Page 23 of The Reluctant Hero

In a fit of insanity, I wander out to Sarah's desk and steal some of her highlighters to see how far I can go. No one ever looks at this stuff. I can do what I want. The petty vandalism makes my mood go up.

I start highlighting any of the familiar names when I see them. By the end of the day, I’ve got glowing ink all over my fingertips and no work to show for it. Oops. With the door closed, no one has any idea what I’m doing in here so I have that going for me.

I shove the pages into one big pile and put it into one of the folders before I leave. Then I curse myself all the way home for wasting an entire day on useless crap. Although, I am tempted to peek at all the other names so I can locate more of them and continue the highlighting chaos. How many more can I find?

I don’t want to stop until those highlighters are empty and I can put them back on Sarah’s desk. There is nothing better than watching her realize all her fancy highlighters are dry as dust on the inside. Petty vengeance gives me the warm fuzzies inside.

I stop at the mailbox with a sigh and open it. My stomach drops when I see the smaller envelope.

How many damn women could he have been with over six years? So far he’s ranking about one a year. With this new one, I can add at least one more.

Why am I getting these? And the names? Couldn’t whoever this is just type out what they’re trying to tell me? I get it. Loser is a cheating jackass. What do the names have to do with it?

I get inside my apartment and stare at it as I drop my purse and keys on the floor by the door.

I shouldn’t open it. I know that. Nothing comes from it but the agony of realizing how stupid I was and the soul-crushing knowledge that I’m not half as attractive as any of the women he’s been with.

Like an idiot, I open the envelope and look inside. Shock slaps me in the face. This time, I’m ready to rip the pictures into tiny pieces. I recognize this woman.

Janine. With her face screwed up in a disgusting display of pleasure while she gets plowed from behind. How could any man look at that and think it’s hot?

And she’s trying to get me out there to meet people and regain my self-confidence? If she thinks she’s got a shot of being wifey Blake the second more power to her. Leave me the fuck out of it.

I flip each photo on the floor as I go. Iforcemyself to look. To see her as she really is for once. She’s hiding just as much as I am. Except I’m hiding rage, and she’s hiding being a ragingslut.

I stack them all together and toss them into the drawer with a lot of unnecessary force.

I thought we were friends—a lot like Annette. That means nothing to these women. I wonder if I’ll get pictures of Beth or Jessie next. It’s like he went through my phone contacts for hook-ups.

It’s another stab in the back I didn’t see coming.

After a lot of pacing, crying, and cursing, I find a crumpled receipt in my purse and write my own little note for the mailbox mystery fucker.

“Go fuck yourself.”

I look at my shaky writing with pride and snatch the takeout food magnet off the fridge that the previous tenant left. I’ve never ordered any because it’s too expensive and I’m desperately saving as much as I can. I practically run down the flight of stairs to slap it on the mailbox and march back up to try and get some sleep.

I fail.

The next morning, I’m exhausted and living off the sludge office coffee by the gulp. I shove the folder of highlighted names onto the floor and take a nap with my head on the desk.

I don’t know where to go from here. Every piece of the life I’ve been living for the past six years is a lie. I need to get out of this town. Get away from the city and go back to my hometown. A familiar place, even if I met Loser there. It’s not like he would ever go back to ordinary people living ordinary lives.

To do that, I need to get a divorce.

To dothat,I need money. I’m not waiting anymore. I’m getting shit done, and nothing is going to stand in my way. I am officially done with all of this.

Instead of working I spend my time filling out online applications to any job listing I find that makes a better wage than this one. I can work two jobs. I’ll have to cut out going to the gym, which won’t be a problem now that I know for sure that it’s a cesspit of the morally bankrupt.

When I leave for the day, Sarah stands in my way, but I bypass her with a sneer. “Whatever you need, you can get it tomorrow. It’s five, and I’m going home.”

Wednesday is more of the same, but this time, Sarah is watching me with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. I ignore her beautifully and pretend I’m all about work all day. I eat mymeasly PB&J for lunch and get back to it. She doesn’t have a single thing to complain about.

She doesn’t confront me until Thursday.

Since she was all over every action yesterday, I decided to put on a more formal outfit. The same one I bought to interview in. I pair it with the power high heels I bought second-hand on a whim. My feet are pinched in these. I can’t wait to take them off again. I’m determined to switch things around, though. Power shoes. And great weapons if someone pisses me off.

When I limp into the filing room Sarah is waiting for me and tapping her toes with impatience.

---