Bed of Lies (ON HOLD)

XVI

I'm nervous. The day of the orientation is here. From the silent hum of the bus to the fluctuating noise levels of the passengers on the vehicle, every single thing is sending me toppling over the edge.

Before exiting the house, I was too strung out to eat. Now, however, my growling stomach is on a riot, protesting the stupid choice I made. It is an especially dumb decision since I am now fighting the urge to eat my lunch before 9:30 am in the morning.

Honestly, it is incredibly tough not to reach for the mouth-watering sandwich I meticulously led to perfection, before my leave, in hopes of having a good lunch at work. Sadly, my plans of enjoying my afternoon with delicious homemade food and not cafeteria-sold snacks will come to naught if I give in to my craving.

Thinking of work sets back the intensity of my hunger. It is almost impossible to believe that I'm now employed. The processing was quite swift, even for my calibre as the CEO's wife. After sending Walter my portfolio, the job was virtually an instant guarantee after the shortest interview I'd ever attended. Even more shocking is that the meeting was held over the phone—courtesy of Tony's influence.

Though it's not been up to five days since Walter and I spoke on the phone, things have already been finalised. To my relief, Walter was a great, albeit sometimes gratuitous, mentor, guiding me through the system of procedures required first of an interviewee and subsequently as a new employee in Steve's Home Furnishings, a successful furniture company proudly owned by Tony.

Walter helped me comb through every little detail, even those I'm sure I could have figured out myself. Even though his overbearingness at one time became annoying, at least he cared. For some unknown reason, he was more worried about what I was doing to get than the job and how I was in general than the man who suggested that I become employed, who also happens to be the one who paid the bride price required in order to marry me.

To say I'm surprised would be a fat, gross lie. I'm not. In fact, I already predicted how things would go after turning him away. I could have bet all the money in my savings that Tony would utterly disregard me and pretend that I do not exist in response to my actions that evening.

It would have been all too strange if he'd somehow decided that he would continue to act like he'd been doused with and marinated in pure, sweet honey. His kindness towards me was not an expected gesture, and so, though involuntarily, I'd viewed his actions to have more of the qualities of a theatrical show.

The only problem was that I did not fancy theatrical arts. Specifically, I loathed the idea of witnessing a play. Years ago, my hatred began when I was dragged to one by Ma while on our 'family-bonding' trip. Naturally, it was not a mother and daughter outing. Ma would never do that when she had two of us. Moreover, she was still trying to make up for the lost time she did not spend with my sister. So, no, it was a 'mother and daughters' happy day out rather.

Initially, I was glad to be out of the hotel that felt stuffy despite the air conditioner on standby to constantly cool the room I was stationed in. But my jubilation would soon wash away at the theatre as the play commenced.

It was like the whole world was against me. I'd wanted tranquillity and quiet and a great evening spent not nursing my wounds for once, but I got none of those rare commodities. The gifts I received were untold measures of unbearable pain from my past clamping down on me in my present.

On the spotlighted and star-sprinkled stage was the story of my life being sobbed out of the lips of another woman, an actress. I must declare with all seriousness that I was not provoked by her acting. Nothing she said in her faux, yet authentic anguish and grief could have outraged me with feelings other than empathy for a woman with a plight similar to mine. Her rendition was the most beautiful one I concluded I would ever see. It was the last one too.