Unforgiven(37)
“Excuse me; I’m not feeling well.” I take off for the bathroom, hoping that I make it in time. Pushing the door open so hard that it slams against the wall behind it, I stumble into a stall and heave the little bit of coffee in my system. Another wave of nausea hits and I heave again—this time just bile. There’s a knock on the bathroom door, which I choose to ignore.
“Linds,” Mike’s voice echoes through the tile bathroom. “You okay?”
“Can you grab my purse from my desk drawer? And my cosmetic bag too?”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.”
One more bout of dry heaves and my stomach aches—the muscles burning from clenching over and over. I hear the bathroom door open again. “Are you going to be okay?” he asks. “Coffee just didn’t settle well with me, I guess.”
“I’m just going to set everything on the counter and go back to the meeting, unless you need me here.”
“No, go. I’ll be back as soon as I clean myself up.”
I hear the door close and I pull myself up from the cool tile floor. I straighten my coral shift dress and blow my nose with some toilet paper, tossing it into the toilet as I flush it one last time. My legs are wobbly as I walk to the sink and wash my hands and use some paper towel to wipe the tears that have leaked from my eyes.
I pull my toothbrush and toothpaste from my cosmetic bag and brush my teeth and tongue. I splash some cool water on my face to ease the red splotches before reapplying my make-up. Thankfully, I pulled my hair up into a twist and that came out unscathed. Inside my purse, I reach for my little pill container and shake two of the OxyContin pills into my hand. I toss them into my mouth and use my hand to scoop some water from the faucet into my mouth to help them go down.
Gathering my belongings, I head back to my desk, dropping my purse and cosmetic bag into my drawer. The newsroom begins bustling with activity and I glance at the clock, noting that the morning production meeting must have just ended. I rest my elbows on my desk and drop my head into my hands for a moment, willing the pills to start working. I close my eyes, rub my temples, and breathe deeply, knowing that relief is minutes away.
“Found this. Heard you lost one.” Amanda’s voice is cynical. I open my eyes just as a SIM card lands on my desk directly in front of me.
“I didn’t lose it.” I try to contain my voice as I spin my desk chair around to look at her. She’s standing in the open entry of my cubicle. Her hands are on her hips and her mouth is twisted into a devious smile. She leans forward just a bit and whispers, “Better keep track of your stuff. If this becomes a habit, there won’t be any room left for you here.”
And that’s all it takes for me to snap. I lunge from my chair and push her backward. She stumbles on her heels, out into the hall. “Don’t fuck with me, Amanda. I’m the wrong person. I will take you down with me,” I scream in her face. I have her backed against the wall, holding her by the shoulders. She has a look of shock on her face.
“You’re fucking crazy,” she seethes.
“Keep this shit up and you’re about to find out how fucking crazy I am,” I spit out.
“Lindsay.” Rob’s voice is strong, angry. “In my office. Now!” I look down the hallway where he stands with Mike and a few of the other daytime reporters.
“This isn’t done,” I mutter through gritted teeth before I back away from Amanda and walk down the hall to Rob’s office. He’s waiting for me and shuts the door with a loud bang as I step through the entrance.
“Take a seat,” he barks.
“I’d rather stand.” I remember reading that if someone is standing, so should you. It keeps the playing field even. Plus, I’m fucking angry and I’m tired of Rob treating me like I’m the one who did something wrong.
“Sit down,” he demands and gestures toward the chair that sits in front of his large, mahogany desk. I cave, sitting down and quickly crossing my legs. Taking deep breaths, I hope it helps calm me down as my pulse races. “What was that out there?”
I choose my words carefully. “Amanda mysteriously found my SIM card that went missing.”
“What’s going on with you and Amanda?” he asks as he circles behind his desk and places both of his hands on the back of his high-back leather desk chair.
“She’s been at me since the day I started. I’m not pretty enough, I’m too fat, I’m too young—accusing me of doing lewd things to get this job.” My voice trails off as my throat tightens and my words become weak. I clear my throat and choke back my emotions. “I know it was her that stole the SIM card from my computer.”