Page 322 of Phobia
Sitting in the car, my feet hang out of the door Dom holds open for me, in no rush to move.
I expected to want to run away when these nine days were up, but I’m finding it hard to leave the man who fuelled yet eased my nightmares, hurt my cousin, and made me feel freer than ever.
How fucked up is that?
“So… we’re good?” I ask, biting the inside of my cheek.
Dom smiles seductively. “We’ve always been good, Naomi.”
I shove his chest, and his hand meets mine, pressing it against his heart.It hurts to breathe.“You know what I mean,” I choke out before clearing my throat. “Ant’s debt is paid.”
“In full,” he nods.
“So that’s it?” I ask, forcing the pain in my chest away.
Dom steps forward, brushes his lips against my cheek, and breaks my pathetic heart. “That’s it.”
***
I walk into Paul’s office with my coffee in hand, a forced smile on my face and a weight that started in my heart but has since spread across my whole body.
Every step I took away from Dom’s car felt wrong. Like I should turn and run back becausehe’sreality, and this life,mylife, doesn’t fit anymore.
That’s it.I need to make those two words my new mantra. It was an intense and confusing nine days.That’s all. All holiday romances feel like forever, even when no feelings were expressed or promises made.
“How was Milan?” Paul asks.
I try to give my boss my full attention, but my mind remains elsewhere. The conversation we’re about to have once felt important. “Amazing, thank you.”
“Well, we’ve certainly missed you here,” he smiles, and I know it’s true. The slackers have to step up when I’m not around. “As you know, we value you very much, Naomi…”Here we go.“You have a very promising future…”But…“But on this occasion, at this time, we don’t feel that you’re ready for promotion.”
I wait for the punch, but it doesn’t land. Sipping my coffee, I try to make myself care, “So… who is?”
My tone takes him by surprise, but he shakes it off. “Daniel.”
“Your son. Interesting.” This time my tone surprises me. I’ve never let my true feelings show at work, always keeping it professional. Spending nine days in the presence of true authority must’ve left a mark—my boss just doesn’t cut it anymore.
“I assure you, Naomi, the process was fair.”
“Of course, Paul.” I rise from my chair and head to the door. “Was that all? I have a lot to catch up on.”
***
Slamming my front door, I go straight to the sofa and crash. I can’t believe I made it to Friday, that I survived a week in that place without telling them all to go fuck themselves.
When I got home on Monday, I typed out my resignation letter, realised that I needed a job, saved it, and worked on my CV instead. I’ve sent out a few applications and spoken to a recruitment agency, and Paul was right—I have a promising career ahead of me. It just won’t be with him.
Being busy and annoyed with work has been a great distraction because it temporarily blocks out the rest of my thoughts. Mainly, why hasn’t Dom come knocking on my door, begging me to return to him? Why am I so disposable, and more importantly, why do I care?
I know why I care.
Still, the heartbreak I failed to protect myself from is nothing compared to the ever-present anxiety. I can’t chase the nightmares away alone: I’m just not scary enough. Every night, they sneak in, taking full advantage of the opening I gave them. When I wake up cold and soaked in tears, I shed a few more, grieving the loss of my shield in the night—the devil who kept the demons at bay.
Without Dom to distract and reassure me, I’m left waiting for the only thing that will: my period. I keep telling myself that once it arrives, I can finally forget Dom and put this all behind me. Like shedding the lining of my uterus will somehow cleanse me of him.
One more week to go.
***
