Life as We Know It (Love Not Included) (Volume 4)

by J. D. Hollyfield

  “I love you,” he says softly.

  “I love you too.”

  And with a smile stretching across his perfect face, he’s gone.

  I feel like I’m high. I’ve dipped into a few things in my days and nothing, I mean nothing has made me feel this high. Love should be illegal, this feels so good. My face is going to be sore soon from all the silly smiling that I’m doing. The whole shower, I just smirked, then smiled, then laughed, just remembering the few previous times I was in there. I get ready for work, sliding on a slim black pencil skirt and a matching white blouse that Sam bought for me. Not wanting me to go back to my place until everything was safe and back in order, he took me on a shopping spree over the weekend. And there was no complaint out of me. I like a good bargain shop but, holy Toledo, does that man know style. From the dresses to the slacks, to the bras and two matching sets of thongs for each. He told me he planned on ripping more off so he thought to plan ahead.

  I make it out to the hallway when I smell the mouthwatering aroma of the time set coffee barista making my perfect cup of joe. I mean who doesn’t love an in-house, remote controlled coffee maker? Even when I was debating the whole being a notch on the bedpost thing, I had to consider the coffee maker as a reason to just tough it out.

  Two feet away from goodness and the sudden knocking on the door startles me. I jump out of my skin not expecting the intrusion when a manila envelope slides under the doorway. I stand frozen not sure what to make of it. I stare at it as if it’s going to tell me why it’s there.

  The dinging of the machine informs me that it’s ready for me so no more time to waste. I go to pick up the envelope to place it on the table. Sam will see it when he gets home. It’s when I flip it that I see my name written on the top.

  “What the…” Who would slide me an envelope under the door? I smile at the possibilities. I bet Sam has something planned. With vigor, I unseal the envelope and dump the articles of the folder into my hands as I go rescue my joe.

  It’s when I see the first photograph that I stop in my tracks. I flip through the pile of pictures and they are all of Sam. With another woman. I force myself to look at each photo, ones of a woman sitting on Sam’s lap, ones of her facing the camera. Ones looking like they are embracing in a lip lock.

  “Oh God.” I’m going to be sick. His clothes. That shirt. That was the shirt he had on the morning I came over, groveling for forgiveness. That’s what was wrong with him, he was tired from being with a woman.

  I’ve said it before and I will say it now. I hate when people are right. With the truth violently hitting me where it counts, I turn and barf all over his kitchen floor.

  I WALK INTO DRESDEN Architects numb. I see Bethany sitting at her desk and the evil smile she’s sporting doesn’t escape me. As if she knows something I don’t. I want to smack that look off her smug face, but I refuse to let her get the best of me. I walk past her and don’t even bother knocking on Sam’s door as I walk in. I see he’s on the phone, but I don’t care. I’m in a trance of hurt and betrayal.

  “Great Harold. Glad to hear it. I will let her know. She just walked in… Yes. Of course. Thank you. We will talk soon.” Hanging up the phone, he has a smile on his face that crushes my insides.

  “What took you so long, I’m starving for that breakfast,” he winks at me, causing my lip to quiver. “That was Mr. Wellborn. He said he received—”

  I can’t speak, so I do the next best thing and start tossing pictures at him.

  Déjà vu from hell.

  “—What…what are these?” he asks casually, the beautiful smile I love so much still plastered on his face. It’s when he picks up the first photo that his smile instantly drops. One after another, he snatches each photo, the anger inside him raging to escape.

  “I guess the tables have turned,” I say, with barely any emotion, too afraid to let anything show.

  “Wha… Where did you get these?” he asks, his grip tightening, crumbling the corners of the photos in his hand.

  A cynical laugh escapes my throat. “Does it matter?” Because does it? I know I fucked up. But I was able to explain my situation. But these? You can’t talk your way out of photo after photo of yourself in a heated embrace with another woman.

  He steps from behind his desk nearing me when I put my hand up. “Just stop.”

  “What do you mean, just stop? This clearly isn’t what is seems to be,” he argues, denying my request and stepping further into my personal space.

  I take two steps away from his scorching hot body, afraid I won’t stand my ground if I don’t.

  “But it is. And that’s fine. I get it now.”

  “Get what?” Sam snaps, eliminating the space I just created between us.

  “That by looking at those photos, this was never something serious for you. And I’m a fool for believing every word you fed me.” I’m fighting not to cry because I refuse to let him see how bad these hurt me. The room instantly thickens with tension and I step back but he grabs my arm. Our eyes lock and his expression is feral.

  “You better take that back,” he growls. His eyes shine with a mixture between hurt and anger.

  Since the moment Sam and I met, there’s been this connection. This electric force pulling us to one another. From the first touch, to even now, that force is telling me to go to him. Wrap myself in his arms and let him make this better. But my instincts, they’re telling me to fight. To guard the one thing that right now he seems to have the most power over. My heart.

  So I continue to step back.

  “No.” My voice sounds unfamiliar, even to my own ears. “I won’t let you hurt me. I won’t be played. But then again, I guess I already have been. Hope you had a good time deceiving me. But whatever this is, is over,” I rip my arm out of his hold. I bite roughly on my lower lip, forcing the tears back as I dump the rest of the photos I’ve been holding on the floor at his feet.

  Sam watches them fall to the ground. He brings his searing eyes back to mine. “You can’t seriously believe those photos are real?” He bends forward, picking one up, further investigating it. “This is nonsense, I don’t even know who that woman is—”

  “Oh let me guess, it meant nothing too, right? How stupid do you really think I am?” I laugh cynically. “Oh wait, must be very, because I believed your LIES!” I yell, my anger spiking. He’s back on me instantly, his hands gripping my shoulders. He crushes me to him, my chest pressing against his. “You are jumping to conclusions right now. And you need to calm down.”

  His demanding tone sets me off. I fight the hold he has on me. I won’t be told what to do by anyone. Not anymore. “I won’t calm down. Let me go. We’re done!” I yell, but his grip only tightens, his mouth at my ear. “I was at the bar that night but not with another woman. Those are fake. Altered.” His voice comes out just above a whisper.

  Losing a fighting battle, I feel a tear fall down my cheek. “Well I don’t believe you. God, did you really have to go that far just to get me in your bed? Feed me all your bullshit about caring, needing me? When in the end, this was never going to be anything serious to you?”

  His body jolts, almost as if I struck him. His hands raise threading into my hair, his chest still pressing against mine. “Weren’t serious? That’s how you define what we are?” His eyes find mine, his breath warm across my face. “Telling you I love you was nothing serious?” He then pulls back, capturing me in his visual hold. I want to look away, but I can’t. I see the hurt. But in those eyes, I see the reflection of my own feelings of betrayal.

  “You think that’s supposed to mean anything to me? How often do you say those words to get what you want? To all your conquests?” I attack, the words coming out harsh.

  I watch his eyes close, and feel his chest pull back as he inhales a slow breath. It’s then he finally releases me and steps away. Turning, he walks over to his liquor buffet, leaning forward, his head slumps as his hands clench the mahogany counter between the stored liquor decanters.
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  “What? Can’t face that you finally got called out? Or that I didn’t fall for your trap?”

  Without warning, a decanter goes flying and shatters against the mahogany paneled wall.

  He turns to me, his eyes wild. “I told you I love you.” His chest heaves in and out. “Do you want to know how many people I have said those three words to in my entire life?”

  I wish I could take back what I said. To go back to this morning and pretend I never saw those pictures. I want to take back all the hurt I feel for ever falling in love with this man.

  “Probably a billion,” I reply instead through choked words.

  That’s when I watch Sam’s shoulders slump in defeat. His eyes shine with hurt. “One,” he softly replies. “Only one.”

  My chest tightens. My lower lip begins to quiver. Sensing my pain, he steps toward me, but stops himself. This time, he doesn’t allow himself to comfort me. “You know, maybe I’m the stupid one here. To choose the one woman who has absolutely no faith in me. In us. To bare myself to her when all she wants to do is destroy us. I thought we agreed to talk this out. To listen?”

  A tear falls from my filling eyelids. “Photos don’t lie, Sam.”

  “Oh that’s rich.” He slams his hand on the counter. “Shall we bring up your photos? Seems hypocritical right about now doesn’t it. Or how about we talk about you being in bed with another man?”

  What a low blow, we proved that wasn’t the case. “You knew that wasn’t how it was with Jamie and me!” I bite back.

  “Did I?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “And what about those photos of you getting all chummy with your ex?”

  “This is not about those! This is about you!”

  “No, it’s about trust and offering me the same benefit of the doubt in return! I was upset, but I would have never sought out another woman. Those photos are fake. Someone is clearly trying to set me up.”

  Why would someone deliberately send me fake photos of Sam and a random woman? I shake my head, not allowing his excuses to sift inside my confused brain.

  “Nothing you say is going to make me believe you,” I say, resolved.

  “Then you are completely naive.”

  “Oh, you know what? Fuck you.”

  “Yeah you’re right. Fuck me!” he yells. ” Fuck me again for being so blind to the person I thought you were.”

  “We’re done,” I state sternly.

  “Fine, get out.” He waves toward the door. His white flag shocks me into silence. I pause a minute until another object goes flying and crashing into the wall.

  “I said GET OUT! You’ve made your decision, now leave.”

  I watch him as he maintains his position, back to the bar island, bracing his hands tightly on the wood as his shoulders collapse and his head bows.

  What have I done?

  I take a step forward wanting to reach for him. Comfort him. Tell him I’m sorry.

  But then I stop.

  Maybe this is for the best.

  I drop my hand and turn, leaving Sam’s office. I walk past Bethany, swiping her drink off her desk and into her lap. I hear her yelling as I enter the elevator, and as I press the close button, I look out one last time hoping that Sam won’t give up and will come for me. But as the doors close, I see no one.

  I take a cab back to West and Mills, thankful I waited to give Mr. Wellington the ‘I quit, you suck’ speech, because I still have one job, and need something to keep my mind off Sam and the fact that I just left my broken heart on his office floor. There will be mounds of work waiting for me, and maybe burying myself in piles of numbers will hold me off from breaking down.

  I squeeze into the always, god damn filled elevator, and once snuggly inside I press floor ten.

  Like deja vu, I feel the beady eyes on me. I turn, staring down the older looking woman on my left. “I will cut you if you continue looking in my direction. I have a sharp knife in my purse, which I’ve already used once today. Got it?” Her eyes widen, and she quickly turns her head. I believe a few others do as well.

  There.

  I win.

  The door opens and I mosey on out. I see Marianne and I give her the air wave.

  Need to crunch numbers. Need to crunch—

  “Um, Penelope? Um, we um, didn’t expect you to be back here! There’s something you should know…” She hurries to catch up to me.

  “Now’s not a good time, Marianne. Got lots of work to do.” I take a right down the hall of cubicle alley.

  “I know, but… Mr. Wellington, he kinda… Well Dresden—”

  “Ms. Summers!” I hear Mr. Wellington’s booming voice from down the hallway behind me. God, can’t that guy ever leave me alone! I turn trying to hide my frustration. I need to crunch numbers.

  “Yes, Mr. Wellington?” I say less than pleasantly and turn without even hearing his response.

  Crunch numbers.

  “I advise you to stop walking, Ms. Summers.”

  I do stop and turn, my hands flapping at my sides, “Listen, I am very busy, so if we can possibly schedule a one-on-one later, that would be great.”

  “You will being doing no more work here, Ms. Summers. I suggest you pack your desk while I call security because you are officially terminated from West and Mills.”

  Shit.

  Okay so the whole one-on-one maybe went too far.

  “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m just having a bad day. It’s the anniversary of my poor grandmother. Betty was her name. She raised me you see and it just makes me act out.” I lie. Which also reminds me to call my very alive and well grandma and catch up.

  Noted.

  “No, Ms. Summers, you see I just got off the phone with Human Resources at Dresden Architects, and it seems Mr. Dresden has filed a harassment complaint against you and informed me that they released you of your services today.”

  “Pfft.” Then I laugh. “Sure he did. Seriously, Mr. Wellington. I have lots to do.” I turn again.

  Numbers, numbers, numbers.

  “Stop. This is not a joke, Ms. Summers. You are lucky there won’t be any charges. His Human Resource department was very kind in allowing this to slip under the rug, but your termination was a hard request to make that happen.”

  I stop in my tracks.

  I turn to see Mr. Wellington, on his way to becoming beet red angry. I see Marianne almost the same color, but with embarrassment. Probably for me.

  “I advise you to just leave. We will have HR pack your things and send them to your current address on file.”

  Numbers… Numbers… FUCK!

  There comes a time in one’s life, when being sweet and laid back is just not gonna cut it. Right now is one of them. I’ve always wanted to go postal in an office setting and leave. You know, those moments where I stand on the desk and tell everyone I hate to fuck off, and then destroy my cubicle.

  Sadly, this time isn’t going to be it, because while the wheels start turning in regards to my destruction plan, two security officers walk up to me.

  Next time, promise.

  With one deep breath, I shake off my postal explosion and start walking toward the exit, with my two bouncers in tow. “So since I won’t be around to hear about it, make sure to high five your wife for me the day she finally takes a cast iron to your face,” I say to Mr. Wellington as I walk by. I hear him gasp, then start yelling to get me out of his building, but I only respond with the birdy. The oldest and best silent comeback of all time.

  Walking out of West and Mills, the only thing I can think about is how I am two for two. And how things always happen in threes.

  Awesome.

  I’m so beyond mad at this point that I am almost incoherent of reality. I spent the entire subway ride on the phone with Jamie, as I let the floodgates burst open, sobbing uncontrollably. I question if he even understood a damn thing I said since I was crying so hard I was barely making out words. When I finally calmed myself enough to look around I realized the entire tr
ain car was staring at me in horror, so I hung up and jumped off the train the first chance I got.

  Since I got the hysterics out of the way, I quickly moved on to being angry. Very angry. Aborting ship, one stop before my normal exit, I make a pit stop at the local gas station. I grab lighter fluid, matches and no brainer, some marshmallows.

  I walk my pretty ass back the ten blocks to my place and head toward my landlord’s door.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  I knock like a crazy person until Brandi, or Bimbo Brandi as the entire building likes to call her, answers. I tell her as sweetly as possible that I have yet to receive the new spare keys to my place and, to add in a little flavor, that I was mugged and if she can just let me in with the ones the locksmith gave her. I’m sure I sound and look pretty unstable right now, but she doesn’t seem to care. From the sounds of it, she has a guest and nothing, meaning my unbalanced ass, is going to stop bimbo Brandi from getting back to her task at hand.

  If you haven’t caught wind of my master plan, no, I am not going to burn my building down… Just the new items in my apartment. Everything that that weasel bought me is going down. If he thinks that I need a single thread of the shit he bought me? Hell to the mother fucking no.

  I secure the landlord’s new key and let myself in. Wasting no time, I pull out the lighter fluid I bought to spray over my shit just at the same time a needle sticks straight into my neck.

  “I DON’T CARE, ROBERT! Give me the god damn figures! I am not going to ask again,” I yell, slamming the phone onto the receiver. I rest my elbows on my desk, digging my thumbs into my sleepless eyes. Moving my finger up my forehead and brushing away my unkempt hair, I look at the time, then my phone. It’s been almost a whole day, and she hasn’t bothered to even call.

  She meant what she said.

  “Um, excuse me, Mr. Dresden, is everything all right? Can I get you anything?” I look up to see Bethany once again standing in my doorway. This is the third time today. “No, I said I was fine.”