I leave Frank’s office, trying to come up with a way to get out of having to take Blake to the gala. I suppose I could forget to tell her… my memoryisterrible these days.
Rounding the corner of the office, I come across the bane of my existence standing with Aimee. My heart pinches in my chest as I watch Blake laugh at something she said, how she throws her head back and gives a throaty laugh.
I fucking hate her and how she makes me feel.
“Aimee,” I bark. Her head swings around to face me, her eyes wide at my tone. “I need some paperwork filed.”
She waves a hand in the air. “I’ll get to it in a minute.”
“Now, Aimee,” I grit out, hands clenching at my sides.
Fuck me sideways, I’m being a dickhead right now. I know that, but the alcohol is making me more emotional than usual. I mean, I can barely cope on a good day, and today? I’m not at my best, especially after being hauled into Frank’s office. The guilt hits me when Aimee’s eyes narrow, but I can’t take it back. Blake has the ability to turn me inside out, and I never know which fucking way is up or down.
Blake says something to Aimee that I don’t catch. Aimee nods and walks off. I give Blake a scathing look, then head into my office, slamming the door behind me and throwing myself into my chair. I swear that’s all I’m doing lately—slamming my office door. It just feels too good not to when my anger is at a near-boiling point.
Mike says I’m like a pressure cooker—I take and I take until I can’t take it anymore, and then I explode, letting anyone and everyone have my wrath. It doesn’t usually end well for me or the person my ire is directed at. Then I feel like a cunt and spiral for weeks, thinking the person hates me.
Oh, the joys of mental health.
My door opening has my head jerking up. Blake stands in the doorway with the file from Aimee in her hand. She’s wearing her hair down today, the strands moving around her shoulders with each movement she makes. I watch her, almost like I’m in a trance, unable to take my eyes off her.
“I, uh, got these from Aimee,” she says quietly, placing them on my desk and brushing her hair behind her ear.
I nod, too afraid to speak. I’m worried if I open my mouth now, I’ll never be able to take the words back.
Blake shuffles on her feet, a move so unlike her. She’s fierce, she doesn’t back down, and she’s confident. But how she is now? This isnother.
“Can we start over, Theo? These games are getting tiresome.”
I say nothing. I keep my eyes trained on her, even though I’d rather be looking at anything else.
“You got me, I got you, can we just leave it at that?” she asks, her eyes pleading in ways her mouth won’t. “I need this job,” she whispers.
The physical ache in my stomach hurts just as much as if someone had punched me there, and trust me, I know what that feels like. Whyher words get to me so much, I’ll never know. I hate this woman. I don’t want her here. I don’t want her anywhere near me or the life I’ve created, but there’s still that part of me—the people pleaser—that can’t bear to see the look on her face—the one I caused.
My mind is a whirl of different scenarios, thoughts, and feelings, but I can’t figure them out. It’s all too much.
“Get out,” I growl.
Blake’s head shoots up, her gaze questioning as she takes me in. “Theo?”
“I said, get out.”
Make it stop. Fuck, make it stop.
Blake crosses her arms defensively. “Stop being so dramatic. I’m not going anywhere until you give me something to work with here. You have all the goddamn files for fuck’s sake,” she says, lashing out.
My chest aches, my head feels like it’s about to cave in from the weight of the pressure behind my eyes, and my hands begin to shake.
“Go find Aimee,” I sneer, but it comes out more of a whispered groan.
I can’t breathe.
“No, I won’t go find Aimee. I want you to start acting like a professional.”
My chest cracks open, and the pounding in my head makes everything muffled, tunnel vision homing in and threatening to take me out. With one last push, I roar, “Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
Blake huffs. “Jesus, you’re pathetic. You need help.”
