Fate Interrupted

4 - His Kryptonite

Gio

Damn. 

I stand in the atrium motionless, my feet like heavy blocks of concrete, eyes glued to my high school ex-girlfriend's still fine ass as she walks away. The automatic doors open and blow her long, silky caramel hair back unfairly, then close again as I lose sight of the only girl that ever really mattered around the corner. 

A breathy "Fuck," escapes my throat, an old but now unfamiliar fuzzy feeling warms my chest, but my brain forms no tangible thoughts.

Ding. My phone jolts me back into the present, reminding me that my sister is still waiting for an answer... uh, to what again? Oh yeah, she was trying to convince me to get some sort of ad done for my company since work's been so slow. Something about marketing and the fifth floor of this building...

Roughly, I suck in a breath inflating my lungs, which are apparently screaming for air. Forcing my feet to turn around, I stumble toward the parking garage as my onslaught of thoughts begin their typical attack.

Fifth floor? Isn't that where she just said she worked? Yes—that's exactly what she said. Viibe. Of course. I recognize the name from the directory; they're the only business on that floor. But she works in this building now? THIS fucking building of all places! 

And what did I tell her? That I worked here? That I'm a counselor? Gio, you fucking idiot! Why the hell did I say THAT, of all things? She'll never believe me—not that I know what other ass-numbing office jobs are in this slick building. Engineer? That sounds halfway plausible. Why didn't I just fucking say that? And why even lie? 

Well, because then she would have asked me what I AM doing here, and I'm NOT getting into all that.

'You look just the same but better?' 

My neck heats as I recall all the idiotic things I just said. Hearing my voice echo in my mind is like biting tinfoil, and my teeth clench. Ugh! I finally saw her again, and I acted like a complete dip-shit. Her voice when she said my name again, though? Fuck me. I could never help myself around her—my blood always seems to drain straight from my head to my cock, and suddenly I turn back into a shy studdering thirteen-year-old simp. Reaching my truck, I grip the door handle and yank harder than I realized, and I'm surprised I didn't pull the entire thing off. 

Shit. I gotta chill.  I want a freakin joint—bad.

I've been nothing but chill and sober for almost four years now, and it's been really good. Well, not exactly perfect, perhaps a bit boring, but hey, flat and safe is better than the hellish rollercoaster I'd been on. 

Starting the engine, my forehead wrinkles. Why is this winding me up so much? So what if she's back? It's not going to change anything...

But why has she come back after all these years? Huh. 

I still haven't been able to shake Ren from my mind as I arrive home and slam the truck door. I guess I should go journal my feelings and shit like my therapist tells me to, but I actually have another idea I want to do first, and I'm already regretting it. I trudge up the steps to my house, well, Adam's house—a very unexciting beige bachelor pad. Besides our beds, the only furniture inside are two massive black leather lazy-boy sofas, a matching reclining armchair, and a giant sixty-inch plasma TV —and that's just the way we both like it.

Adam's been one of my best friends since I was a little kid. Unlike Charlie, my happy-go-lucky flirt of a best friend, Adam is more serious, cautious, and practical—an anchor for me. He bought this house four years ago and kindly let me be his roommate when things got pretty rough for me.