Page 36 of Apparently, I’m Torture

I HATE him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

My phone vibrated against my hip, but I couldn’t answer it. I really couldn’t. Tears pushed against my eyes, hot and urgent, and I brushed them, trying to keep them away. It wasn’t until Shawn reappeared, framed by the doorway and horror stricken as he clutched a bucket, that a sob tore from me, and I sank to the carpet.

His intake of breath was sharp, and the next thing I heard was the door slamming. A small thud hit the ground, then his hands were on me, lifting me from the carpet. His fingers squeezed my waist as he sat me on the table, and all I could do was blink furiously as he cupped my face.

His thumb grazed my wet cheek as he whispered, “Lilly, please, don’t cry. Please.” When I opened my eyes, his blurry face was tight with misery.

His touch was a drug. Sweet sensation thrummed, pulsed under my skin, and it was too much.

I shook myself free of him, sniffed, and rubbed my face. “Sorry.” My laugh was brittle. “Stacey’s right. I’m not really behaving professionally, am I?”

“I, uh, brought you a bucket. In case you felt sick.”

I looked over his shoulder at the silver, metal cylinder on the ground, and said, “Oh.”

What else could I say? There I was, stomping my foot and screaming into my hands, and he was just trying to help. The tips of my ears burned under my hair. This was not my proudest moment.

“And I checked your computer earlier this morning. I’m not sure why, but you’ve been locked out of our servers again.” He looked at me like I was a puzzle. “I’ll fix it, and then we’ll sit together until you’ve caught up.”

I shook my head. “You don’t have to sit with me. I can do my job as long as everything is working.”

“Right. Of course you can.” He stepped back, taking his touch from me. “But if you do need anything, let me know.” He swallowed, thrust his hands into his pockets, and drifted to the door. “I’ll be at your desk, but I should be done in twenty minutes.”

Two errant tears slid free, and I caught them, swiping them away before they could drip down my chin. “Thanks. And, um, I’m sorry about–” I gestured to all of me “–this. I can be better than this.”

His brows furrowed as he bit his lower lip, then he left the room for a second time.

I pulled a deep, shaky breath into my lungs, and sent my fingers along my waist, my cheeks, my jawline. The same places Shawn smoothed, touched, squeezed. He looked so sad. And he called me Lilly. I had to hope that meant something. That maybe he was finally done with putting distance between us.

In any case, I was feeling better after my emotional outburst. Like a weight was lifted from me. Until my phone vibrated.

I pulled it out and stared at the screen. Mrs Hernandez. Again. Could I handle this conversation? After sending her to voicemail eight times this week, I guess I had to.

I answered, bracing myself.

“Mrs Hernandez, hi. I’m sorry I haven’t been–”

“Finally. Why weren’t you answering your phone?” Indignant resentment dripped from her. I think this woman hated having to rely on me as much as I hated having to deal with her.

“I’ve been busy working a fundraiser over the holidays, but I’ve been searching for the right tutor for Jessica.”

“Have you found anyone yet? A woman who knows what she’s talking about, remember?”

“I remember, Mrs Hernandez. But no. I haven’t found a tutor who matches your requirements yet.”

A deep sigh blew through the speaker, and I pictured Jessica’s mother pinching the bridge of her nose. “Miss Fares, my daughter has a limited amount of time to raise her grade.”

“Well, actually, she’s only–”

“And if you were doing your job properly in the first place, she’d know more about Shakespeare and less about cartoon musicals.” Hostile venom laced her tone, and I clamped my mouth shut as she spoke. “If you don’t find her a tutor I approve of by the end of this week, I will make a formal complaint.”

Fear stabbed my chest. There were only three days left. Three days to find a tutor. There was no way I could meet her deadline.

Resigned and quiet, I gave her the only answer I could. “I understand. I’ll do my best.”

Her hostility rang in my ear as she said, “You’d better,” and hung up.

I sat and stared at the phone in my hand. The blank black screen reflected back at me, and all I could see was a tear-stained, red-eyed woman. Defeated. Beaten. Crushed. Was that who I was now?