“Must feel like a block of ice with a hole in it,” Larry says.
The others laugh, and each passing second feels like a stab in my chest. I always knew I wasn’t very popular, but I had no idea it was so bad.
I need to move. I want to, but my feet are glued to the blue carpet below my red soles, uncooperative. I don’t need that muffin anymore. Hell, I don’t even think I can drink the coffee currently burning my palm. I want to leave, go home, and never see the people in there again. But it’s not just them, is it? It’s everyone on this floor, and maybe a few on the other ones. They despise me, and my recent breakup has given them ammunition to humiliate me.
But I’m the only one who can give them that satisfaction. I’m the one who can break and bend at their offenses. And there’s no way I’ll let them win. For the first time in a decade, I’m thankful for my lack of tears because it allows me to straighten up and act as if I’m not deeply hurt by their baseless insults.
“Can you imagine the—” Isabel stops whatever she was about to sneer as soon as I enter the room.
Holding myself straight and staring ahead, I walk up to the pastry stand to pick up a muffin I already know I won’t eat. They all remain silent now that I am in their presence.
On my way out again, I halt my steps. “Don’t you have work to do, Isabel?”
With her cup of tea in hand, she swiftly makes her way out of the break room.
“And Larry?” I call out next.
“Yes, Miss Kensington?”
“I’m nothing like a block of ice, but you’ll never be lucky enough to find out for yourself.”
The words feel like razor blades coming out of my throat because I know they are a lie. I’m terrible in bed, and I hope to God Larry never finds out. The way their jaws drop makes it all worth it, and I offer them a faked, amiable smile before continuing on my way back to my office.
Once I’m safely behind closed doors, I curse the glass walls that separate me from the open floor, wishing I could crumble into a pile of mashed Gen. But I maintain my composure, settle the snack and searing cup on my desk, and return to the glass wall to pull the privacy curtain closed. Only when I’m finally isolated do I take deep and long breaths, struggling to soothe myself.
My life is on a rapid descent to hell, and I have no idea how to stop it from happening.
Frigid bitch…
As much as I want to deny it, I can’t help but wonder. Is it just my leading style that compelled the insult, or are people aware of my lack of bedroom skills? Did Edward say something? The idea that anyone else might know is chilling, and I shudder at the thought. Especially since I’m supposed to have authority over them. How are they meant to respect me now?
When my breathing has returned to a semblance of normalcy, I straighten my blouse, skirt, and hair before walking up to my door. As I go to the elevator lobby, I avoid everyone’s gaze, worried I might crumble if I catch even one nasty side glare. Since only a few floors are above mine, I’m alone when I enter the elevator. On my way down though, a couple of people join the ride, and we stand in utter silence. Then, I’m out again, walking through the familiar hallways leading to Eddie’s office. It’s been months since my last visit there, an unpleasant reminder of how poorly our relationship evolved.
I knock on his door, staring at the golden letters of his nameplate, and wait for his “Come in!”
The office is familiar since we used to have lunch together here. It’s smaller than mine, but I have faith that he’ll one day become the company’s chief accountant, given his skills.
He’s crunching numbers on his calculator, his thin-rimmed glasses low on his straight nose. When he looks up, surprise strikes him. He stops what he’s doing, hastily taking off his glasses.
“Gen! Hi.”
“Hello, Edward.”
The awkward tension prevents us from saying anything else, both uncertain about how to proceed. “How have you been doing?” I ask first.
“Uh, alright. Frank’s apartment is big, so we’re not in each other’s faces too much.”
“Good. Good, good,” I say with a nod, fidgeting with the seam of my blazer.
“And you?”
“I’ve been fine, thank you.” Weirdly enough, Ihavebeen fine. A little lonely, which I didn’t expect, but definitely fine for someone who was just dumped after five years.
“Good.”
Just like that, silence fills the space again. For heaven’s sake, we’ve dated for half a decade. We should have more to say to one another. He tries to act relaxed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, but I know him too well to be fooled. This is as awkward for him as it is for me.
This time, he’s the one breaking the tense stillness. “You need something?”
