[80 weeks ago]
@pancakesareelite:
How would you go about convincing someone to divorce the man they love because you know they’re evil?
@theanswerisno:
You always find the weirdest
simulation games to play
@pancakesareelite:
I wish it were a game
@theanswerisno:
If it was, how would you deal with it?
@pancakesareelite:
I think I’d log out and pretend it doesn’t exist.
@theanswerisno:
Sometimes that’s okay
My clothing had dried by the end of the workday, but I wasn’t ready to change out of Mr. Carden’s shirt and coat. It was warm, worn in, and made me feel… safe. At least, what I assumed safety felt like.
The sunset cast a golden pathway toward the bus shelter, and I was lost in my thoughts about Mr. Carden while walking, waiting, and climbing on the bus. He’d been open, and helpful, and… wonderful.
Fine. I’ve developed a tiny crush on my boss. The tiniest of crushes. Nothing harmful. Nothing illegal. Just the smallest little flutter in my stomach every time he looked my way, or kind of smiled, or grabbed a ruler or… breathed. Totally normal behavior.
With great difficulty, I pushed these thoughts to the back of my mind, where they belonged.
I climbed out at my stop. A familiar voice called out, as if jumping from another corner of my brain. A corner I’d cordoned off. “Elizabeth.”
I ignored it.
“Elizabeth,” he said again. “Come on. We can chat, can’t we? You’re looking lovely as ever.”
I kept moving. I dug my hands into the pocket of this coat, ignoring my fast-beating heart, and found my keys.
Footsteps followed. “Mr. Gordon-Bettencourt would like to talk to you.”
“Leave me alone.” I beelined for the stairwell, grabbed the railing, and jogged up.
Alistair kept following.
With my key ready, I shoved it in the lock the second I reached my door.
“I said, Mr. Gordon-Bettencourt would like to talk to you.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk to him,” I snapped, spinning around and finally taking him in.
Alistair was now a thirtysomething-year-old man I’d once fumbled around with as an inexperienced and inebriated teenager. No part of me had expected he would end up working for the GB empire, but I should have known. Everyone in their circle was there by nepotism. “You don’t get to say no to him.”
I clenched my fists, and my nails poked into my palms. “No,” I spat. “Youdon’t get to say no to him. But I do. Run home to your boss and tell him that I said he can go to hell.”
