Page 114 of Phishing for Love
Kenzie:Is there anything you want to tell us? But no pressure.
Sofia:Yes pressure!
Sofia:Do I need to take out a contract on him?
Tess:No!
Sofia:She lives. She breathes. Is she going to talk?
Tess:He’s leaving in less than three months. It’s for the best. Really.
Kenzie:Oh, Tess.
It’s nearly dark by the time I finish a particularly difficult message for a birthday card. Most of the office has cleared outwith everyone leaving promptly at five. I don’t blame them. No one should be working late on a Friday night. No one except the person who procrastinated all week and who is now playing catch up.
The halls are empty. The only light on is the one in Aaron’s office. Which I’m steering clear of. I know he often works late, which doesn’t surprise me. With no friends or family in town, at least none as far as I’m aware of, there’s nothing else for him to do but work. I don’t even know if he has any hobbies. And I don’t particularly care. At least, I’m trying not to particularly care.
The building feels eerie and quiet, and I feel a little depressed thinking of my colleagues relaxing at home with their families or gathering for the traditional Friday after-work drinks at Kelly’s. And here I am, chained to my desk by choice.
Something has to change, I think with a sigh.
Sofia and Kenzie are under the impression I’m angry with Aaron. And while some part of me is harboring anger toward him, especially when I think back to Sunday and how desperately I wanted him to kiss me, how he led me on and then pushed me away, my anger is tempered by the fact that I now know what that terrible look in his eyes is and where I’ve seen it before.
It’s the look that survivors of tragedies have. A look of raw, unbearable pain. What they’ve suffered is too big to be hidden away, and it spills out of their eyes and into whatever’s left of their lives.
It’s the same look that crept into Kate’s eyes after her life detonated in her face and all but broke her spirit.
I can’t help but wonder what tragedy Aaron experienced to put that look in his eyes. But there’s also a part of me that doesn’t want to know. Because if I know, I might start to care, and caring about someone always comes at a cost.
On Sunday, I assumed Aaron was leading me on, and there’s a part of me that still thinks that, but I’m starting to suspect not even Aaron knows what he wants. As far as I’m concerned, he can keep his lonely life, nurse his painful secrets, work alone in his office on a Friday night.
After emailing the card off to Enya, who probably won’t look at it until Monday, I push back my chair and stand. My joints feel stiff after sitting for so long. When I’m in the zone, I sometimes forget to move around, and my body pays the price. I go up on my tiptoes, link my fingers, and lift my arms above my head, stretching out the kinks in my back and shoulders. A groan escapes my lips at the sweet feeling of release.
I’m tired and hungry, but at least all my assigned tasks are completed. I deliberately wore my favorite stretchy T-shirt and tight denims today, since I planned on going out after I finished the card, maybe for drinks at Kelly’s, but all I’m really in the mood for now is to grab a pizza and head home.
I turn to tidy my desk. That’s when I suddenly notice Aaron standing at the entrance to my cubicle. I let out a shriek and press a palm to my thumping heart.
“What the heck, Aaron!” I say when I finally find my voice. “You scared me half to death.”
“I need you to stop,” he says, his voice sounding strained. He does not look happy.
I frown at him. “Stop what?”
He looks at me for three, maybe four, heartbeats without saying anything. Then he clears his throat and makes an impatient gesture. “Just stop what you’re doing.”
My confusion mounts. My irritation too. “You’ll have to be more specific, Aaron.”
His mouth clamps shut, and he looks away. “Never mind.”
“No, seriously, what do I have to stop?” I fold my arms, my voice rising. “Breathing? Existing?”
“Forget it.” Jaw tight, he marches back to his office.
I stare at his retreating back, too astonished to speak. How dare he? How dare he come in here and demand—? My brain judders to a halt. Demand what, exactly? I still have no idea.
Exasperation sets in. Now there are two annoyed people in an empty building.
I storm down the hallway after him, the air not parting fast enough to accommodate the momentum of my aggravation. I find him standing in the middle of his office, looking a little lost, as though he has no idea what to do next.
