Page 83 of Submissive Lies

I’d barely made into my office the next morning when I got an e-mail from Loren.

Come see me as soon as you can.

I didn’t know what to expect. Doubted that word of my break-up with Thomas could have spread so fast, but who knew? Stranger things had happened. The look on Loren’s face as I stepped into her office didn’t make it seem that was the case. She was practically beaming.

“Jennifer. I want to you to look at this.” She motioned me to come around to her side of her desk. I glanced at her computer screen, saw it was an e-mail from Samantha.

“Read it.”

I cannot begin to tell you how much of an absolute pleasure it was to work with Jennifer on this show. Having been limited by our own internal budget constraints for past shows, I was a bit nervous on how we’d adjust to the much more elaborate exhibit you have. Jennifer took away all of those worries right from the start. She was beyond the consummate professional and made sure that we had anything and everything that we needed. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m jealous; I would kill to have someone on my team with the skills and acumen she showed. I hope you will pass along my thanks to her for everything she did. I am looking forward to many, many successful shows in the future!

Loren smiled up at me. I lowered my head, grinning.

“That’ll do, Jen. That’ll do.”

I laughed, punching her in the shoulder. “I am not Babe, thank you!”

“Well, you’re my Babe, so don’t let this go to your head.” Her eyes twinkled at me, bright with appreciation. “Or get any ideas about going off and joining some other team. Okay?”

I smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good job, Jen.” She reached and gripped my shoulder. “Seriously. Good job.”

That morning was the beginning. I went back to my office. Back to my job. Back to square one. I began rebuilding my life. Rebuilding who I was. Rebuilding me. The days went by, became a week. Thomas and I shared a few e-mails, but he never sought me out to talk face-to-face. I gave him his space. Respected that he might need some distance before he’d be willing to go beyond the Hope you are doing okay.

My self-loathing and guilt had a field day. We had some great times, the three of us. Tearing myself down. Destroying some self-worth. Making sure I knew just what an absolute worthless piece of shit I was. It became very intimate. The loving way I ripped pieces of my soul out, examined them, found every flaw I could and then exploited them to their fullest. And yet each time it always ended the same way. With a voice in my head. One that drove my demons crazy. A voice that even they could not drive out.

“You made a mistake. We all make fucking mistakes in our lives.”

I hadn’t been sure how long it would take, but it ended up being my second week back when word got around that Thomas and I were no longer a couple. It became a topic of gossip around work, more so than when my relationship with Ben had fallen apart. It was perfectly natural. We both worked at the same company, and word of things like this spread quickly. Loren was kind as ever, accepting with simple grace my explanation that things just hadn’t worked out between us. Thomas—damn him—was ever the gentleman. I heard from no one that he spoke ill of me. Even when Samantha came by to say how sorry she was, she said only that Thomas had told her he felt that he’d never find someone quite like me.

“But in the end, he said it was the only realistic outcome. That when you knew something wasn’t going to work, when two people just weren’t the right two people for each other, it was better to part ways. So that each could heal and move on with their lives.”

I cried when she told me that. Samantha hugged me, and I saw tears in her eyes too. I had spent a lot of time being angry with her. For what had happened that morning in Chicago. She had been the catalyst for a moment of incredible pain. But that had not been her fault. That had been on me. I had no right to blame her for anything, and now, as she smiled crookedly at me and said how sorry she was for both Thomas and I, I felt no hatred towards her. She was a good person who had not known the terrible person that I was. In an odd twist, much like Steve, she’d just been someone in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Two weeks became three, and things settled into the new norm. Thomas and I met twice; he at my place to gather his things, and then I at his to do the same. It was awkward, at least from my perspective, but there was no animosity, no overt signs of anger. There was just sadness. Plenty of sadness, and I spent no small amount of time alone dissecting the state my life was in. My demon helped with that, but eventually even that slowed. All those self-destructive thoughts it wanted me to buy into, the ones I held constantly at bay with Thomas’ words, began to fade into a dull ache, a numbness that became my personal state of mind when I wasn’t buried in my work. As I had done after Ben, I turtled. I pulled into my shell and blocked out the things in the world I was just not prepared to deal with right now. Still shadowboxing at times, biting my own tail, I continued to tear myself up over all that I had done. But even that became pro forma, rote over time. I knew I had fucked up and fucked up bad. However, I also knew that eventually the day would come when I would accept that while I had made some pretty stupid decisions, those were behind me. I had learned from them. And that my life could and would go on.

It was almost six weeks to the day after I’d left Chicago that I got the letter. They’d dropped it in my work mailbox, and I picked it up that morning as I was going past, headed to my office. The envelope was marked with the logo of trade show I&D company I used. I gave it a cursory glance. It was probably an invoice for show services. No big deal. I knew payment was due net thirty on receipt, so there was no rush. I’d get to it in due time.

After lunch I picked up the envelope again, opening it casually. There was a single page inside. It wasn’t the invoice I’d expected. It was not a printed letter, but a handwritten one. The writing was in neat, careful block lettering. As I started to read, my heart rose into my throat.

Dear Jen,

I wasn’t sure if I would ever write this, and then once I did if I would finish it. Or send it to you. You’re reading it now, so I guess it’s apparent I did. There is a lot I want to say, a lot I want to tell you, but I’ve had a long time to think about this, and I think that there’s too much that I want to make sure is said exactly the right way. I’m not the best writer, so I guess I’m afraid my words won’t be the right ones. I don’t want that. I need them to sound the way they do in my head. The way they would if I could say them to you face to face. What I will say is this. You hurt me, Jen. You hurt me bad. I have no idea what made you do what you did. But there has not been a single day since I left Chicago that I have not thought of you. And not a single day I haven’t told myself there must be a reason. And if there is no reason, then I suppose that’s an answer in and of itself.

I told you I was a Marine. I am used to operating in environments with half-assed information. I served twelve years, and half the time I was working completely in the dark. When command deemed we were not on a need-to-know basis. But I’m also an engineer, and I hate leaving a problem unresolved. Maybe you don’t have an issue with what happened in Chicago. But I do. And I’d like to suss it out so that maybe I can stop worrying about it any more.

A city manager position is coming open in Anaheim in two months. I’m pretty sure that’s near you. Marty’s asked me if I’d be interested in considering the position. He’s going to fly me out to take a look at things for a few days. I would like one hour of your time. That’s all. One hour, just to ask you a few questions, and maybe get some answers if I can. I know you don’t owe me anything, but if you’ll at least give it some consideration, I’d appreciate it. I’ll be in town on the dates below, and you can reach me at that cell phone number.

If you choose not to respond to this, I’ll take that as an answer of its own, and draw my own conclusions. I hope that won’t be the case.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Steve Friess

Below that, he’d written the dates he’d be in town, and his cell phone number.

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