Page 7 of Marked By my Boss
I press my palms to the counter, centering myself in the weight of the first decision I’ve made for myself in a while.
It’s time to reclaim the pieces.
It’s time to choose myself again.
It’s time to find strength and live on my own terms.
It’s time to realize that there are men in the world that don’t act like Dave. Men that care. Men that may not be great with emotion but at the very least don’t explode at the slightest breeze. Men that take pride in protection versus control.
The tissue crumples in my hand, damp and useless. I toss it in the bin and reach for another next to the sink, pressing it gently beneath my eyes. I don’t want to go back out there looking like I’ve unraveled, but I’m not sure I’d be shocking anyone with that revelation at this point.
I’ve barely pushed open the bathroom door when I see Beau standing in the breezeway talking to Dave, who hasn’t even bothered to change out of the sweatpants and T-shirt he’s been wearing all weekend. What the hell is he doing here?
My stomach tightens.
“Jesus, Del,” he groans as he catches sight of me, his nose wrinkled, brows drawn together. “You crying?” Dave pushes past Beau to meet me in the hallway, his hand landing on my cheek.
I flinch.
“You’re embarrassing me,” he grunts low, his jaw locked. “Don’t pull back when I touch you in front of your boss. This fuck is going to think I’m a fuckin’ monster.”
“You need to go.” I swallow hard and stare up at him, focusing on the mustache he spends far too much time trying to make perfect. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what anymore?” He grins slowly. It’s the same way he does every time I cry. “You mean us?” He swings his arm around my shoulder and tugs me into his chest as he walks us toward the front door. “We’ll talk about this at home.”
The heater clicks on and a low humming sound surrounds us as I pull back away from his touch.
“Do you want to go home, Delilah?” Beau stands in the hallway, thick arms crossed over one another as he blocks the front door.
I open my mouth to speak but Dave answers for me. “She does. Now move.”
I know everyone talks about the moment someone took their ‘last straw,’but I always thought it was a saying until now. It’s not. This man literally just plucked the very last straw I have.
It’s the weirdest thing. I expected it to be loud and filled with rage, but it’s quiet, like the final drop in a cup that’s been brimming for months. I don’t yell. I don’t cry. I just feel the subtle shift, and exhale as I back away from his touch. “Leave.”
His nostrils flare, his cheeks turn red, and he steps towards me. “Del,” he says, voice low and tight, like he’s on the edge of exploding, “get in the fucking truck.”
“Leave,” I say again, and his fingers curl.
Before I can say anything else, he raises his fist, pulls back, and aims for the wall beside my face.
Beau catches his punch and shoves him down, twisting his arm behind his back, then tosses him out the door before turning back toward me. “Go sit down. I’ve got this.”
The door swings shut and the echo of it lingers longer than it should.
I stand frozen, the adrenaline still buzzing in my limbs, my body unsure if I’m supposed to collapse or combust.
Outside the door, I hear the muffled sound of Dave’s voice, sharp and defensive. Beau’s tone in response is cool, controlled, and final.
“She’s not going anywhere with you. And if you ever show up here again, you’ll be leaving in a squad car or an ambulance. Depends on what kind of mood I’m in.”
The silence that follows is thick. Then footsteps. Then nothing.
I lean against the wall, my heart pounding, my tears stalled, my hand on my stomach as I contemplate what happens next. Sure, I’d planned to leave in the bathroom, but this escalated very quickly. I guess I thought I’d make a plan, save some money, and get my life in order before I jumped.
As it stands now, I have no money, and no home. I sold my car two weeks ago to pay for this month’s rent. And though I know I could call my brother, he just found someone to spend his life with. I don’t want to burden him and put a strain on his potential happily-ever-after with my bullshit. Truthfully, I might not have another choice. I can’t stay out on the street with a newborn and I’m weeks away from this baby girl being in my arms.
I hope he won’t hate me forever.
