.
My first week was all about coping. Avoidance, to be precise. If I kept working hard enough, I could outrun my anxiety. At least, that's what I thought. You would think a doctor would know better. Like I would be able to diagnose myself in the moment rather than looking back days later and shaking my head at the manic fit I went through. Let's face it, though. I wasn't exactly in the mood to dissect my motivation. I'm still not.
But there's really not much else to do, since I can't muster up the energy to do more than get out of bed and walk down the hall to the bathroom, then come back. Occasionally I have to go downstairs to get something to eat or drink, but I find it helpfulto grab more than what I need so those trips are few and far between. Instead of bringing up a handful of crackers or a small bowl of chips, I'll bring the entire bag. Instead of a single cup of tea, I'll bring the whole teapot.
