And…?
Bonnie shoving me into a cab during a rainstorm and telling me to hunker down until the storm passed.
I checked my bladder.
Yeah, I had to piss.
Still not having a clue whether I was still living through Friday or if we’d tipped over into Saturday morning, I rolled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom.
Never so grateful to have the nightlight, I pissed and tried to orient myself. This time of year, six-thirty meant dark. The blackout drapes in my bedroom ensured no crack of light cameinto the space. I had the clock radio on dim, a nightlight in that room, and a nightlight in here.
I flushed the toilet, washed my hands, and then splashed cold water on my face.
Nope, still clueless.
Because you took the heavy-duty drugs.
I cursed. Several great new migraine prevention drugs had come onto the market in recent years—and I was allergic to one of the ingredients. A bad reaction after trying the med had landed me in the hospital, and all my hopes of relief had been dashed.
Fucking migraines.
I’d had them since childhood. Had memories of my parents dragging me to protests while suffering from them. Being handed a pill, a bottle of water, and a pair of sunglasses.
My parents who cared so much about the planet and the fate of civilization kind of didn’t really care about their own child.
That’s not fair. They were obsessed with…the bigger picture.
Well, I was never going to be like that.
What, and neglect your cat? It’s not like you’re ever going to have a kid to neglect.
Sometimes I hated the fucking voice in my head.
If I were a woman, it would be haranguing me about mybiological clock.
Ship’s sailed. I’m on the other side of forty now.
Not that people in their forties couldn’t have children. They most certainly could.
I just wasn’t going to be one of them. I’d had my chance to prioritize family over career—and I hadn’t taken it. Nope. I’d chosen my job. I’d believed I was fighting for the greater good.
Jesus, how fucking naïve were you?
Good question.
Acorporatelawyer working for acorporation.
I’d understood about profit margins. About the almighty dollar. I’d believed the company I worked for was different.
Again, Jesus, how fucking naïve were you?
Well, at least I’d walked away when I found them falsifying research to obtain further government funding.
After turning them in, of course.
Which begged the question how fucking naïve they’d been—thinking I wasn’t going to do the right thing. That I’d just turn a blind eye to fraud.
Ha, more fool them.
