Imperfectly Right for Me

Three: First day

Theo

Entry one hundred fifty-four:

Sometimes I wonder why you didn't take me with you? Why leave me on this fucked up world without you?

You told me to write my feelings in this stupid journal, which is bullshit. I'm only doing it for you, Cass. You're lucky I somewhat like you or whatever. Anyway, life has been the same since the last time I wrote in this stupid thing. Everything and everyone sucks. I try to be all optimistic and shit like you told me, but I just can't do it, Cass. I don't have fucking anything to be happy about. I know I'm grumpy and I wish I wasn't. I miss you like crazy.

I hired an assistant yesterday. You had been wanting me to get one for less stress before you died, so. She's either a goddamn loon or just genuinely can stand this world. She's so fucking cheerful. That shit is weird, you know?

I shut the journal at the sound of my office door opening and cleared my throat.

"Morning, Mr. Boss!" She greets me way too loud.

I placed the journal in my drawer in my desk hastily before she had a chance to notice it and sit up straight. She pushes her glasses up as I clear my throat again.

She smiles, "These are only reading glasses, you know. Diddy got em for me when I was-"

She told me this at the interview already.

"Ms. Hernandez, I do not care."

She frowns. "Are you always this ugly?"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh no, not like that. You're not ugly at all, not even in the slightest bit. In fact, you a-"

"Ms. Hernandez." I deadpan.

"I just meant your attitude. Are you always this grumpy or you just don't like meh? It's quite alright if you don't, not many people do." She says, her southern accent strong.

I stare at her for a minute before turning back to my desk. "Get back to work."

Anyone that hung around Ms. Hernandez for more than five minutes could tell she wasn't from New York. I had remembered her babbling about how she was from a small town in Tennessee.

Lily was the exact opposite of what I was used to. From the moment I met her, she's been so goddamn cheerful. Everything about her was different from what I was used to.

She moves her light brown hair put together with a bright pink clip that matches her bright pink dress as I look up from my desk. "There is a fundraiser in a few months to come and as my assistant I expect you to plan it, clear my schedule, decorations, guests, etcetera."

She nods and replies, "Alright, Mr. Boss."

"Mr. Acquire is fine."

"But Mr. Boss is better. Mr. Acquire makes you sound like an old man."

"Just call me, Mr. Acquire, Ms. Hernandez." I respond, rubbing my forehead.

She takes a seat at the desk one of my employees set up for me yesterday. Taking a bright green pen, binder, wrapped sandwich and a picture of someone, she sits them on her desk and takes a seat.

Before getting started, she takes the crust off of her sandwich, eats it and then gets started.

I take out my journal to write in it again but decide not to when an email pops up on my computer screen. The only reason I wrote in this damn journal every day was because Cass told me to before she died.

Cass, her full name, Cassidy Ruth Acquire, was my best friend. She was my older sister and the only person I could stand in this world. She was older than me by five years. Up until I was in highschool, we hated each other. She was my bratty older sister, and I was her annoying little brother. But when I got to high school, things changed. I had just gotten my first heartbreak and was still soft. Cass was there for me from that day on.

I knew Cass was going to die, but it still fucked me up. My family never supported her because of the decisions she made. She dropped out of college the first year and became a stripper. That created a feed between my parents and her. She moved out and I started seeing her less.

I saw the signs. The cuts on her wrists, suicidal remarks, constant sadness, those weren't just coincidental. The day that she committed was the worst day of my fucking life. At her funeral, I couldn't even look at my parents or anyone else. I guess that's why I'm so cold, or grumpy as people put it. I just felt like there was no reason to be happy. 

The day after her funeral, which was five years ago, I found a note in my room that she had written. I still keep it in my safe at home. She left very simple instructions. It read,

"Hey little bro. I know you're so mad at me right now and I'm so sorry. I left this note because you were the only person who understood me. So, I want you to follow these directions carefully.

One: Buy a journal. A big one, you're going to need it.

Two: I know how hard it is for you to share your feelings using your words. This always worked for me, so I'm sure it'll work for you. Write your thoughts, feelings, all of that in the journal. Write the entry number and date too.

Three: Lastly, give the journal to that person when it's full. Don't question me on it Theo, you'll know who to give it to and when to give it to them, trust me. Once you give them it, that's your sign that you don't need that stupid journal.

A few days later I found out she gave her journal to her fiance. I doubt I'll ever be able to give this journal to someone, not when I can hardly tolerate anyone.

For the rest of the day, I work on another investment I am interested in, as Ms. Hernandez babbles about things randomly from time to time. I quickly learned that despite being told countless times that I didn't care what she was talking about, she was still going to talk.

By the end of the day, I am exhausted. I put my pen on the desk and yawn.

"Ms. Hernandez, you were supposed to leave at five. It's nine."

She turns to me with a smile, "Yes, I know, but I wasn't finished with what I was doing."

"You could have finished it tomorrow. The fundraiser isn't until a couple months from now."

Her mouth goes agape, and she hits her head, "Well, isn't that a shame. I've been sitting here with a numb tush for four hours for no doggone reason."

She grabs her bag and places it around her shoulder. Walking toward me with a frown, she leans forward, "Were you trying to keep me around a little longer, Mr. Boss? Is Mr. Boss sweet on me?" She laughs at her joke as I stare at her with a scowl.

"Get out of my office, Ms. Hernandez."

She begins walking to the door, and waves back at me with her back turned. "Goodnight, Mr. Boss!"