by M R Field
I hang up, hoping that by giving her some space, things will return to normal. Surely after a few days all will be okay, right?
Two weeks later
Damn it all to hell.
During the last two weeks, she’s avoiding talking to me unless she’s had to. I’ve tried to call her out of work more times than I’m willing to admit. Same with emails. While I try to make contact, I’m met with the same resistance. Even when I’ve sent a work-related email and then inserted a comment about us, trying to get her to listen to me, she ignores it, focusing on everything else. Yet, despite trying everything that I can, it is of no use. She is ignoring my calls, and Piper told me to fuck off when I turned up last week, leaving me at my wits’ end.
At the office, she makes idle chitchat with the boys, filling the office with her laughter, until she turns and her gaze lands on me. Or rather, the collar of my shirt. Yet, while she continues to focus on my collar or the flat surface of my desk, my chest clenches, waiting for a moment when she’ll let me in. She only talks to me when she has to. Like when she passes me through the doorway and says “excuse me,” or when she tells me that a client is due to arrive. I’m tempted to move her bamboo plants to my desk to see if she’ll be brave enough to grab them back. She’s back to being an ice maiden and, stupidly, I’ve fallen back into being Cole, the uptight wanker. I can’t help it; every time I’ve tried to call or approach her, I’m met with more ice than the arctic. The tension is more than usual, but I ignore the watchful eyes of the boys. To them, I probably look stressed, rather than distressed. To her, I’m as transparent as the window she stares through.
I miss the days where the cold indifference was an act to hold onto us secretly for a little while longer. I miss as we pretended to be like, we-didn’t-like-each-other-when-really-we-wanted-to-tear-each-other’s-clothes-off. I ache watching her change back to how she used to be. To act like she loathes me. I know that her pain is the muse for our standoff.
Fuck space. I tried calling, visiting, and now I’m clutching at straws while she looks like I no longer matter to her at all. I’ve fucked this up, and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t think she wants me to.
I send another desperate email that is left unanswered, along with the rest.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Please respond.
Date: Friday, 23/9/18 7:49pm
Don’t give up on us, Letty. Give me a sign. Anything. I’ll do it.
Letty
Smile.
Stare ahead.
Boss the guys around more than usual.
Get all appointments sorted ahead of time.
Tidy desk, repetitively.
Avoid eye contact when necessary.
Block memories of the two of you.
Pretend that your heart is not sliced in two.
Don’t give up on us, Letty. Give me a sign. Anything. I’ll do it.
Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.
It’s all I can do to survive until my head and heart get on the same page.
I ignore the grumbling of my stomach. I’ve neglected to eat again. It’s hard to eat when all you feel is the ball of lead that rolls from one side of your stomach to another. I know he’s watching me. Every time I move around the office, I feel his eyes follow my steps.
I’ve suffered trying not to let it affect me, and he knows. He must see my weakness, because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have spent the last two weeks trying to grab my attention. Letty, have you ordered more water for the cooler? Letty, is the photocopier in need of more paper? Have the files been sorted? Is everything ready for the meeting this afternoon? All foolish questions that he would know are unnecessary. The water cooler is replaced fortnightly. We have enough paper to service most of this floor and then some. Of course, I have the fucking folders sorted. I even managed to return them to the shelves near his desk when he wasn’t there. I have everything sorted for our meeting this afternoon, aside from the agenda printout. That will be another excuse for me to leave the room.
My ridiculous escapes are causing a few heads to turn. Theo watches me warily, as I’m jittery and more aggressive than normal. I wouldn’t be so wound up if Cole didn’t try to catch me off guard. While he is firm and his usual stern self in front of the guys, restrictive with his sense of authority, he’s desperate to garner my attention if we’re given a moment alone in the office. Yet, despite his attempts at striking up any form of conversation, I’ve managed to escape or appear busy. Unfortunately, it’s forced the office to suffer my bitchiness. I’m bossier, cattier, and not myself.
With a room full of guys who are used to me normally being a little sarcastic, I’ve taken it too far. I probably have them thinking that I have a serious case of PMS, judging from the randomly placed chocolate bars left on my desk. I kick myself for keeping my relationship with Cole a secret, as if I hadn’t, I could have told them something. Now, it just looks like I’ve had a sordid affair.
My eyes flick to my Bold and the Beautiful Ridge Forrester mug. The face of Ridge Forrester stares back at me again, and I wonder what he’d do if he were me right now. He’d flick his fantastic fucking hair and would move on. I sigh. Ridge and his hair have it so much better than I do.
My body is stiff from the sleepless nights I’ve had. I want to move around, but the sink is in the corner, so I’d have to walk past Cole’s desk, and that would mean trying to avoid his subtle glances. Again. This open-plan office is sucking, with a capital S.
Every glance feels like a burn across my skin. I feel it ripple across my body as I try to lock my muscles so they won’t react. I tighten so much that an ache replaces the burn. I know he’s trying. Even the little things, like him watering my plant, aren’t sweet anymore. Just confusing. I’m at war with myself. I accepted him being mean, as I thought he was just arrogant. Knowing now that I was part of that reason hurts. I want to forgive him for a mistake he made when he was eighteen, but I just don’t think I can. I’m so torn and upset, and all his efforts at trying to talk have backfired. His attempts to bring us closer only drive me to push him away. I just can’t.
The last fourteen days have been a battle to control myself and not lose it. Currently, it is a race between Cole and my dad for who can blow up my phone the most. If my mum weren’t trying to call in between, I’d happily turn my phone off. But that’ll make her come over. I’ve ignored her emails also. I’m sure Dad would’ve told her what he did, but she can’t be in the doghouse too. Yet her voice is enough to have me crying, so I chicken out and send her gutless texts instead. It’s amazing how guilt drives people to do certain things, like bug the living crap out of me as they know that they’ve hurt me. But the simple fact is right now, I am feeling such a deep hurt that I can’t bring myself to even listen to voice messages anymore. I’m not ready to talk to them yet. Only Odette, Piper, and Parker have been allowed any of my airtime.
My dad can thank himself for that. His determination and perseverance might get him the exact clients he wants or the sales of the products he markets well, but the tenacity that won him awards, got him his stellar reputation, and his new Bentley, is now kicking his arse. I am my dad’s daughter, and I can hold the same determination and stubbornness, too. Unlucky for him and Cole, that determination is directed at ignoring two very strong-willed men.
Sitting at this desk, I feel like I don’t deserve to be here. Self-doubt creeps in and swarms around me. I want to be the warrior who’s fought to prove herself, but, right now, my armour is dented, and I wonder if it was ever tough enough in the first place. The humiliation of my dad thinking that my art wasn’t worth the chance and getting me a job for security only stems to plant those seeds of doubt deeper. I know that I can’t always financially sustain myself with my art, but did Dad have to go behind my back? I thought I was a great assistant. I was paying my bills, saving for Toronto, only to have it all come crashing down around me. Maybe that colossal
fuck up with Dennis all those months ago wasn’t the only thing I missed. What else is Cole hiding from me? Do I want to find out?
I look around the office, and everything looks different. The sound of the water cooler dripping annoys me even more than usual. The shelves look too sterile. The building that faces us no longer mesmerises me. The chair feels hard under me, the desk feels cold, and sitting here within the inner city’s walls feels artificial and contrived. I feel trapped, closed off, and the bundles of nerves from feeling anxious twitch, as I long to escape. I didn’t earn my place here. My own dad didn’t think I could make it on my own. The humiliation digs itself deeper. It’s time to make my goals a priority. My eyes flick to the browser on my screen. The tab that I saved and stared at for the past two weeks reminds me that I need to get a move on. You need to book. It’s already costing too much. But my fingers struggle to complete it. Instead, I send the link to my phone to stare at there as well.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: Wed 22/9/18 9:58am
Subject: DNR
I should be telling you now that Henri loved my work and wants me to come over if I can. I want to tell you my news, but the instant they trail across my tongue, I close my lips and shut down.
I should be happy. I should be thrilled. I should be at the happiest time of my life, but I feel wretched. That the paper cuts from wrapping the pieces were worth it. Watching that courier drive off with a heart full of pride should have been shared with you. I’m about to be part of my first international exhibition. Yet, I can’t muster the energy to leap to go. Why are you holding me down? Why can’t I let go?
I feel alone. I’m reminded of the three layers of makeup Piper had to put on my face to give me an ounce of life after crying all night. Hearing how you hated me for something that I had no control over tortured me. Realising that you pushed me away because you felt something and thought it was dirty made me cry. Your dad’s death was the catalyst for ruining our friendship.
I don’t want to sit here anymore. There are too many memories of you. You are under my skin, and I can’t work out how to get you out. How do you soothe a burn? You continue with life like it needs to be run with an iron fist. I don’t need you to try for my attention.
A throat clears and I startle, finding Brad at my desk. I’d been so immersed in my email that I didn’t even notice him approach.
“You want any lunch? The boys and I are heading out now.”
Please let Cole go out with you guys, for once in his bloody life. I look to Brad, and his face is tight. Yesterday I snapped, telling him “I could feed myself.” It seems heartache turns me into the office wench.
“No, thanks.” I smile, knowing that it’s fake. Embarrassment floods my cheeks, as he looks stiff, possibly waiting for me to attack. “I brought something, so I’ll have it when I get a chance.”
I hold his eyes for a moment, watching him relax his shoulders, and I’m on the verge of apologising for being a raging bitch, but I see movement behind him. Cole is up and leaning against his desk, his ankles crossed in front of him, a folder in his hands. His eyes are directed at me, so I lose all momentum in apologising. I break eye contact, click send to the email, and ignore that my daily tally has increased significantly in the last two weeks with my soppy tales of woe.
“Okay, no worries. We’ll be back soon.” Brad waves.
I nod, avoiding his eyes, thus avoiding any potential eye collision with Cole, and make myself busy by individually shifting the icons on my desktop in alphabetical order. My fingers glide across the touchpad, lining up them up and then deciding that I’ll line them up by what I use the most. In my peripheral vision, I see movement, and my hands begin to get clammy. Would it be too much to ask him to not be here, right now?
“Mind if I join you for lunch?” Cole asks, and I leap out of my chair, grabbing the nearest paper on my desk. It happens to be a printout of the agenda for this afternoon’s meeting. I hadn’t even proofed it, as I was too busy ignoring another of Cole’s pleas.
“I’ve got some work to do,” I say quickly, clutching the paper like a lifeline. I move around the end of the desk, turning my back to him as I head to the door.
He sighs, and it causes a lump to form in my throat. I will not cry. I will not cry.
I slam the door to the photocopier room behind me and lean against it for a moment. I hate this room now. Too many moments of us alone in here attempt to infiltrate my mind, but I force them back at the expense of tears brimming. They burn at the fringe of my eyelids, my chest heaving in emotional breaths, and I struggle to rein in my control. I take a few more gulps, not caring if someone can hear me outside. I will not fucking cry.
I blow out another breath and move over to the photocopier. I slide in the sheet and click to make a handful of copies. The door opens just as I collect the papers, and I suck in more air.
“Hey.” Cole leans against the door, waiting for my response.
“Not now, Cole. I just can’t.” My voice cracks, and I cringe at my weakness. I want to be strong. In control.
“I just want the opportunity to explain,” he pleads.
“I think we’ve established you’re pretty shit at explaining.” I sniff, shivering from my heartache. Tell him you’re going to Canada. Tell him you didn’t need him to be seen.
“I’m not here to make you uncomfortable.” Cole’s voice is tortured, and I close my eyes, holding in the restless tears again. His voice weakens me. If I stay to listen, I’ll ignore Henri’s request to come to Canada, and I’ll eventually give in, proving yet again that I can’t cope on my own. I sense him moving closer, and I open my eyes to meet his anguished face.
“I know, but there are things … I just can’t deal with right now.” I sigh, looking down to collect my thoughts, but my eyes rest on the agenda, a blank space that wasn’t there before. “What the…?” I lift the sheets between us and feel the tears dry up. Holding up the sheet, I point to the line. “Where’s my submission for the agenda? Why did you take it out?”
“We don’t need to be discussing it, as it won’t be happening,” he states, clear as day.
“My resignation absolutely has to be discussed, Cole. It needs to be documented. You need to start looking for someone else. The agency has to know.”
He feels closer, yet he hasn’t moved. Tension builds between us, and it’s the first time in the past two weeks that I’ve wanted to listen to his response.
“You aren’t going, Letty. I threw your multiple attempts at resigning in the bin.”
Well, that explains why the envelopes I printed daily weren’t on his desk. Anger builds. How dare he ignore me?
“I know you can hold a grudge.” His lips tip up slightly, probably in relief that I’m letting him within a fifty-metre radius of me. He’s gone from insecure of my reaction to almost quietly confident, while I want to hit him with the sheets in my hand.
“You didn’t talk to me for months when I cut your Barbie’s hair off when you were six.” A whisper of a smile appears, but I stare at it until it disappears. I’d forgotten about that. Now I’m pissed.
“Oh, what?” I shriek. “I’d forgotten about that! Now I’m going to add to the list of things
to be pissed off about!”
“I know you’re pissed, Letty. But I’m trying to make a point. You’re not talking to me, and I can’t get a moment of your time. And if you remember correctly, I got you a new Barbie.”
“Because I don’t want to talk to you, you Barbie massacrer. Your mum made you buy it.”
“No, she didn’t. I remember seeing your face that day, and I felt bad. But that’s beside the point. If you listen to me, I can explain. You got over other stuff in the past, Letty. Why the fuck can’t we resolve this?”
“Maybe I don’t want to,” I throw back at him, watching him flinch. “I don’t want to be here. I’m still going,”
“No, you’re not. On
ce we talk, we can sort out all of this. Please.” He pleads, and I realise that I’m clenching the sheets in my hand. I huff and move quickly around him, my arm swiping his away as he tries to grab hold of me. “Tonight, I’m coming over. We’re going to talk. I won’t leave until you hear me out. I won’t be sent away again. You can warn Piper, or I can.”
Fuck that. How dare he think bossing me around is going to work?
I swing on my heel and march out of the room, slamming the door behind me, not caring if he were directly there to cop it in the face. I’m tempted to leave the building to get some fresh air, but the ping of the elevator has me storming back into our office and placing the slightly crumpled agendas on the meeting table. I walk to my desk, spray my fucking plant, and conjure every ounce of strength I have to help get me through this meeting. He didn’t listen to me. He just wanted to talk. Trails of insecurity weave in my thoughts. He hired me because of my father. He bought my artwork to make up for being a jerk.… Slowly, I feel the moments of us together are being smothered while the hurt is almost incandescent. I can’t see anything but pain, and my drive to leave is more determined than before. If he thinks he can ignore my wishes, he can think again.
“Any other business before we finish up?” Cole shuffles the papers on the table, and I struggle not to throw my laptop at him. He really is just going to try to sweep it under the carpet. Not on my watch, arsehat.
“Yes.” I tap the table next to my laptop, as it’s safer than Frisbeeing it. “I believe there is still business to conclude.”
Cole’s face tightens momentarily, before he turns his face away. “Oh, never mind. We can conclude the excess next week. I’ve already kept you all back overtime, and I’m sure you’re eager for the weekend.”
“My resignation,” I seethe, ignoring audible gasps around me.
Theo flinches beside me, and I sense him shifting his stare. But I refuse to look away from Cole. My eyes bore into him, and I focus on getting him to crumble. If he wants to fight this, then he can be prepared for war.