Page 13 of Taking Control
Too broken, too weak, too beaten and too cowardly.
Michael is right, I am a fucking useless excuse for a woman. I am pathetic and stupid. Unlovable he said, but not to him. I’m starting to think that maybe he has a point. I’ve made horrendous choices, and this is my punishment, my sentence, my curse.
I arrive at work, climb the steps to the project room, wince as I sit down, breathe, move, it all hurts, and I bury myself in paperwork. I don’t make conversation, I keep my eyes down, my head bowed.
I finally do as I’m fucking told.
I can feel the tension coming from Tyler, but I can’t bring myself to try and ease his discomfort.
I feel Michael’s eyes glance at me every now and then, but I refuse to acknowledge him. I’m sure that will be wrong later, but I am in too much pain to care.
He’s won.
I’ve lost.
This is what he wanted.
This is the life that I chose.
There is no redo button for me.
If I could turn the clock back, rewind time, change my choices, then I absolutely would. I would never have gone on a date with him if I had known the evil that was waiting for me. What Tom did to me is nothing compared to what I am experiencing now. The hurt I felt from Tom’s betrayal with Carly is laughable. Yes, when he slept with her, it hurt, more so because she was my friend, but after suffering at the hands of Michael, I know what real hurt is. I know what self-destruction looks like, and I’m living it, one day at a time.
Maybe I do deserve this, just like Michael said I did.
I just need to behave, be better.
It’s all my fault. I can’t fight something that I caused. I made him angry, I made him doubt, and I’m learning the hard way.
My head is a mess, but I have no inclination to untangle the thoughts that race through my mind. I couldn’t answer the questions anyway.
We break for lunch at one o’clock.
I’m not hungry, so I make myself a cup of coffee from the machine in the corner of the room.
Tyler left as soon as he could, clearly wanting to escape the awful atmosphere. Can’t say that I blame him. If I were him, I would have done the same thing.
Michael left to go and get some lunch at the deli across the road. I don’t think he will rush back, he has no need to. He sees that I am done fighting him. He has no need to worry anymore about me leaving him.
I sit in silence, sipping my drink.
I blankly stare at the wall opposite, noticing a few dirty marks here and there. They become my focus for the next ten minutes, holding my attention. It’s better to focus on that than to keep replaying my life like a goddamn film. It’s better than berating myself, which I seem to do nonstop.
The door to the project room opens, but I don’t turn around to see who has entered. I still focus on the marks on the wall, until a voice breaks the silence and sparks a flutter of hope within me.
“Lucy.”
I turn slowly, afraid that a part of me is dreaming. I take in his face. He looks tired, worn-out, probably much the same as I look, to be honest. His brows are furrowed, concern etched onto every part of his face.
“Cal?” I whisper after a few minutes have ticked by. He nods his head at me and I allow myself to smile. It’s the first time that I have smiled in days, weeks even. “What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he moves towards me, spins my chair around so that I am facing him, and he pulls me towards him, his arms going around me, encasing me with his warmth. It doesn’t matter that my whole body is aching with pain from his touch. All that matters is that he is here, holding me, warming me from the inside out.
My heart is racing, and I am afraid that if I blink then he will disappear. His touch is familiar, comforting, wanted. I breathe in his scent, burying my face in his neck.
“Am I hallucinating?” I say, needing confirmation that I haven’t totally lost my mind.
“No, babe, I’m here,” he replies, and I allow the first few tears to fall down my cheeks.
