Page 76 of Loathing My Boss
Insanity really…really…turns me on.
Viktor
Crisis hasobsessedover mefor a decade. A. Decade. I can’t shake the things that does to me. Something happened. She hated me. She calculated exactly how to get close enough for her hate to reach me.
And, to make everything so much better, she does not hate me anymore. She said as much, in not so many words.
That’s progress.
Poetically, the swelling from my sting has also gone down today.
Progress.
I love progress. Character development. Crisis.
I love Crisis.
So much more than any of my words can express, which is probably why I’ve written roughly two hundred thousand of them into my fanfiction as of this moment while Crisis works on something on her computer and assumes I’m being productive writing a book with a deadline.
I catch myself staring when she stretches her neck, rubs at a sore spot, notices me.
Our eyes lock.
Heat rises to her cheeks.
My heart reacts, violently, desperately.
She murmurs, “What?”
“It’s almost time for workshop. Do you want to come to it again, or are you going to stay here and keep working?”
Her gaze falls. Slowly, she closes her laptop and stands. “I’ll…come.”
“Is everything okay?”
Refusing to look up, she nods, so I rise to open the door for her, then we head to the line for a printer I wish I knew how to use several nights ago when I printed off my stupid love letter. It would have saved me a trip back home.
Fiddling with the hem of her shirt—a lovely dark blouse with billowing quarter sleeves that unfortunately hide all shoulder birthmarks from my prying gaze—she inches in the line beside me.
I’m halfway through printing off my samples for the workshop from my thumbdrive when Odessa’s curls bounce into my view. “Mr. Bachelor!” she chirps, eyes glowing behind her glasses frames. “Do you have a group yet?”
“Not yet, no.”
“I brought my edited sample from the last workshop, if you’d be willing to group with me again and take another look at it. Your marks were amazing. I feel like I’ve grown significantly as a writer in a matter of days.”
I would hope so. When you’re at the bottom, all you can do is climb up. “That’s fine with me.” I turn to Crisis as she gathers my sample stack and lets the next person use the printer. “Would you both like to sit where we did last time?”
And is Crisis feeling well?
She looks more pale than usual when she dips her chin in a nod.
Watching her, I make my way to the table we sat at five days ago, sliding into the same seat as before. Crisis settles in beside me, placing the stack of papers down in front of her. While the rest of the spaces fill, I lean, bumping her shoulder.
She startles, tensing against me.
“Are you feeling well?” I whisper.
Again, she nods.
