Page 49 of My Merry Mistake
I cut her off with, “No. Thanks, Landyn.”
With that, she gives a small smile and nod, then turns to Finn and says, “It was nice to finally meet you in person,” to which he replies, “Likewise,” and she leaves.
I turn back to my screen. The image is blurred, and I squint to make it out.
“You know she’s terrified of you, right?”
“She’s terrified of losing her job, and she should be.” I frown, forcing my eyes and my brain to get with the program. They are not cooperating. If anything, it’s getting worse. I almost feel crowded.
He slaps his lap and stands. “I get it. You’re busy. I thought I’d say hi, drop that off—” He nods at the chocolate. “Try not to work too hard, okay, Hart?”
He feels sincere. I feel terrible.
And his question—wouldn’t it be nice if someone took care of me every once in a while—keeps spinning in my throbbing brainlike a website trying to load. I’ve tried to convince myself that no, it absolutely wouldn’t. I can pull my own weight. I can handle my own work.
But that loud voice—the one that shouted its silent “YES!” in the back of my mind that night—throws me off-balance again.
I look at my computer, then down at my desk, then up at Finn.
He’s watching me strangely, and I realize I haven’t said anything back to him for a few moments.
I shake my head to try and clear things. “Sorry. Sorry. I’ve just . . .”
“Got a lot on your plate. Totally understand.” He smiles and nods at the box in front of me. “Just find room for a few of those chocolates on your plate, huh?”
I look at the box, and that’s when the room starts to close in.
Not emotionally, butvisually.
There’s a strange darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision. I blink a few times, then pull my gaze away, pressing into my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. When I open my eyes, my vision is still distorted, like I’m looking through a tube.
Somewhere, my phone buzzes. I think I should answer it, but I can’t.
“Raya?”
I look up, trying to follow Finn’s voice, but it feels like it’s coming from somewhere else, outside my perception.
My mind swirls, then I’m slammed with an excruciating pain. I whip my hand to the side of my head and shut my eyes tight, trying to alleviate the sharp, crackling pain.
Am I getting sick? I never get sick. I don’t have time to get sick.
As if on cue, my computer dings again. Twice. The sound is faint.
I open my eyes, and my gaze falls to the desktop, and I stare at a paperclip that moves in and out of focus. The dark edges at the corners of my eyes are creeping closer to the middle.
What is happening?
I hear a voice at my door, but I don’t look up. “Hey, Finn. You’re back!”
It’s Jill. My assistant. I register her presence like someone trying to make out a face in a dream.
My top lip starts to tingle.
“Raya,” she says. “I’m heading out for coffee! Be back in twenty!”
I lift a hand to let her know I heard her, but I don’t respond. I can’t respond. I’m too busy trying to understand what’s happening to my face. I reach up and touch my cheek. It’s numb.
The right side of my face is numb.
