My knees betray me as I walk down the hallway. I lean on the wall to catch my breath and regain my composure. Did I just do that? Mike may have wooed me at the beginning but shortly after we were married, the first slap hit me square on the face. He never cared if the bruises showed. He would just tell people these elaborate stories about me running into things, and the way he told them made people laugh. He really can be quite charming.
I finally round the corner, pass the bathroom and make it back to my bedroom. I set Squeaker on the bed and lock the bedroom door behind us. I don’t need Mike sneaking up on me. I’ve never fought back like this before so I’m not sure what he will do once he gains consciousness. I wish I was a bad ass bitch and could say that I didn’t care what he would try, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins and my hands shaking says otherwise.
My alarm clock says 4:45am. I glance at myself in the gold ornate mirror hanging next to my closet and the dark bags under my eyes say I should try to go back to sleep. I set the bat down in the corner behind my garbage can, crawl into bed, and pull Squeaker up to me so I can cuddle her in my arms. She’s not technically an emotional support animal, but she’s darn close. I pull the comforter back up and close my eyes, trying desperately to block out the fear of him lying unconscious on my living room floor. I just see everything play over and over behind my eyelids. Should I have done that? If I didn’t, he could’ve killed me this time.
I open my eyes and pull Squeaker closer. She squeaks at the tight squeeze of my hug, so I let go a little. I try to rid myself of the scenes playing in my head when I hear rustling in the other room, a couple of swear words, and then the front door slams shut.
I guess Mike came to.
At least he left and didn’t try to break down my bedroom door. I rush to the bedroom window and peer through the sheer curtains, watching as Mike pulls out of my driveway and speeds down the street. Racing to the front door, I stub my toe on the trim around the closet that Mike hit his brow on. “Son of a bitch!”
When I look down, my little toe is already turning black and blue. I slam my body into the front door, reach down and click the deadbolt in place. I just hope he doesn’t have another spare key.
As I start to hobble back to bed, keeping my little toe off the ground as much as possible, Squeaker peeks around the corner of the hallway. “Mmmuff?”
“He’s gone. Hopefully for good. Although I’ll still see him but let’s hope you don’t anymore. C’mon girl, let’s go back to bed.”
I take a deep breath as I sink into bed. It’s 5:00am. I have an hour and a half before I have to get up. Just as I close my eyes, Squeaker nestles up against me. The warmth of her furry little body lulls me to sleep.
“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey, fans! You’re waking up to KLQ on this fine Monday morning where your breakfast gets a serenade!”
I reach over and slam my hand against the alarm clock. My fingers find the on off switch. I flip it off and then reset it. I’ve never been one to hit the snooze bar. I set the alarm clock so that it goes off when I need to get up instead of it going off every ten minutes for an hour until I have to get up. What’s the point in that? I would think it would just make me sleepier. As if that’s possible today.
Squeaker has shimmied her way across my king size bed so that she’s sleeping on the side that Mike used to sleep on. The bed is really too big for just me but it’s comfortable, and I’m not moving this thing. It took three big beefy guys and Mike to get it in here.
I pat Squeaker on her fluffy butt and flip back the blankets. I wonder if Viv has seen Mike’s face yet. She may have already gone into work by the time he got home to her.
Vivian (Viv) McLeigh built the McLeigh Publishing House from the ground up. She had wanted to be published by a traditional publisher, but no one would let her publish her work the way she had written it. They all wanted her to change things, to make it more appealing to the masses. But she didn’t care what the masses wanted. She had a story to tell, and she knew that she wasn’t the only one out there like her. So, she started her own publishing company where authors could tell their story the way they wanted, aside from spelling or grammatical errors, that is.
Viv is a hard ass. Don’t let her story make you think she has a big heart. Oh, I bet she does have a heart in there somewhere, but I certainly don’t see it. I wanted to be an editor, but I don’t have the “right credentials.” She hired me three years ago and said that I could work my way up. I’m not sure when that is going to be seeing that I’m still in the same position: editorial assistant. The editor that I assist became my best friend, Kendra Yarrow. We’re the same age, she just went to college to be an editor whereas I went to college and took some random classes that went nowhere. And then I didn’t finish college and got married instead. Ya know, the whole be married, have kids, and be a stay-at-home mom thing. That didn’t quite work out.
Once I decided that I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with an abuser, I filed for divorce. It was quite honestly the best, and scariest, thing I’ve ever done. And then to have to find a job that could support me, that’s how I ended up working for Viv.
I met her at an art show that my friend, Jacy Moonblood, was the featured artist. Maybe I should say “we” met Viv at the art show, because Mike and I were still together then. Jacy and I grew up together. He started out as a graffiti artist, but after a little stent in juvey and he decided that painting on canvases probably wouldn’t go against his probation. I’d say that was a good decision. Now he’s well-known in our area.
That night of the art show, Mike and I were at the refreshment table when Vivian McLeigh sauntered over. She wore all name brand everything, diamond earrings dripping from her earlobes. Her strappy heals showed off her slender ankles and accentuated her long ballerina legs. I don’t know if she ever was a dancer, but her legs sure did look like she could’ve been.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“He’s quite the artist, wouldn’t you say?” The syllables dripped from her lips like every letter was worth a fortune.
“He really is,” I reply, feeling surprisingly underdressed in my jeans and button up blouse. I never feel underdressed next to anyone, but Vivian McLeigh wasn’t just anyone. “We grew up together. He’s come a long way.”
“Has he ever done anything with graphic arts? For, say, a book cover?” She swirled the champagne in her glass so that the liquid coated the sides before she takes the daintiest sip.
“Um, well, I don’t think so. I could ask him though. Ya know, when he’s done.”
Viv unsnaps her bougie leather clutch, reaches inside, and then hands me a business card. “Have him give me a call.”
The business card is thin metal with her name and logo engraved into it. “I’ll do that. Thank you.” I want to slide the business card into my back pocket, but I figure that would be uncomfortable, so I take a picture of it with my phone and set it next to Jacy’s backpack in the corner. That way if he loses it, I will still have the information to give to him. Little did I know that I would need that information too.
I never noticed how Mike was checking her out. Maybe because I was too stunned to pay attention to anyone but her. And it wasn’t until I got the job at McLeigh Publishing a year later that I found out the woman he had been cheating on me with was her. Although I’m sure she knew I was his wife. She had to have known, right?
The thought snaps me back into the present where I’m trying to get ready for work. The slap mark on my face is still there, though it’s subtle. I smear some coverup over it, press some powder onto my face and hope for the best. There’s not enough time or energy for anything elaborate with my hair so I just pull it up in a clip at the back of my head. No amount of coverup or correction is going to fix the dark bags under my eyes, I’ll just have to hope I don’t run into Viv. She’s a stickler for appearances.
Squeaker sits on her hind legs, front paws in the air. “I almost forgot your breakfast, didn’t I? Let’s go get your Kong!” Thankfully, I had made Squeakers Kong the night before and stuck it in the fridge. Otherwise, she was going to have to be happy with kibble, and I know that wouldn’t go over well. Squeaker always gets a Kong filled with goodies before I leave for work.
I grab my purse, my phone, and a light jacket. “Coffee. I need coffee. I’m going to need a lot of coffee today, girl.” Squeaker just looks up at me with her big doe eyes that shows nothing is going on in her little brain. “Maybe you need some coffee too?” The thought of Squeaker hopped up on caffeine makes me giggle as I open the fridge and pull out her Kong.
Leaning down to Squeaker who is sitting perfectly, waiting for her Kong, I ruffle the top of her head and hand it to her. She takes it and runs to the couch. I know that I shouldn’t let her eat that on the couch, but it’s just her and me. And I personally don’t care. If anyone comes in here and does care, well they can just leave.
I find my comfortable brown loafers and slip them on my feet. “See you in a while little girl! Be good!” The front door closes behind me and I use the key I got from Mike to lock the deadbolt before slipping it into my purse, which is where I meant to put it last night before all the hub bub.
I walk around the front of the house to my car parked on the side. It looks like Mike didn’t find my red 2009 Saturn Vue. It’s not the greatest car, but it’s dependable and it’s paid off. Thankfully, it doesn’t have any new dents in it from Mike. I don’t think there’s any part of my life that hasn’t been “dented” in some way by him.
Driving through town listening to the crappy radio, I’m surprised as three stoplights line up and stay green for me. “Wow,” I say to myself. “Maybe I should play the lotto.” No sooner had I said that out loud, the next light turns red. It’s the last stoplight before I turn into McLeigh Publishing. As I sit at the light, I can see the parking lot to my work. Viv’s little blue BMW i8 parked right in the front. She didn’t need to have a sign to save her parking spot. Everyone knew which one was hers. If you were new and accidentally parked in her spot, you only did it once. I know this from experience.
The light turns green, and I pull into McLeigh Publishing. I slide in through the front doors just in time for the camera to clock me in at 8:00am exactly. We don’t have a normal time clock. Viv says that as long as you’re in the building by 8, that’s good enough for her. Sometimes she can be nice.
“Effi! I was hoping to see you sooner this morning.” Viv’s high heels click clack her way to me across the ceramic floor.
I glance down at my watch. “It’s 8 o’clock. Was I supposed to be here earlier today?”
Viv huffs and says, “Eagerness shows you’re ready to be an editor and I’m not seeing eagerness today, Effi. Go cover up those bags under your eyes. You look as though you’ve been up all night.”
“That’s because I have,” I mutter under my breath as I turn to go into the bathroom.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, Viv,” I call behind me.
“Come see me in my office when you’ve made yourself presentable.” Viv turns and click clacks her way down the hall and up the flight of stairs to her office. Her office is full of windows so she can look down over top of everyone working at the publishing house. It’s kind of creepy but I swear, you do get used to it.
I glance in the mirror in the bathroom and she’s right. These fluorescent lights make my dark bags look even worse than when I was at home. I attempt to use some color corrector and some concealer from my purse, but now it just looks like I caked on the makeup. Sighing, I drop the makeup back into my purse, wash my hands off and make my way up to Viv’s office.
I knock twice on the giant mahogany door.
“Come in,” calls the voice inside. It’s Viv’s assistant. Nobody is allowed to barge in on Viv or even Viv’s assistant. They say that sometimes they are in a conversation that other ears can’t hear.
Whatever.
Little miss Barbie behind the desk sits straighter that I’ve ever seen anyone sit before. Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head in gorgeous curls that glisten under the fluorescent lights. She looks like she’s going to a governor’s ball or something.
“Viv will be with you in just a moment. Please help yourself to the coffee bar.” Barbie spins around to face her computer monitor and says in hushed tones, “You look like you need it.”
I could call her out on it, but I honestly don’t have the energy to do anything. I grab one of the porcelain cups that have “McLeigh Publishing House” written on the side in gold ink. You’d think I would be able to keep the mug, seeing that I work here, but these are strictly for Viv’s coffee bar. Barbie will be tasked with washing it later.
The phone on the corner of Barbie’s desk beeps and I hear Viv’s voice. Barbie turns to me and says, “Okay, you may enter now.”
“Great. Thanks.” So weird. Like I’m entering a castle or something.
I open the door, and I don’t pay any attention to who’s in the room. I just turn and close the door behind me before lifting my eyes. The coffee cup slips from my hand, shattering on the floor.