Page 29
Good. She’s choosing to fight me so I’m assured I won’t drown in guilt for what I’m about to say. “Word choices in a legal document can make or break a case. You could sink an entire claim with just one poorly chosen word. It’s a lesson you desperately need, and I’m going to make sure you learn it. Furthermore, you are never to question my opinions on your work again. ”
Mac’s face turns scarlet, and I can tell she wants to lay in to me. Standing up from her chair, she places her palms on my desk with one hand still clinging to the document, and leans in toward me, snarling, “You are being completely unfair. You’re taking your anger out on me when it’s not deserved. ”
Shooting out of my chair, I place my palms opposite of hers on the desk, and do my own brand of threatening maneuver by leaning in toward her. I keep my voice mild though, just to actually dig the knife in more. If she thinks this isn’t personal, but truly my professional opinion, the sting will be more exquisite. “I’m not taking my anger out on you. I’m telling you that your work product is poor. Learn the difference. ”
Mac’s eyes fill with rage, turning those green irises dark as a midnight jungle. Her voice rises perilously close to a shriek. “This is not poor work product. This is you, desperately trying to find some fault with my work so you can punish me. ”
“Punish you?” I say with derision as I pull the document out of her hand. “Why would I possibly do that?”
“Because I cut you off, and you can’t handle the rejection,” she jeers at me.
I throw my head back and laugh mockingly at her, even though she’s f**king hitting the nail on the head. My eyes spark with malice when I look back at her. “Get over yourself, Mac. You were replaced and forgotten just like that. ”
I even snap my fingers so she understands just how quickly I got over her.
Well, supposedly got over her.
She’ll never know I’m without direction, utterly lost.
Tears glisten in Mac’s eyes and she practically hisses at me as she grabs the document back out of my hand. “I can’t take this shit anymore. I did nothing to deserve this. ”
Nothing to deserve this?
All of this… all of my rage, and hurt, and out-of-control behavior is all because of her. Indignation burns deep in my stomach.
Mac spins away from me and heads for my door. It takes a nanosecond for me to react, rounding my desk in three long strides before I have her by the elbow and I’m turning her toward me.
Pulling her in close so I’m almost nose to nose with her, I yell without giving a f**k if anyone hears me. “You did nothing to deserve this? You f**king denied me. ”
All of the anger in Mac’s eyes dies down immediately, not even a quiet, simmering annoyance remains. Instead, her eyes go soft and she looks at me in understanding… maybe sympathy. It makes my stomach knot up.
Her voice is so very quiet… almost a whisper. “I denied you nothing, Matt. I simply asked for more. ”
Her words slam into me, and I feel like someone has taken a sledgehammer and driven it into the center of my chest. The pain that shoots through me is so intense that I get dizzy for a moment and drop her elbow.
I lower my gaze from her face, because I don’t think I can stand to look at the woman who inherently understands me, even when I don’t understand myself.
The woman who feels sorry for me, because I’m incapable of moving past my bitterness.
I’m a f**king loser, and she knows it.
My shoulders drop, and I feel so very f**king tired all of a sudden. Turning from Mac, I walk back to my desk… watching where I’m walking but not really seeing anything. I fall back into my chair and stare blankly at my computer.
Mac starts to move toward me, and that shakes me from my stupor briefly.
“Get out,” I say quietly, without malice, without feeling really anything at all. “I want another draft of those Answers by the end of the day. ”
Mac takes a step toward me, and my gaze comes up. I see her, but for the first time in a long time, I’m not dazzled by her.
I’m afraid of her.
Because without really knowing anything about me at all… about my demons or what makes me tick… she absolutely knows what to say to break me down.
“Matt… I’m sorry you’re hurting,” she says gently. “I am, too. Maybe if we talked this out, we could figure—”
It’s like thick concrete builds up around me, fashioning hard and without yield. “There’s nothing to talk about. Now leave. ”
“Please,” she begs, eyes pleading, taking another small step toward me. “I want to make this better—”
Mac’s kindness… her sympathy… the way she understands me… it’s overbearing and pain starts to fill me up. I feel the last vestiges of my control snap, and I lash out before she can say anything that cuts into my vulnerability further.
“You want to make this better?” I lurch out of my chair and grab ahold of my belt buckle. “The only way you can make this better, Miss Dawson, is if you get over here on your knees. ”
Her eyes… the ones I’ve stared into over and over again, fill with tears, and it knocks the breath clean out of me.
“You’re despicable,” she says. My hands drop from my belt, and my head hangs in shame.
Mac turns away from me, head held high, and walks to my door.
Sadness, misery, and panic flood through me. I couldn’t stop the words a moment ago, and now I don’t know what to say to make this better. I only know that I can’t let her walk out of here hurting like that.
“Mac,” I call out to her.
She doesn’t even flinch when she hears me. She opens the door and opens it.
“Mac,” I say again, this time my voice is tinged with desperation.
She never even pauses, stepping out of my office and softly closing the door behind her.
Agony, shame, and guilt well up inside of me like lava bubbling up from a volcano. Just like lava, it’s hot and it’s burning me from the inside out. I think the one woman who actually may have been the best thing that ever happened to me, wouldn’t give me the courtesy of stopping when I called out to her.
She wouldn’t even look back at me, when I was clearly at my lowest. Surely, she heard that in my voice?
Surely, she knew that I was struggling.
And she did it so quietly, with such finality to her actions, that I realize… coldly, clearly, absolutely… I am nothing to Mac Dawson anymore.
I look at the paperweight that’s on my desk… a heavy, crystal orb that sits on a wooden base and has the scales of justice engraved into it. Reaching out, I stroke my fingers over the top… just before I grab it and hurl it at my wall yelling, “FUCK!”
It shatters into a million pieces, which is exactly how I feel right now.
Chapter 22
I think I might be going crazy.
That’s the only thing than can explain my erratic behavior.
After Mac walked out of my office yesterday, I’ve been waging a war with myself to figure out how I can make these awful feelings go away. I’m drowning in anger, sadness, lust, loneliness, a little more anger, a lot more lust, guilt, frustration, hope, hopelessness, and yeah… more anger.
After I shattered my paperweight against the wall, I immediately plopped down on my chair and started typing away furiously on my computer. I pulled up the ONO website, flipped to my wish list, and scrolled through the profiles. They all looked the same to me, like prize brood mares hanging their heads out of their stalls at a horse auction. Not seeing anything that popped out, I randomly chose one—Number 1633—and sent her an email to see if she was interested in a hookup tonight.
I started packing up some work to take home, responded to a few emails, and just before I logged off to leave for the evening, I got a response.
Of course, she’d love to hook up tonight. She even suggested the hotel and time. I pulled her profile up again and took a closer look. She was stunning, no doubt. Looked like a great pair of tits and her profile said she liked a little bondage. I thought of some shameless stuff I could do to her tonight, willing my dick to stand up and take an interest, but the f**ker pouted and refused to participate.
I thought about pulling it out, right then and there, and rubbing one off while I stared at the profile picture of Number 1633, just to show my c**k who was in charge.
But the truth of the matter was—I just wasn’t interested. She wasn’t Mac, and it wasn’t just my dick that wanted that dark-haired devil of a woman. Apparently, my conscience wanted her too.
And that f**king pissed me off.
Made me so angry with Mac again, that she would tie me up like this and ruin me from getting sexually distracted by someone else. So, even as I was cursing Mac’s name, I sent Number 1633 a message back and told her something came up and I couldn’t make it.
When I got home that night, I poured myself a scotch and sat on my couch, staring blankly at the wall. My anger had dissipated, and I was actually thinking of calling Mac. The reasonable part of my psyche… the one that understands concepts of right and wrong and isn’t ruled by my own selfishness, knew I would be best served by calling her and apologizing. Telling her how sorry I am to have played with her feelings. Beg her forgiveness for the brute way I acted with her this afternoon.
I actually get a little nauseated from the shame I feel when I think about how I told her to get on her knees before me. I was such a prick. I’m surprised she didn’t slap the shit out of me because it would have been warranted.
Just as I almost have myself talked into swallowing my pride and calling Mac, the other part of my psyche rears its ugly head. That’s the part of me that is selfish, stubborn, and cruel. The part that is only looking to protect myself and who isn’t willing to admit his mistakes. It whispers to me, Don’t do it. Don’t call her. You’re just opening yourself up to hurt down the road.
I let both halves argue with each other for just a few moments, and then I did something that was crazy stupid. I mean, so f**king idiotic, I should probably have a mental health evaluation.
I called Marissa.
I did it to reorient myself. I needed to make sure that I didn’t get sidetracked from the cold reality of my life.
I called Marissa, and I picked a fight with her.
It didn’t take much. All I did was tell her I was cutting of all financial support unless she dumped her new boy toy, who she apparently reconciled with last weekend. I told her she had to dump him because I didn’t want him lying half na**d around the house.
Now, I never in a million years would cut off financial support, because that is for Gabe’s benefit. Not to mention, it’s court ordered so I can’t just stop paying.
I know that.
But apparently, she doesn’t, because she went ballistic and spent half an hour chewing my ass out. When Marissa gets mad at me, she loves to throw in my face all the men she cheated on me with. She went on and on about what great f**ks they were, and that she couldn’t wait for me to go on a trip out of town so she could just f**k and f**k and f**k.
You’d think that stuff would make me angry, but it doesn’t. I’ve long since lost any care or affection for Marissa, so the reminders of her betrayal don’t hurt me in the slightest. I’m so past that.
But what this phone call did was helped to put things back in perspective with me. That with the pleasure of love comes the risk it is not as infinite as we think. When it ends, those who love deeply… purely… well, they suffer agonizing pain when the infinite becomes finite.
Once I felt strong again… that is, once I didn’t feel the need to call Mac, I hung up on Marissa while she was still raging, and poured myself another scotch, well pleased with myself.
***
Mac didn’t come into work Thursday and because I absolutely refused to walk by her office to see her, I only knew this because Karen popped into my office to talk to me.