by CY Jones
On my way to my office, I get more greetings and genuinely happy smiles. Rita, the office gossip, asks me about my vacation, but nothing about my break up with The Turd. That shit is hot gossip. I was sure she’d grill me like I was her next hot scoop. What the hell? Maybe our love life isn’t as gossip-worthy as I thought? Talk about being full of yourself. Once I get to my office, I breathe easy, letting the anxiety I was carrying around like a wet blanket go.
Safely shut in my office, I get to work. My inbox is overflowing with two weeks worth of paperwork and don’t let me get started on the emails, but I steadily work through each and every one until hours have passed. When I’m finishing up, there’s a knock on my door and I call for whoever it is to come in.
“Hey, Ashley,” I smile warily when I see it’s The Turd’s personal secretary. “What can I help you with?”
“Hey, Brooklyn, Mr. Chatworth asked me to drop this off to you on my way to lunch,” she answers, setting a manila envelope enclosed with something inside on my desk.
“Thanks,” I reply, giving her a tight smile. It’s not like I dislike her or anything. I don’t even know the chick. It’s just that she works for the enemy and after his crazy pants behavior the other day, I’m wary of everyone in Team Turd’s corner. Giving me a small wave, she turns and leaves.
I eye the envelope suspiciously for another five minutes before I gather the nerve to open it. I doubt he’ll blow up his father’s company, so the likelihood of it being a bomb is slim. The same goes for anything poisonous that would bring the CDC sniffing at their door. Maybe I’m being a little crazy myself, but I can’t shake the feeling that whatever this is, I’m not going to like it. Putting on my big girl panties, I pick up the envelope and peel back the prongs, shaking out the continents. With a small thud, a black velvet ring box falls out onto my desk. This better not be what I think it is, I growl, snatching the box up and opening it.
Sequestered inside is not a ring, but a thumb drive. What the hell? I’ll give him credit for keeping me in suspense. What could possibly be on this? Curious, I plug it into my computer and click on the only file named Homecoming. It’s a video, and when I press play and it starts, my blood goes cold. Time stills. I can’t breathe, think, function. If it’s possible to stop breathing indefinitely without dying, I would have. Everything stops except for this damning video of me sitting on the kitchen island, half-naked with The Turd’s cum dripping off my lower face playing with myself.
Videos are subjective and only tells the story of the scene it captures. Watching this, no one would know I was forced by The Turd for his sick pleasure and for me to get through with it, I had to think of someone else. All they’ll see is the slut on the counter pleasuring herself after sucking someone off. Defending myself is useless. Who would believe my side of the story if I tell them I was forced? The pleasure on my face as I orgasm contradicts that statement, nor do I appear to be in any kind of distress. I look just like a whore getting off on making porn. I thought it was weird for him to step out the way like he did just to watch me play with myself. He only did it because he had a camera hidden somewhere and was making sure he was out of range. Fucking hell, I scream. Check-fucking-mate asshole. You got me.
Hell has no fury like a woman scorned, and I’m fucking livid. After I shut my computer down, I leave my office, nearly breaking my door off its hinges with how hard I slam it shut behind me. My anger is inconsolable and it seeps out my pores in violent waves. On the elevator ride up to the top floors, everyone steers clear of me, somehow sensing my mood. At this point, I have no qualms with maiming innocent bystanders. Learning through the regular weekly email that circulates to everyone, The Turd got a promotion while I was away and is no longer the head of editing and is now studying under his father while he’s being prepped to take over. With his new promotion, his office has moved to the top floor with the other top brass. Not the floor to make a scene on, but at this point, I don’t fucking care if I lose my job. His balls being beaten until they are black and blue is only the start of my wrath. When I’m done with him, he’ll be unrecognizable.
The floor is quiet when I step off the elevator, making the ding of the doors opening echo. The boardrooms are to the right, so I veer left towards the offices, reading each name on the gold-plated nameplates secured to the wide, heavy wooden doors until I get to The Turds’ corner office at the end of the hall. I scoff when I see has his own posh waiting room. I guess it does pay when you stumble through and walk over everyone else, stealing their hard work. Add a little nepotism in and you get a high-powered position that requires you to have your own fancy waiting area. Ashley’s desk is empty, and she’s nowhere to be seen. I remember she did say she was on her way to lunch. Good. The last thing I need right now is a witness. Bypassing her desk, I stomp over to The Turd’s office door and yank it open. Sitting behind his desk like he owns the world is the asshole himself and as soon as he looks up and sees me standing there, he gives me a wide inviting smile instead of the look of fear he should be donning.
So he knows everything is not copacetic in Brooklynville, I slam his door close as hard as I did mine, relishing in the loud booming sound. I hope the expensive wood cracks. My body is vibrating with anger and I’m sure my face is red, but not from embarrassment, no, I’m about to tear this jerk limb from limb and nail his body parts to the wall.
“Brooklyn, my love, I knew you were going to stop by and see me, so I told Ashley to take a long lunch break.” His smile is saccharine, his eyes alert, yet there’s this air of confidence surrounding him that puts me on edge. Clearly, he’s proud of himself that he was able to get one over on me, too stupid sense the danger he’s in. I’m this close from snapping and letting Gloria do her worse.
“What is this?” I growl, throwing the thumb drive on his desk.
“I thought the video made it clear, but if you need me to explain, I’d be happy to.”
“Yes, do explain to me why you have a recording of me being forced to be the star in your sick video,” I hiss through gritted teeth.
“Forced?” he states it as a question, which pisses me off even more.
“Yes forced, you asshole. I told you no, but you forced me to anyway, like some sexual bully.”
“You don’t look forced to me or anyone else who would happen to see that video. In fact, you looked like you were enjoying yourself. I have to admit, I get so fucking hard everytime I see it. Have you ever considered a career in porn?” he mocks.
“You’re fucking delusional. I told you I didn’t want to be with you anymore and you do this. You’re a coward and an asshole. Nothing like the superhero I used to think you were. If you thought doing this was going to enamor me to you, then you’re a fool. What little love I had for you vanished when I pressed play. Now, the only thing I feel for you is disgust.” I turn to leave. I’ve said my peace. It’ll be stupid to lose anything else because of him. I can worry about what he chooses to do with the video later. As it is now, I’m exercising a lot of restraint as the voices in my head are crying out for vengeance.
I turn to leave, done with the asshole. Right when my hand touches the knob, he chooses to speak. “Darling, you forgot something,” he purrs.
“What? The thumb drive? You can keep that,” I tell him with flashing eyes.
“No, your ring. Do you think it’s proper for a man in my station to have his fiancé waltzing around with a naked ring finger?” he questions. Is he for real? And I thought I was crazy.
I whirl on him, ready to launch myself head-first if I have to, off this one-way train ride to Looneyville, when I spy, sitting on his desk fucking mocking me, a huge fucking diamond ring worthy of a queen. It’s impressive, I’ll give him that, but so not worth the bullshit.
“What fucking crazy pills have you been taking? You need to get in touch with your doctor and have him clearly explain the side effects, because confusion is clearly one of them. I’m pretty sure I made it clear that I want nothing to do with you. If you’re con
fused about what all that entails, let me explain it to you in terms you can understand. I will not be marrying you. I am not your fiancee, girlfriend, lover; fucking anything that involves me and you. We’re barely even co-workers at this point. It would deeply satisfy me to never see your stupid face again.” When I’m done, I’m breathing hard, my chest rapidly rising and falling.
“Are you done with your little hissy fit?” he asks in a serious tone. One that makes the hair on my arms stand, forcing me to pay close attention to his words. The tone itself says I’m not going to like what’s coming next. He doesn’t bother to wait on an answer. I’m guessing it was a rhetorical question in the first place.
“I’m not confused. I’m well aware of your feelings right now, but that will change in time. I’m going to inform you how things are going to work from now and moving forward and sorry, babe, I’m not giving you a choice. Either get on the bandwagon or suffer the consequences and, baby girl, trust me when I tell you, you don’t want to go down that route.”
“What the fuck, Drew? I already told you...”
“Shut it, Brooklyn!” he shouts, interrupting me and I take a step back mostly from shock. He’s never yelled at me before.
“I let you have your say, now here is mine. We will be getting married on Christmas Day. The date has already been set at the venue of my choice and preparations are already on their way.”
“Like hell, we are,” I shout.
“Refuse me,” he carries on like he didn’t even hear me, “And I will make sure this recording goes viral, broadcasting it on every media outlet across the country. I will make sure there will be nowhere you can run to escape the ramifications. Your career in this business will be ruined. Hell, your life will be ruined because once this is released, your name will be mud and you will forever be known as nothing but a whore.”
For the second time today, all my blood runs cold as the fight in me drains out my body. He has me and he fucking knows it. This is so much worse than a silly high school rumor about imaginary friends. If this video gets out, I’ll be fucking ruined. Harrison won’t be able to save me, no one will. If anyone tries to, I’d only bring them down with me. I’m fucking screwed.
I hate it when a tear escapes and rolls a slow trail down my cheek. “Why are you doing this?” I ask in a low, defeated whisper. My world was ending, taking me with it.
Walking around the desk, he pulls me into his arms and hugs me tight. With his chin laying on top of my head, he answers, “Because, baby, I love you, and I know what’s best for you, even if you don’t. We had a little tiff, nothing serious enough to throw years of forming a loving relationship away.” Pulling back, he kisses my unresponsive lips before wiping the trail of my tear away with his thumb.
“But I don’t love you,” I tell him honestly with trembling lips. My whole body is numb and on its way to a one-way trip to a pit of despair. How did things between us go so wrong? Blackmail? Really?? I may have loved this man once, but now all that love is gone. Poof! Vanished like it was never there in the first place. What I thought was love was nothing but an illusion in an elaborate magic trick.
“Maybe not now, but in time, you will again. Until then, I’m making the choice for both of us to hold on. I will not make you move back in until after we’re married. I’ll tell anyone who asks that we’re moving into a new home and it would mean more to us both if we do things the right way, but even though I’m giving you your space to work your shit out, that by no means means we are not together. I’m yours and you’re mine. When I call on you, I expect you to comply. When I invite you out, I don’t care what you’re doing, you will drop whatever plans you have and be at the time and place I require. You’re my fiancee and you’ll be expected to act as such. When I call you to my bed, you’ll be there and you’ll perform as you always have. The only thing that’s changing is our living arrangements. I better not catch a whiff of you around another man or there will be consequences.”
I laugh at that. A laugh tiptoeing on the edge of hysterical. “What more can you do to me?” I croak. “Tell me, Drew, do you really want a wife with a sullied repetition? Your father will never let that happen, no matter how much in love with me you are. If you release that video, then your leverage over me is gone.”
His tone is taunting, almost belittling. “Dear sweet, Brooklyn, there’s so much I can do to you without releasing this video. Take your brother, for instance. He’s become quite the business mogul. If it were to slip that his precious little sister was up to such unseemly activities, how many clients do you think he’d still have? And that new wife of his. I can ruin them both and it would be all your fault.” I hate the condescending tone of his voice. I can see it in his eyes that he will say and do whatever to get his way. I hate him, but worse of all, I hate how scared of him I am right now.
“I hate you,” I hiss.
The bastard shrugs and replies, “I know.”
Taking my hand, he slips that damning ring on my ring finger. It’s heavier and so much fancier than the last one I ruined. So sure of his diabolical plan, he went with a bigger stone. It’s not my taste at all, which proves how much neither of us know each other after all these years of being together. How did we if he could do something like this? Not once would I have ever thought he was capable of something so cruel. That he’d blackmail me into being with him, but here we are.
“I wish we had time for you to thank me properly, but my father will be here soon for a meeting,” he comments, nuzzling my neck. I don’t feel anything but blinding hate. I want to take the fancy letter opener sitting on his desk and stab him with it, repeatedly until I’m covered in his blood. “I have made reservations at our favorite restaurant. I expect you there at six sharp, and afterwards, you’ll be coming home with me to thank me properly.”
“Is that what I’m around for now? To be your whore?” I spit out, and quicker than I can stop him, he reaches out and grabs a hold of my chin in a tight grip.
“Don’t get this twisted, baby. I may love you, but you will watch how you talk to me from now on. Do you understand?” he growls.
I hiss, “Yes,” through the pain. Satisfied, he lets me go, and I don’t waste a second putting as much space between us as possible.
I leave defeated. My cracked heart has fully shattered, along with all my dreams. In my office, I lock the door and sink into my chair, letting the floodgates loose. All the tears I was holding back burst out of me like a tidal wave, flooding my office with my overwhelming grief. I feel like someone close to me has died. Someone I knew very well until I realized that the person was me. Brooklyn Kathyrn Hartford is dead and gone, buried six feet under. Her only use now is as worm food and fertilizer, but be warned, the only thing that’ll grow from it are thorns.
9
Lost
Despite having been on a two week vacation, I go home early, using the sorry excuse of having a stomachache. At this point, I don’t care if they fire me, but I doubt it will happen. I’m supposedly the new boss’ fiancee. It wouldn’t look good for them. Besides, my job requires me to be out of the office most of the time anyway. Working indoors is only implied, not stated.
On the subway ride home, I’m completely lost and withdrawn, making it back by muscle memory alone. Once home, I march up the stairs like a dead man and collapse on the bed before entering into another crying bout.
When did my life get so complicated? Coming back to New York was supposed to be my new start. I was going to find that next big story that would propel me to the top, far above what it did for The Turd. I gave in to Justin and opened my bruised heart. We’re supposed to be exchanging cheesy emails until we discover how fabulous we are for each other and somehow conquer our little complication of a long distance relationship, but now look at me. I’ve been defeated by a villain disguised as a superhero. My future used to be so bright, but now, all I see is misery and despair. Sweet darkness would be a relief, but that has eluded me as well. With nothing to say to console me,
for once in my life, the voices in my head are quiet, and it’s just me.
After another hour of crying, I’ve had enough. I’m screwed. This is a fact I already know. Crying won’t help. Tears don’t solve shit. They don’t wash away the pain, or like magic, make everything alright again. They just dehydrate you and give you red puffy eyes and one hell of a headache. Crying makes shit worse, and I refuse to waste time doing something that won’t help.
Pulling out my iMac, I scan my notifications until I see I have an email from Justin. Fuck, what am I going to do about him? The Turd made it clear he’d go after my brother if he hears about me with anyone else. Selecting his email, I pause with the cursor hovering over the trash bin with indecision. What harm would it do to read an email? It’s not like he’ll find out. Plus, I like the idea of not playing dead and happily going along with The Turd’s diabolical plans. It proves that even though I’m down, I’m not out. I haven’t lost my fight. I’m broken, yes, but not dead like I thought. I’m a vampire, rising out my grave, fangs bared and ready for blood. Decision made, I open the email and smile at the dancing chocolate chip cookie across my screen.
Dear Temporarily Damaged
You asked for chocolate chip cookies, so here you go. Anything for my warrior princess. Take good care of him, his name is Doug. I’m so happy you decided to play along. I promise you won’t regret your decision. You asked what to say in these letters. You can write whatever you want. If you want to tell me about your day, vent or just ask for advice, go for it. I’m here for you. I, for one, would love to hear about you. I want to be your best friend as well as your lover.