I couldn’t believe him.
I laughed to myself, realizing that he must have assumed that I would be jumping off this building. I was about to turn and at least if not clear everything out, maybe just pacify his mind that I didn't have such delirious thoughts. But stopping me from doing such was my phone that was vibrating and casting off the spooky tone that I specifically picked for ‘evil’ Dorothy.
I picked it up, still sane enough to know that I couldn't go against her or ignore her calls. Despite what John and I were going through. Thing is, I tried doing it once, and trust me, the price for it was hefty. There was no way I’d ignore Dorothy again.
At first, I expected a call that was like the usual—her telling me to do this and that, to act like this and that, and such. But what had caught me off guard was her fretful voice as she muttered, or more like shouted, “Kayla! What are you doing up there?”
“What?”
“Don't do anything now, dear. Just stay calm and let's talk this over. Stay calm,” she said, sincerity echoed in her quivering voice. It was more like she was the one who was supposed to calm down instead of me.
“Calm? What are you talking about, Dorothy?” I muttered, completely astonished about what she wanted from me this time around. What was this? Yoga?
“I'm down here at John's office and was about to pay you and John a surprise visit. That was when I heard from John's secretary that she saw you and John fighting and that you ran towards the rooftop. Don't do anything haste, dear,” she said, almost pleading.
What in the world was happening? Why did they all think that I was planning to commit suicide? I was not that insane to end my life. And the situation was a bit heavy and downright perplexing, but the last time I checked, I was just getting lost in my thoughts.
No hint of suicide or whatsoever.
“We can talk this out. Fix it. Is there a problem you’d like to talk with me about?” she continued talking after realizing that I hadn't answered.
“The thing is...” I carelessly muttered, annoyed why she was being bothersome again. And that she sounded off and caring all of a sudden. Smiling cockily to myself, I continued, “I'm actually annoyed with you. Very very annoyed.”
“Kayla...” Her voice mellowed.
“I want to jump off from this place because you have done everything you can to annoy me and make my life miserable. If you have known better than messing my life, things could have gone a lot better. But look at what you've done. You’ve pushed me this far. This is your entire fault, Dorothy. Now watch me jump from here.”
And with that, I ended the call, feeling blissful that I had finally taken my revenge on her—my one and only, long-awaited revenge on Dorothy Brooks. I was a lot evil than her now. I felt like laughing wickedly, like those villains in movies but that wasn't such a grand idea. John here might assume that I had gone insane after I indirectly confessed to him.
“Stop!” Strong hands gripped me from behind.
I flinched.
“Don’t do this. Kaye, please don’t,” John said.
With a sigh, I told him, “I'm not gonna jump, okay?”
Upon hearing my words, his grip loosened. I got out from it and turned around to face him. There went my heart again and thumped loudly on its own. Then I saw him heftily exhale, the worry on his face shortly faded away. His eyes looked right into mine as I heard him say, “That’s a relief. For a moment, I thought you were going to jump. You scared me.”
Feeling my cheeks catching up some color, I nervously cleared my throat. And all I managed to say was an unintelligent, “Yeah?”
He nodded before he said again, “But was that my grandma you were talking to earlier?”
“Yes,” I told him, even laughing a little. “But don't you worry. I just gave your grandma a little scare. No biggie.”
He wasn't pleased though. It appeared like I was the only one who had been amused with what I had done. Talk about the world going completely against you. I was only bluffing.
Why so serious?
And with that said, he scolded my wrong doings once again, “I told you, stop being so mean and scaring my grandmother like that. She's old. You know that.” He emphasized the old part. Well, she did appear old but that woman got more than enough energy for her worn-out age.
I mumbled, “She can handle it.”
He stayed silent. His eyes narrowed in dismay once more. Could it be anymore narrower that it already was? It was like he emphasized the words ‘You're at fault, Kayla’ a dozen of times in a very unique way.
Feeling that heaviness of his reprisal, I retorted, “What?”
“I told you—”
“I hate shutting up,” I finished for him, not letting him say what he wanted to. But then what I had said just triggered the reminder of what had happened a while ago—the mishap confession and wrecked-to-the-core confusion it brought.
Oh, crap.
Then as expected, the atmosphere turned awkward. I saw some shade of rose crept up on his face, and I bet that I had that same shade or even darker right now on mine. Feeling the awkwardness as I stared at him, I turned my gaze away and nervously pulled my hair. Now that he and I both were aware and thoroughly reminded of the event and he was right here and standing in front of me, I had no idea what I should say. Or do.
‘Don't say a word. Don't say a word,’ I channeled my thoughts to him and hoped that he would obey it.
“Kayla...” he started.
Crap. He said it.
Then miraculously, as if coming to my rescue, his phone rang. I let out the breath that got caught up in my throat. I knew that I should thank his phone later. It did save me, for real. I never appreciated such kind of interruptions until now. And I sincerely wished that all the forms of interruptions would come our way right at this moment.
The fact that I was experiencing such kind of misfortunes was never new so I let the bad lucks roll and take the center stage. Any form of interruption would do. That was how badly I wanted for this awkward moment to never occur. Because in a while, I was certain that John would discuss everything starting from the moment we met at the least.
He was like that.
And the expected ending would be him reminding me of what we were now and how we should get on with this contract professionally, like what we agreed from the start. This was John we were talking about so it was the cleverest deduction I could ever make. And at the end of the day, I should say another congratulations to me for getting dumped the second time for this year. That was quite an achievement, not to mention in a short span of time.
There was also a sign that he was somewhat relieved by the sudden call. Perchance he didn’t want to announce the bad news right now. Taking his eyes off me, he answered the call and said, “Yes, John Brooks here.”
I breathed, fixing my hair that was messed up by the gush of wind that passed by. Retying my ponytail, I silently tapped tip of the pumps that I was wearing—out of sheer nervousness—and watched as John talked on the phone. Then after several seconds, the atmosphere changed as I saw the astonishment that was slowly painted on his face, carefully forming lines on it.
Rigid.
His face instantly turned rigid and so as his stance, almost dropping the phone that he was holding in his hand. I wondered what the other line was saying for him to be this astounded. Who was that caller that had this kind of effect on him? The once calm and composed John that I knew now turned into someone so disoriented and his stares suddenly had that certain sharpness that were almost deadly. And the worse thing was it was directed towards me. If looks could kill, then I was already dead seconds ago.
Intent and frightening gazes met my confused ones. Anger. There was none that could clearly define the looks on his face than one who was completely enraged. For what reason and why, I hadn't got a single clue.
“John?” I stuttered.
There was no audible answer.
Instead, his ruddy and unsteady eyes took away all the need for
words. They were enough to tell me that something was wrong, incredibly wrong. Inhaling the air that told me that things were getting a lot serious that I had thought, I tried thinking about the reasons for what was going on.
I looked around and realized that if he’d suddenly throw a fit, then that would send me flying forty floors down to the ground. I swallowed the nervousness I felt, reminding myself that John couldn't harm a fly. So the possibilities of him harming me were close to none. I crossed my fingers for that, even my legs, my feet, everything!
With a sharp voice, he ended the conversation that he was having and said, “Call the ambulance. Hurry! I'll be there right away.”
Pressing the end call button, he placed his phone back to his pocket. I saw how his right hand quivered as he held it inside his pocket, formed in a tight fist. I immediately thought to myself, ‘Okay, none of this looks any good. Anyone wants to tell me what's going on?’
He looked straight at me, feeling that irresistible feeling to meet his gaze. It was as if he was calling me by using unspoken words. And by that, he held my eyes in his trembling and moistened ones.
Feelings were conveyed—hurt, disappointment, confusion, and distress. One by one, they were disregarded by the other. But what had outstayed was the fact that there was wrath. I tried to look away but his sharp gaze planted my eyes firmly on his, as if making one wrong turn, at the worst, would end my own life.
Forcing myself not to blink and miss the emotions that was held in that staggering stare, my eyes also started to wet and quiver a bit. My chest tightened and my knees began to feel weak. For the first time in my entire life, I was afraid of John Emerson Brooks.
There was no denying that.
And after staring at me like he wanted to kill me right then, he turned his back and mumbled a curse before running towards the door that led to the emergency stairs of the hotel. Though I was frightful, I still ran after him, worried and puzzled on what was going on. At the very least, what I needed was a concrete explanation for his behavior.
I caught up as he was opening the door, pulling his left arm to stop him from running. “What's wrong?”
He forcefully pulled his arm from me, as if disgusted with my touch. I took a step back, breathing hard and thinking what was going on. He excruciatingly exhaled and forced himself to turn back and face me.
Looking straight in his eyes, there was no hint of recognition that I was the Kayla Wilson he once knew. No Kaye. The Nerd and Ms. Perfect were long forgotten, as well as the friendship that we once had, and the mixed-up confession that was uttered a while ago. He all said that with his apathetic gaze. All those were all buried by the sudden turn of events, one that I was completely clueless about.
With a stern voice he warned, “If something happens to her, I will never forgive you. Stay away from us and don't ever show yourself again. I don’t even know why a person like you exists.”
And with his last words, he closed the door in front of my face. I flinched. When I opened my eyes, I started breathing unevenly. Then I pondered on the reason why he acted that way.
‘If something happens to her...’ the words faded in my head. Dorothy—the name resounded in my mind like a dagger pointing straight to the red dot on the paper. Something must have had happened to her.
‘Call the ambulance...’
My eyes widened in shock and my heart pounded wildly in alarm, realizing what might have occurred. Despite my faltering balance, I found my way down the stairs, clacking my heels heavily on each step. It couldn’t be.
One wrong pace and I slipped down a course of three steps, making me wince in pain as I landed on the ground. “Ouch.”
‘Dorothy,’ the name echoed in my head. She must be going through something dreadful right now and I was the reason for it. Because of what I had done.
But what exactly?
With confused thoughts, I picked up myself and removed the pumps that obscured my running. Holding both of my shoes in hand, I disregarded the pain in my ankle and continued running. I made my way outside the emergency stairs and hurried to go inside the elevator.
‘I just gave your grandma a little scare...’ I was forced back by my thoughts. Tumbling two steps back, the elevator wall caught me in time. What had I done? Feeling my back against it, the gravity of what I had done sunk into me.
It was just a little scare. What could one little scare do?
Inquisitive stares were thrown to me from all sides as people went inside the elevator. Crowded and pressed to the wall, I felt the heaviness of my guilt resounding in my mind. Conscience was killing me more than what a sharp knife could ever do. I suddenly became impatient. I needed to know what had happened. Was she all right?
As if a way of letting my struggling thoughts out, I exclaimed to the others who were so slow in going inside the elevator, “Hurry up!”
Of course, they were alarmed and thrown me irritated looks. I closed my eyes and pressed the ground floor button continuously, praying that nothing bad had happened to John's grandmother. After several agonizing minutes, the elevator door opened up and ground floor came in sight. I hastily made my way across the peeved crowd.
“John! Wait!” I tried calling for the man who was boarding on the ambulance.
But seeing that I wasn't even halfway across the hall, he hadn't heard a single word I said. I saw the ambulance began moving. And so I hastily called out once more, “Wait!”
It was Mr. Smith whom I had caught up with as I made my way outside the front door. With a surprised look, he uttered, “Miss Brooks, are you alright?”
“What happened to her?” I asked, looking around in daze and searching for some kind of assurance that what I had seen was not that bad. Walking to and fro in daze, I suddenly wanted to follow the ambulance. Cab. I wanted a cab but there was no cab in sight.
“Where's the cab? Call a car... a cab...” I faltered.
“Calm down, Miss Brooks.” Mr. Smith then held me in the arms, preventing me from walking across the street with my bare feet.
“Tell me what happened. Please, tell me,” I asked for assurance.
A plea.
“She had a heart attack,” Mr. Smith answered, sadness eminent in his voice. He shook his head for a while. I felt my tears unceasingly escaped my eyes in response.
“A... heart attack?” I stuttered.
He silently nodded in response.
“How bad?” I demanded, holding Mr. Smith tightly on the arms. “Surely, it must not be that bad. Just something mild, right?”
“I'm sorry, Miss. I have no idea,” he answered, shaking his head.
If it was because I never wanted to be blamed for it or for the reason that I had cared for her more than I was aware of, I hadn't got a clue. But at this point in time, I only wanted her to be alright. I eagerly prayed to God that she was alright. That at the end of the day, she would turn out fine.
I shouldn't have had said that. If I could turn back time, I would prevent my useless mouth from uttering those words to her. Falling to the ground, I held myself in my own arms, with no comfort in sight. I was the one to blame for it all. If something bad would happen to her, would I ever be forgiven?
Would I still be worthy of forgiveness?
Letting out my cries, I cried out, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Dorothy. I shouldn't have said that. I knew I was wrong. Please, God, let her be alright.”
I felt some careful hands placed on my shoulders. With a hesitant voice, Mr. Smith informed me, “Miss Brooks, I called you a cab. I received a call from the hospital. I think you should go there now.”
Chapter 20
A little before twelve in the afternoon, the lobby in front of the operating room was practically barren. Only one or two people were passing by every now and then. But of course, I constantly got those stares for the last few hours. You know, those kind of stares wherein people were like asking who was that or why did they let me in.
I actually ran here in haste—without shoes, my stockings wor
n out that there were now holes everywhere, my make-up smudged, and my hair tangled in a huge mess. That explained a lot about the stares. But right now, none of those even mattered. Not even my bloated ankle or the fact that I looked hideous. All I wanted was to hear from the doctors that Dorothy would make it through.
I exhaled, clasping my hands together and closing my eyes. I silently prayed for Dorothy's operation to go well. As the clock ticked on, my heart pounded madly in my chest and my mind grew restless with worries. Three agonizing hours had already passed.
How much longer would it be?
All I did was gave her a little scare. I didn't mean to put her in so much shock that she ended up having a heart attack and was now having a bypass operation. She should have known better that I was not suicidal and that I was only babbling nonsense to her. She had believed my bluff. It was her fault.
‘If something happens to her, I will never forgive you,’ John's words reiterated in my head. And guilty as I’d been since then, the reminder only made me even more restless.
Of what I had done.
Even though I wanted to point out that the blame was Dorothy's and not mine, but as clear as the sun in the noontime skies, I knew that I was the one who triggered all this. That no matter how I pointed fingers to whoever, at the end of the day, it would all go back to me. I was the one to blame.
But I never wanted any of this. Sure, she was mean to me and had been all bossy throughout the first month of the contract. But then, her making me do that contract and forcing me to stay with John made me realize something. I realized that one thing that I always hushed away from my heart for years. A thing that opened up my mind. But as soon as I came to that realization, what did she do? Bidding us goodbye? It wasn't fair. She was ruining everything again.
I furiously wiped away the tears that formed at the corner of my eyes. And ever so silently, I whispered, “Dorothy, please come back.”
She was my enemy. She needed to stay alive and torture me for as long as she wanted to. She had to see with her own eyes—me confessing directly to John and getting mortified after. She had to. I wanted her to be there. I wanted her to laugh at me and tell me that she had done a great job in making me miserable.
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