Katrina sat at her desk, folding her hands over the papers.
Her office was, in a word, sleek, every surface either white or gray.
“Are you all right?” she asked, drawing my attention back to her.
“I’m fine, I just spent the morning talking to college students about how awesome it is to be me.” I forced a laugh, which sounded a lot more pitiful than I'd hoped.
“Maybe this will make your day just a little bit better.” She slid the document over to me. “All we need is your signature, and you will be released from your contract. They agreed to all of our terms and even gave you a bigger severance… Why don’t you look happy?”
I hadn’t realized I'd stopped breathing until she spoke to me directly. Taking a deep breath, I placed the cup on her desk and grabbed a pen. “All I need to do is sign this, right?” I asked, reading it over.
“Yes, they’ve already signed.” When she said they, she meant him.
I stabbed the pen right in the middle of the paper before dragging it down, ripping it until the end.
“What are you doing?”
“Did I do anything wrong?” I asked her.
“What?”
“Did I do anything wrong? I don't think so. So why am I the one running? Why do I feel like the other woman, being paid off, told to keep her mouth shut, to accept the money and disappear?”
“Gwen—”
“How much longer do I have on my contract?”
“Five months, but Gwen—”
“I will work until it’s over, and only then will I leave. So call him up and tell him I will be awaiting the next project.” I rose, grabbing my things.
“Gwen! Stop for a second.” Katrina walked in front of me. “I understand what you are saying, I really do, but you shouldn’t let yourself go though that kind of emotional abuse for the sake of your pride. There is nothing wrong with closing the book on him and all of this. It’s not running.”
“To me it is.” I felt like I should be ashamed of something. “I’m closing the book and putting this all behind me, and I need to do that from a position of strength. Five months. I can handle that—it’s not like I’m there every day. It could be only three or four shoots. Thank you for your concern, but please just do what I asked and let them know.”
“Okay, I’ll make the call.” She moved out of my way.
“Thank you,” I said heading out. I somehow managed to keep my head until I got into the elevator. Alone, I rested my forehead against the wall.
Not only was she beautiful and classy, but also extremely intelligent. How do you compare to that? His voice replayed in my mind, like a knife to my soul. Worse, no matter how deeply I was hurt, I couldn’t be angry at him. What did I care if he didn’t think I was good enough? I didn’t even really know him, and he didn’t know me. It was good he thought so highly of her; he had wanted to to marry her, that’s how he was supposed to think. Your spouse is the person you are supposed to devote the rest of your life to; shouldn't they be the most perfect person to you? She was his person. If the situation were reversed, I could have said the same thing. What hurt me was the fact that Bash, my person, thought I was no good either. Bash knew me, he had seen me at my best and worst, and in his eyes, I was still not good enough.
Heading toward my bike, I tried to focus on the people passing by instead of my dark thoughts. I reached into my purse, pulled out my camera, and balanced myself on my bike as I took a couple of photos. The world looked so much better through a lens. Maybe it was because I could freeze time for a second and take a good look at the people around me.
New York is so crowded, everyone in a hurry, brushing past people but rarely making connections, rarely truly seeing each other.
Plunging forward, I enjoyed the breeze as I headed back home. It was a short ride back, thankfully. I had the urge to paint again. Making it to my building, I lifted my bike toward the entrance when a little girl ran past me, dropping her teddy bear and almost knocking me over. The bear's arm was torn, one of its button eyes was missing, and the stuffing was falling out of the back.
“I’m so sorry. She's really excited.” A dirty blond-haired man whose five o' clock shadow was working on becoming a beard ran up to me, looking me over through the thick-rimmed black glasses perched on his nose. He was cute in a nerdy kind of way.
“It’s fine. Here, she dropped this.” I handed him the bear.
“You’re the new tenant in 34B, right?” He outstretched his hand. “I’m Toby Wesley. I live in 32C, two floors down. Nice to meet you.”
“Guinevere Poe, but you can call me Gwen. Nice to meet you.” I shook his hand.