Eight Years

Present

I got fired from work today.

But I was thinking of quitting anyway. My boss —well ex-boss— is the typical middle aged white man who has no respect for women. I worked for him for three years and there wasn't a single day that he'd listen to what I had to say for even a second. He always talked over me and ignored me and acted like I was his personal slave.

Last year he even went as far as to ask me to give his feet a massage.

I'm an architect, a former member of his team, and I was treated like a slave. None of the other people working on the team —all men— were mistreated like I was, they were respected and their work was valued. While I was there just to fetch coffee and give massages to the boss.

I really should've quit the minute I found out what kind of a man I was working for. I wanted to, ever since my ninth day, but I just never did. I was a coward, and scared to stand against a man.

And now I have the problem of finding a new job. Great.

But that'll have to be put off until tomorrow. Right now, I need a drink.

Or maybe two.

I check myself out from the big mirror in the hallway of my apartment. A short, tight, black skirt that I don't think I've worn even once since freshman year of college. A shirt that I have not had the chance to wear yet, a quite risky blue top with a v-neckline. I look like a teenager going to a party at her friend's house.

Not like the twenty-six years old woman, who's going out just to enjoy the nighttime of the city. I can't even remember the last time I'd been out having fun, I've always been working.

Working because my boss didn't like my plans for the new skyscraper. Working because my boss wanted to give everyone else the evening free, and threw all their work on me to be taken care of. Working because I was a stupid woman, who's never been able to stand up for herself.

This outfit isn't going to work. Shaking my head at myself for even thinking of wearing the skirt tonight, I head into my small walk-in closet to look for something else.

I don't really have any other skirts that would go with the top, so I settle with a pair of black skinny jeans. At least with them I don't have to worry about flashing my ass to some random people on the street.

I step into a pair of black heels, grab my shoulder bag, and head back into the hallway. One more look at the mirror. My blonde hair curled, red lipstick coloring my lips, I look like I did back in high school.

It might be a little too much since I'm just going to a bar a few miles away, but I haven't really been putting much effort in my appearances in a while, so I'm making use of this one chance I have.

And who knows, maybe I'll meet the man of my dreams tonight and we'll fall madly in love. Of course I'd want to look good for my possible future husband.

I check my bag one last time, just to make sure I have everything I need with me. Keys, phone, wallet, gum, lipstick... When I'm sure I haven't forgotten anything important, I open the front door and leave, taking in a lungful of air before letting it slowly out. After a couple drinks, I can relax and have fun.

My only "rule" for tonight is that I won't be back before midnight. No matter how sleepy I might get, or how boring it might be to go out alone, I won't be back before the clock hits twelve.

Downstairs, a taxi is already waiting for me. I just hope the driver didn't have to wait long, it's been almost half an hour since I called for it. I get in and give him the directions to the bar.

I buckle my seatbelt and lean back against the seat, sighing. Already almost regretting the decision to leave my apartment. I could've just stayed in and watched some movie while eating ice cream and crying over my pathetic life.

I mean, while I spend every night either working until midnight, or cooking for myself while watching some soap opera about people's dramatic love lives, my best friend is spending her days and nights with her family. Amy's even younger than me —by two months, but still—, and she's already happily married to her amazing husband, Finn, and gave birth to the most adorable little girl five months ago. That little angelic girl is also the reason I'm going out tonight alone. Amy had to stay with her at home because Lily got sick a couple days ago.

The driver is about to start driving, looking around for other cars, and putting on the blinker to leave the side of the street. But suddenly the other door to the backseat is open and a man climbs in, planting his ass next to me.

He says something to the driver, probably tells him where he wants to go, but I'm not listening. I move my palms up and down my thighs, starting to sweat. I should've stayed. I'm not big on parties or being around a bunch of people.

And after getting fired today, I'm really not feeling like going out. What the hell was I thinking?

But, well, too late back down now. The cab is already moving down the street.

I sigh and slump against the door, exhausted. The man beside me shifts to fix his position, and my eyes move up and to the side to see him.

I blink. My breath hitches. I blink again. And again. And again. But it's still the same person there, I'm not hallucinating or imagining him to be there.

As if sensing me staring at him, his head turns and his green eyes meet mine. He seems to be having the same reaction as me. He blinks. And blinks. And blinks.

"Barry?" he says. His eyebrows furrow.

Jaxon.