Page 74 of Loathing My Boss
“You can’t undo my affirmations, Viktor.”
“I can try. I adore you. Thoroughly. The more of you that I get to see without any guise, the more I want you. You’re hilarious. Endearing. Sweet.”
I flinch. I step out of his reach. “Stop it.”
“You deserve to know the truth. Do…” He fills his chest with air. “Do you do…thatevery morning?”
I fold my arms, look sidelong toward my kitchen tile. “I try to, yes. I at least do when I’m not sharing a community bathroom with women cheerily discussing their extravagant plans to list on New York Times.”
Viktor’s expression…blackens. “For how long, Crisis?”
“What?”
“How long have you been teaching yourself lies?”
All the strength goes out of my limbs. “I…” My arms fall to my sides. “I don’t know. Middle school? Maybe elementary?”
“Most of your life?” he whispers.
I can’t meet his eyes. I stare at the flowers on my bar counter. “Owning the insults took control away from the people who bullied me. They couldn’t hurt me if I was so much worse to myself than they could dream of being.”
“Instead of teaching yourself to believe you were better than their words, you adopted them.”
I smile. “Yup. I adopted them, when no one adoptedme. And, see, if you tell me that’swrong, I won’t care, because I already know I’m a screw up who does everything wrong. Checkmate.”
He does not tell me it’s wrong. He merely proceeds with the propaganda. “You are a vision. You are capable. You are responsible. You are intelligent.” He swears, threading his fingers into his hair. “You aresosmart. I don’t know how you do all that you do. You manage an entire town, with hundreds of businesses and thousands of residents. You coordinate everything, delegating perfectly so I can breathe, and go to writing retreats, and—” He swallows. “—andfall in love with you.”
My eyes roll, and I head to the oven, to check on my bread. It is, notably, not on fire. This is great news. “If I’m so smart, how come I couldn’t trick you? You saw right through my most dastardly scheme easily.”
“Yes. Because, Crisis, I grew up in an environment a thousand times worse. I had four younger brothers to protect, so I learned the signs, scoured the internet for information on narcissism and abuse. I sat with my little brothers when they felt broken so I could make sure they knew how whole they were. I’ve tended wounds and kept concealer in every shade of their skin so I could cover the purples and the reds and not incur further wrath from our parents by letting the public know about their dark secrets. I’ve heard it all. I can see the calculation and recognize the attacks and unravel the lies. Understanding an abuser’s intent was once a matter of survival for me. The only control I had for years was knowing when I was being manipulated. Even when I couldn’t sayno, it made me feel less helpless to be aware. Compared to what I’ve been through, Crisis, yourhatredis refreshing.”
“Refreshing?” I ask, turning on my heel, marching toward him. “Refreshing?Mr. Viktor Bachelor, I havedespised you forten years. I’m sorry you grew up in a world that was so physically and mentally cruel to you, but don’t for a moment count my hatred off as something mundane or miniscule. I plotted how to get close enough to make your life miserable foreight years. I took the classes on how to be a PA, gained the credibility, worked my way up the ladder, applied to live in Sunset, monitored your field, weaseled my way into your inner circle, and made ithere. All because I hated you.”
He cusses, cheeks blazing inexplicably.
“I’m no different from your parents. I am not a good person either, Viktor,” I say, softer. “Just because you’ve felt worse doesn’t mean you deserve abuse from anyone, even if it’s something you can handle. Does that make sense?”
His eyes close as he contains himself, probably coming to terms with the fact I’m a lunatic, and he’s in my house, and I’m closer to my kitchen knives. But when he speaks, his voice shakes. “Okay.” He clears his throat. “So.” He clears his throat again, seemingly unable to remove the quake. “You did not at all help your argument against being the smartest person I have ever met.” His eyes open as he forgets about his sting and brings his right hand toward his mouth to cover it.
I grab his wrist, stopping him before he can press the swollen area against himself.
The shudder that pours through him at my touch might haunt me forever.
“Crisis,” he whispers, “you’ve dedicated almost half your life…to me? What did I… How could I have…” He wets his lips as he lowers his injured hand back to his side. It shakes when I let go. “Did you just really, really hate my books?”
I don’t know why, but I tell the truth. “No. I lovedthem. Ilovedyour books, Viktor. They were all that kept me going. I found them when you first started, fifteen years ago. I was twelve. And I did nothing but reread that first book of yours until the next one came out. Then I rotated, and repeated, and rotated some more.”
“What happened?” he asks.
My chest constricts, and I can feel myself beingso closeto telling him everything. Except, that’s when my oven beeps, so I turn to get my apple bread out before it catches on fire.
The risk is higher than you might expect.
Nonchalant, I say, “You missed an Oxford comma in your sixth book release. As a proprietor of the arts, I simply could not forgive you.”
“Please. I want to know. I want to apologize.”
Yeah. Because of course he does. He never deserved any of my insanity to begin with. I don’t understand how he’s so calm now that I’ve told him exactly how deeply unstable I am. “It’s stupid. As stupid as missing an Oxford comma. So just believe that.”
