Playing With Fyre

| 10 | Breathe

Early surprise again! I'm on an unintentional daily update streak. Make sure you've read the previous two chapters!

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⚠️ There is sensitive content in this chapter concerning mental health ⚠️

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I sink my teeth into my vermilion-red bottom lip, staring through the small window in my office door to the small window in the conference room door. My position behind the desk is just right to see my boss sitting down at the head of the table, discussing legal matters with Innovate's very-animated CEO.  As I try to push aside the images of the delectable (not to mention, forbidden) body I know is underneath Mr Amadio's suit, I zero in on the client. He is clearly in distress, gesticulating wildly like Mr Bean asking for directions abroad.

I look down at the half-composed email in front of me on my desktop. Pulling together the scraps of my focus, I wrap it up, sign it off, proof-read twice, and click send. Ticking it off my post-it, I finally allow my eyes wander to Mr Amadio, as debonair as ever in a fitted navy suit and powder-blue tie. It is clear from the serious expression on his face that he takes his job very seriously, but as his jaw clenches every other minute, forcing him to take a sip of water, it is even clearer that he is still afflicted with whatever illness overcame him yesterday.

I wait patiently for the meeting to wrap up, tapping my faux-suede block heels against the beige carpet beneath my walnut desk. It makes a dull thumping sound. Eventually, the little window is blocked off as they both stand up to shake hands and bid each other farewell. Looking back down at my work and trying to make myself look busy by shifting a stack of documents from one side of my desk to the other, I pretend not to notice as my boss leaves the conference room, walks right past my door, and enters his own. I release the breath I'm holding.

"Concentrate," I mutter to myself, hands fisting up at my sides as I consciously avoid creasing my forehead for the sake of my makeup.

Suddenly painfully aware of the rectangular window in the connecting door to my right, I adjust the hair-tie that it is holding my high pony-tail secure, focusing on my reflection in the screen to check that the flyaways of my hair are still slick against my head with hairspray. I seize the chance to check my eyeliner too, satisfied with its polished wing. All too late, I realise what I'm doing. Why do I care? Jacob's promise ring that I keep sliding on each and every day despite regretting it each and every day burns like a ring of fire against my finger. I can't keep doing this.

Mr Amadio is dangerous. Julian continues to warn me about him. If it scares him enough to warn me, it has to be something serious. If it's something he cannot disclose the details about, it has to be extremely serious. I shouldn't be anywhere near this guy, but I need this job and my determination to live independently without my doubtful parents is outweighing any logic. There's something about him that's got me hooked. Like a drug. Even when I was with Jacob, I still took notice of him. I still felt this pull. Yes, I felt fear and threat, but underneath that arose an interest. A lust. But I shouldn't feel this way. I should be looking for another job immediately. I should be running for my life.

I haven't replied to Jacob's message. I don't have the strength in me. In fact I don't think I have anything left in me to invest in this relationship. It's as if three years have sucked the effort right out of me. He was never in the wrong. He sent me flowers and complimented me and never forgot what was important to me and always cared to listen and reciprocated what I did. And maybe that was the problem.

I got bored. Is that okay? I loved him - love him - as far as I'm concerned. Shouldn't that have super-glued us together? Why did we rip apart at the seams so suddenly? He did nothing wrong. He did everything right.