But he can’t save me from everything; I have a press conference coming up on Tuesday, and I desperately don’t want to go. I don’t think I can bear it, seeing Logan, seeing all those accusatory eyes on me, knowing what they’re thinking.
She’s a whore, an office slut. I can just hear it now. I lean back and close my eyes.
For days now I’ve been weighing my options. I could quit, but there was no telling if I’d be able to find another job. By now, word of my sexcapade with Logan has spread throughout the entire sales industry. No self-respecting corporation that cared about their public image would ever hire me, and I’d probably be laughed out of interview rooms across town.
I just have to face it--I’m stuck. And a part of me blames Logan.
It hurts just thinking his name. I feel horrible for leaving him the way I did. I was just emotional and feeling alone. I’ve waited all week for him to call. He hasn’t, and it hurts. I thought what we had together meant something to him.
I was a fool to stick around when he told me to my face that he wouldn’t commit. I deserve this.
The pain almost overwhelms me and tears burn my eyes. I climb off the bed and grab a tissue from the box on my desk to blow my nose, then toss it into the wastebasket with a hundred others. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten involved. I feared ending up like this, becoming a sorry, broken mess.
He should’ve called me, I think to myself, even if he doesn’t think I want to talk to him, to prove me wrong. To show that he really does care about me. At the same time, I should have called him.
Even Hastings has called me, though he’s kept everything professional and hasn’t once mentioned the photos. I think he feels sorry for me and wants to keep an eye out, make sure I don’t go try to go jump off a building somewhere.
If I can get through these next few months, I’ll look for another place… in another city, I tell myself.
The thought makes me miserable and I slog through the mass of emails feeling like shit. I’m just through responding to my last email when I get a call from Eva.
“Hello?” I answer the same way I always have.
“Charlotte!” Eva cries, her voice joyful. “I’m so happy to hear your voice!”
I hold in a groan. I know she’s trying to be cheerful because she knows that I’m in a dark place, but it’s not going to help. Despite what she says, it’s hard not to think that she thinks less of me after she saw the photos of Logan and I screwing. “Thanks,” I say. “How are things going?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line and then I hear Eva suck in a breath. “Alright. Things have been going great with the project.” She’s not mentioning anything about the photos. Good, because I don’t want to hear it. Although she did leave a message on my voicemail about it on the day after it happened and the first day I stayed home from work. I never returned that call. I suppose she got the memo.
There’s another pause and then she blurts, “Hannah, Cary Ann and I are doing a ladies' night tonight. Wanna come?”
Not really, is my initial thought. I shift on the bed, pushing the laptop away and trying to get comfortable. I don’t want to go, but I feel somewhat obligated because of how supportive Eva is trying to be. I know she only wants me to get out of the house and out of this depression. Yet there’s no way I’m going to go and deal with the stares... the looks. I haven’t talked to Hannah and Cary Ann since it happened, and I’m sure they're going to have questions for me. I can’t handle that tonight. It’s just too much. “I’m sorry, Eva,” I say finally, “but I really don’t want to.”
“Please,” Eva implores. “I’m just worried about you. Getting out for some fresh air and a relaxing drink would be good for you.”
“I… just can’t.” It’s obvious that we handle things differently, and she’s only trying to help. But I know I won’t be alright. I’m not ready to put myself out there like that.
Before Eva can reply, there’s a knock at the door. “I gotta go, Eva. Sorry.” I hang up the phone and crawl out of my bed, quickly jogging to the front door so they don’t leave. When I get there, it’s a different story. For a moment, I debate on even opening the door. There’s no one I wanna talk to… other than Logan.
Instead I peek through the peephole. I see an old man dressed in black standing outside. I watch as he raises his hand and knocks again. I wait, hoping he'll go away, but he stands there and knocks several more times.
I finally answer the knock with a raised voice, “I’m not presentable right now, so I would prefer you leave and come back at a decent time.”