Page 17 of Objection
I broke.
Right there in the entryway of her home. Her husband, Bill, set water bottles on the entry table near me as Sandra and I sat crumpled up on the floor and I sobbed. I let it all go.
“Posey, you know I love you, but you need to press charges.” I knew she was right. I knew it, but yet I still couldn’t.
“No, not yet. I need… I need to think. I don’t even know what happened.” My mind was racing through the events of the evening, trying for what felt like the twentieth time to figure out where things had changed. I couldn’t figure out where the man I had loved for the past six years had vanished to and who that man was. That man who had hurt me. Who had harmed me?
“Can I crash here? At least ‘til I figure out what I’m going to do?” I asked, more like begged.
“You don’t ever have to ask. As long as you like, sweetie.” Sandra hugged me close, and I let my tears continue to fall.
Eventually she set me up in her guest room, and I cried myself to sleep. The morning would come early. Even earlier as I had to go back home and get clothes. It would be a quick stop and then I could get to work on time. Yes. I could do that.
Just one step at a time. One decision at a time. Until things got better.
Morning came much faster than I was prepared for. The night had been full of tossing, turning, and fear. My dreams were full of thoughts of that look in David’s eyes. The way he rushed forward at me, into my space. The pain he caused. I shook them all off, showering quickly in the hall bathroom at Sandra’s and throwing on my clothes from yesterday. Just for now. Sandra would have given me clothes to borrow, but we were not even close to the same size.
With a long hug from my dear friend, I made my way back home. I just needed a quick change of clothes, and I would be on my way to work. I glanced at the clock, noting that if I didn’t hurry, I could very well be late.
When I arrived home, however, I knew something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
9
Soren
There weresome things in life that got under my skin like none other. It didn’t help that I was a very structured professional individual as well as a very structured and trained Dominant. In both areas of my life, I had certain expectations from the people who joined me within those circles. Above many other pet peeves was tardiness. She was late. She was not just late; she was almost an hour late, with no call, no explanation. That was unacceptable. No, I would not fire her over it, but it deserved a discussion, and a stern one at that.
I was pulling out my phone to call her myself when I heard her car speed up the driveway. I wasn’t completely sure she had even put the car in park when she opened the door and ran up the walkway. She bounded through the front door, promptly dropping her purse, her belonging scattering. She was disheveled. And, if I wasn’t mistaken, she was in the same clothes she wore yesterday. Seriously, the walk of shame? I could not have been more surprised. Ms. Adams had been nothing but professional for the five years I had worked with her. I had never seen this kind of behavior from her. Part of me wanted to let it slide for that fact alone. The other part of me wanted to set the precedent that this type of behavior would not be tolerated.
“Mr. Wellington, I —”
“Save it, Ms. Adams. Collect yourself and get to work,” I snapped back. Perhaps it was harsh, but I needed her to know I was displeased. I wasn’t ready to have the conversation about her appearance and her tardiness just yet. It was my experience that those conversations were best left to the end of the day. I could not handle a blubbering employee for the entire workday should her feelings be hurt. I would be professional, but firm. It was how this company needed to be run.
“Yes, Sir.” The words were barely whispered, but I felt them run down my spine and take hold deep within me. She got to work, but things were off. Honestly, the entire day felt off.
As the bright daylight turned dark with evening, I could feel the tension mounting. I had found a few mistakes in her work throughout the day, and yes, they did happen, but this wasn’t normal for her. This entire day felt completely out of the norm. I had done well to let as much slide as possible, but when I saw the filings from a rather important case had not yet been filed, I could not hold back any longer.
“Ms. Adams, did you file the pleadings for the Thompson matter?” I asked her, clicking through the court website for a third time.
“Yes, Mr. Wellington,” she answered, the exasperation clear on her voice. I clenched my fist tight, willing my own tensions to calm.
“I haven’t received confirmation of that filing. Oh, wait —” my email popped up with a message from the court.
Filing Rejected by Court Clerk
What? As I looked through the clerk’s notes, the error became obvious. And I was not happy.
“Ms. Adams, I’m aware that you’re not quite yourself today, but do you think you could manage to at least file the right pleadings to the right case?!” I don’t care what her personal drama was, this was unacceptable.
“Yes, Mr. Wellington, although, these errors do happen. It’s not like it was missed by the court and unfixable.” Her attitude had been revving up more and more as the day had passed.
“Errors like these shouldn’t happen at all,” I reiterated, working to keep my tone even.
“But they do happen, and they are easily fixable,” she countered, both her tone and her volume escalating.
“There are many things that should be easily fixable, Ms. Adams, yet somehow today they were not,” I challenged. I looked her up and down, making my intent very obvious.
“If you have an issue with my work, please, just say so.”
