Page 66 of Painted Truths

My favourite is Hurt by the inimitable Johnny Cash.

H

When I find the song on my Spotify, being unfamiliar with it before now, tears fill my eyes as the raw emotion in the music hits me squarely in the feels, once again endearing this man to me without meaning to let him burrow further under my skin.

And as if that wasn’t enough of a killer, those damned blue roses that send my foolhardy heart racing continue to appear every morning.

That same heart is lying to my head, but my head has decided to play ostrich and stay buried in the damn sand, allowing my heart to run riot.

Every evening when I return to my quiet apartment, I must press that day’s blue rose in a scrapbook that I bought custom-made from Etsy because I can’t bear to part with them.

You fucking loser, Olivia!

And each day has its own page, with his handwritten notes taped alongside.

Each of them makes my heart beat gloriously faster.

All of them force my feelings to the surface with each magnificently blue petal.

But my head doesn’t know about any of that. Obvs.

Remember? Ostrich.

Then, on Thursday, everything comes to a head. Reaching my desk, I see that today’s rose has been crushed. Like, stomped underfoot and scattered across the desk, floor, and beyond. The note has been torn into teeny pieces and is thrown haphazardly on the floor.

I can see a red haze descending over my eyes as I run them around the office to find the perpetrator, only to land upon Andrea. She’s staring straight at me with a smug smile and raised eyebrows on her overly made-up, utterly cunt-ish face.

My heart pounds in my ears as I feel my adrenaline kick in. I have never been a physically violent person, but before I can consciously determine what I’m about to do, I’m tossing my shit to the floor and marching across the distance between us.

I see fear flash across her eyes as I reach her, and a rush of twisted delight like never before flows through me. She takes several steps backwards before her perfectly rounded ass meets the reception desk, effectively stopping her, and I close the gap, moving right up into her face, careful not to touch her. She’s a total fucking Karen and would have me sued in a heartbeat.

Instead, I slam my hand on the desk beside her and just stare her down until she can’t hold my incensed glare any longer, glancing to the side, obviously seeking help from someone she won’t find here.

“Don’t,” I grit out through clenched teeth, “you dare touch my things ever again, or I will fuck you up. You got me?”

Withdrawing from my intimidating pose, despite the fact she towers at least five inches over me, I see none other than Henry in my peripheral vision.

Arms crossed, feet braced apart, and steaming fucking mad.

Nothing in this world is as downright hot as an impassioned Henry. My head has gone all ostrich on it, just when I need her to keep up this angry tension between us. The delicious push and pull that we’ve been feeding via email all week, but my soft heart, that stupid bitch, is soaring at his presence.

“Andrea.” Her name is a bark across the dead silence of the entire floor. “My office.” Spinning on his heel and marching to the waiting elevator, she tosses me a knowing wink that sets the fire in my belly to fever pitch as he steps on, snarling.

“NOW!”

Once both he and Andrea have left, Freya, Anna, and several others gather me up as I’m rapidly deflating from my earlier anger. Then, bringing me to the Ladies’, they all fuss over me, checking my hair, my makeup, and getting me a cup of tea to calm the nerves, as Freya declares it’s the only thing for it.

It must be about half an hour or more after the whole thing has transpired when I get back to my desk to find another beautiful blue rose, the evidence of the previous one disappearing as though it had never existed.

She’s gone. For good.

Meet me in my office when you feel able.

Your Henry

Shrugging my shoulders as I decide there’s no time like the present to rip this man a new one, so I head to the elevator, catching Freya’s eye and sending a reassuring smirk as I leave.

This man, who has to audacity to refer to himself as my fucking Henry. I’m steaming.