Page 17 of Reluctantly You

It meows at me loudly and then turns and shows me its butt with a flick of its crooked tail.

“Fucker,” I murmur as I grab a protein bar and a banana from the kitchen before picking my gym bag off the floor. I may have nothing left, but I still have my body. I guess when I’m old and gray, alone and with no one, I’ll still be fit.

I give a weary sigh as I lock up and walk to my car, the sky overcast in June. Pretty soon the mornings will be warm and overbearing. Perhaps by then I won’t even have a job. Then I canjust stay inside next to the air conditioner and watch Bob Ross videos all day.

Or maybe take a painting class, steeping myself in colors.

I shake my head at the intrusive thought, not wanting to even consider it. Instead, I just focus on driving, listening to the radio as I make my way to work.

When I get there, I head straight for my office. I don’t make eye contact with anyone, although I can feel their stares. They’re still whispering about what happened, their lives so small and boring that they have nothing else to focus on. I close my door roughly and sink into my seat, leaning my head back and rubbing at my tired eyes.

My phone buzzes and I fumble with it, pulling it from my pocket and staring at the name on the phone.

Mom.

Oh shit. If I answer, what the fuck do I say? I wanted to talk to her a week ago and she didn’t answer, didn’t come to the door, and now she decides to call? While I’m at work, where people could see me break down?

Fuck this. My whole life is a lie because of her.

I disconnect the call on the third ring, not wanting to speak to her. She knows I know what she did. But I don’t want to communicate with that traitor. The liar.

I pull up her contact information and with a trembling finger, I block her. For now. I don’t want to talk to her today. Not tomorrow. Maybe not ever.

Bitch.

She knew my entire life who I was, and she said nothing. She cared more about her peace and happiness than mine.

I pick up a pen and click it a few times, watching the sharp point flick out. Jade hues make their way into my brain, like long stalks of grass waving in the wind.

I bring that sharp point toward my wrist and press it into my skin. Hard. A sting of pain flares slightly, those hues darken as I continue to press, but it’s not enough. So I dig it in deeper. My teeth grit when it almost breaks the skin, but before I can do any damage, a knock on the door has me dropping the pen onto the ground with a clatter.

“Come in,” I say, my breathing slightly labored.

The door opens and I see Shiloh standing there. My eyes narrow slightly at the interruption, and I smooth my tie down, pretending I wasn’t about to do what I had attempted to do.

“Yeah?”

“Gideon would like to see you.”

“I’m busy,” I reply and then reach down and pick the pen up, banging my head slightly as I go. A curse slips from my lips as I rub my head with my hand.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “Still not going to meet with him.”

Shiloh blinks at me, obviously uncertain of what to do now. I’m sure no one says no to Gideon. But I do because I don’t give a fuck.

I click the pen in my hand a few times, ignoring Shiloh and then turning on my computer.

“Mitch,” he says softly. “You don’t want to do this. Really.”

“I sure as fuck do,” I murmur back, still not meeting his gaze.

He hesitates a moment before nodding and then disappearing, closing the door behind him. I stab my finger on the mouse, the computer screen blinking to life as I pull up my calendar.

Today, I have several meetings I need to attend, the first one starting in a few minutes. I can do that—would prefer it to meeting with Gideon fucking Masters. I log on and pull out my phone, scrolling through cat beds for that fucker in my house.

Maybe if I get it somewhere to sleep, then it won’t sleep on my back all night. I pick a cheap one, something small and easy to throw out when I’m done with it.

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