Page 85 of Rooster

No one has approached me with concern or asked me if I'm okay, which I'm grateful for, but it hasn't stopped them from keeping an eye on me as if they're afraid I'm on the edge and going to snap at any moment. I should probably stand up and tell them all to mind their business, that it's just a broken heart, but honestly, I don't have the energy for that either.

My lunch hour is spent with my head tucked into my arms, facedown at my desk. Just the idea of food makes my stomach turn.

Guilt coats me like algae on river rocks from all the times I internally chastised people for getting upset over a romantic partner. I saw them as fools for letting someone else have so much control over their emotional state. I had absolutely no clue how easy it was for an outside force to make you feel so terrible.

I wouldn't wish this on anyone. Well, maybe on Henry because he's the mastermind controlling all our lives.

The fact that Robert couldn't even look me in the eye hurts the most. Or maybe it's just wishful thinking that if he took just a moment to really look at me, he'd know I could never do something like I'm being accused of.

I'm not a fool. I know how it looks. I had Twisted's attention, and instead of giving into that like I would've done before the trauma Henry dished out at my Halloween party, I put all of my focus on a man who looked exactly like the man who manipulated me and hurt my friend.

I can't even explain why. Saying that, after getting over the shock of them being twins, I felt this almost instant connection to Robert, sounds borderline insane. I know how it may appear to those accusing me of being some sort of life-ruining spy, and I would've been just as skeptical if I didn't live it myself.

But I guess none of that matters. What I need to focus on is getting through the rest of this day and then moving forward.

I have no idea what moving forward even looks like. I shouldn't be so heartbroken over a guy I haven't known for very long, but it was almost as if there were parts of me that connected instantly to that man. Maybe it was the trauma of my friend being violated in my home, where I was always supposed to be safe, that made me cling to someone, but that doesn't explain why it was Robert instead of Twisted. Maybe I needed to work toward something, and getting Robert to notice me was a challenge I could focus on instead of my fear.

I'm not a therapist, but I'm sure there's some sort of explanation for why I've acted the way that I have. I can't let my mind believe it was fate or some sort of divine intervention because that would mean I lost a lot more than just some guy who was a placeholder for not dealing with my own issues.

When others in the office begin filtering back in from their lunch breaks, I stand and head to the restroom once again. I check my hair, but just like this morning, there's no real help for it other than a shower and starting completely over. I applied very little makeup this morning, but most of what I did manage is gone now, having been rubbed off from crying and resting my head on my arms.

I head back to my desk with every intention of putting in a request for several days off before leaving for the day. I just can't handle being here. There's a very real possibility that I'll update my resume and make a real stride to find something else because I feel like this job is sucking the life out of me.

I stop cold in my tracks, my hand on the back of my office chair, when I see the little window in the bottom right-hand corner of my computer screen.

The familiar chat box makes my hands tremble as a symphony of emotions hit me all at once—relief and then anger at being relieved rather than merely mad leading the pack.

Robert: I fucked up. Please forgive me.

I sit, and the weight of everything I'm dealing with drops me into my seat with a little more force than I had planned.

Robert: The stuff with Henry always complicates things. He makes it all look so real.

My hands tremble in my lap. My very first instinct is to type back a message and tell him that I understand and forgive him, but there's a whisper in the back of my head telling me that I deserve better, that he should've at least given me the benefit of the doubt.

Instead of reacting the way I always do, I sit for a few moments and stare at the messages. I've never allowed myself to be put in a situation where I would be hurt. I always had an exit strategy. I never got in too deep, and although that sometimes left me feeling empty and unsatisfied, it never left me with gut-wrenching pain and a broken heart like I suffered last night.

I pull in a deep breath, swiping at a hot tear that begins to roll down my cheek. I lift my hands with every intention of telling him to fuck off, but by the time my fingers hover over the keyboard, I know that I'm going to forgive him. Rather than dwelling on that and second-guessing that choice, I just let the idea of us ease right back inside of me.

It doesn't mean I'm going to tell him all of this right off the bat. He's going to have to do some serious groveling for the pain he caused me.

Me: You sat there silently while your friends tore me apart.

Robert: And I will spend the rest of my life making that up to you if you let me.

Well, maybe I won't require too much groveling after all.

Me: How do I know the next time your psycho brother stirs up trouble that you won't just feed me to the wolves again?

I wait for a return message, and it feels like days tick by before another message pops up.

Robert: I know asking you to trust me is brazen and egotistical, but I'll never hurt you again. I swear.

I don't know what to say to that, so I don't send a message back.

I feel like the man has always been honest with me. He was man enough to pump the brakes and make us slow things down so he wasn't just another man who carved a notch in my headboard. He took his time with me, making sure we had more than a physical connection before we took things further. He handled me with care, and I know punishing him for one mistake when I could possibly have a lifetime of happiness would be the wrong choice on my part. I would want forgiveness and understanding if the roles were reversed.

Me: I'm still mad.

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