I would have thrown a tantrum, demanded they reconsider, and maybe even thrown a pen or two around. But that was the Izzy of years ago, before I lost myself to passivity. I was better now. I’d reformed. I’d packed my emotions up into a nice, neat box so no one could say I was being a diva or indulging in that personality of mine that got me into trouble.
Everyone said I was such a grown-up now, but most days, it felt like I was simply tired. Keeping a lid on so many emotions would do that to a person. Still, I accepted my lot and hoped I could go home soon for a nap and reset. “Thank you for the opportunity,” I told her, the words as sour as limes in my mouth.
Cade’s eyebrows raised. “That’s it?”
I swear, he wanted a fight, but I wouldn’t give him one. The woman hurried on with a nervous chuckle. “I promise, it’s for the best. You’ll thank me once you’re settled into your new position. You’ll see. You’ll probably have more time on your hands there.”
What she didn’t understand was that I wanted to do all I was doing for the government. I wanted—no, I needed—to work hard for them. My mind didn’t do well without a goal or something to occupy it. It was how I kept the indulgent side of me, the side that was bottled up, from creeping out.
Cade was ruining everything, and he damn well knew it.
Three Months Later
Cade: Stop trying to hack into government property.
Me: OMG get a life and stop watching what I’m doing.
Cade: Technically, I’m doing my job. It’s national security and you’re breaching one of our firewalls.
Me: Still, you’re watching what I’m doing
Cade: Me watching what you’re doing is knowing you sold your condo to move to Greene Liberty Apartments where they have a shit security system.
Me: Seriously, stop.
Cade: Stop sifting through confidential data then.
Me: Get over it. It’s only for information on the Albanians.
Cade: That’s not your job.
Me: I’m quite aware of your reassigning my job duties.
Cade: Yeah, about that …
Cade: I’m waiting for a “thank you so much, Cade.”
Me: Fuck you very much.
Cade: You’re welcome to come over.
Me: I wonder if you think that actually works on women.
Cade: I don’t have to wonder.
Me: You do realize you’re my boss. This wouldn’t look very good to HR.
Cade: I’ll take my chances if you’re agreeing.
Me: I’m not. I have a boyfriend that’s actually a good human.
Cade: You sure? Want me to hack his data and see?
Me: You better not.
Cade: Yeah, we’ll let him have his fun while he’s out of the country.
Me: How do you know he’s gone?
Cade. I know everything … Stop poking around
Me: Fine. Whatever.
Three Months Later
Cade: Don’t you have anything better to do at 3 am?
Me: Maybe I would have more work to do if you let Stonewood Enterprises give me a promotion.
Cade: You’re not ready obviously or you wouldn’t be doing something reckless like hacking systems in the middle of the night.
Me: Leave me alone.
Cade: Then turn off your computer and do something else with your time.
Me: Nothing else to do right now.
Cade: Your boyfriend must be gone again, huh?
Me: So what if he is? Stop watching me.
Cade: Get over yourself. I built an alert for when you start digging for Albanian data. Leave it alone.
Me: You’re seriously the most annoying person I’ve ever met.
Six Months Later
Cade: They must not give you enough work over at Stonewood Enterprises.
Me: Well, you’re technically my boss, although you’re never in the office. You might want to tell the manager who’s there every day about it.
Cade: Izzy, I swear to all that’s holy, knock this shit off.
Me: Just let me be!
Cade: Go to bed. Fuck your boyfriend. Watch a show. Do anything other than this.
Me: I’m not tired, boyfriend’s out of town, and shows are boring.
Cade: Starting to think you need a new fuckboy if he’s always gone.
Me: That’s none of your business.
Cade: Well, get a new hobby. Go travel with him or is he that dull?
Me: I hate you. LEAVE ME ALONE.
1
Izzy
“It’s not me. It’s you.” My boyfriend of almost a year patted my shoulder with his soft, sweaty hand.
I wanted to tell the jerk that someone didn’t break up with that line—it was supposed to be the other way around. But all I could do was stare at his phone in shock.
We’d dressed as Harley Quinn and the Joker for my work party. It was an early October Halloween one, and I’d been excited, even put together a really good costume, but as we were about to get out of the car, his phone had beeped with a text.
I didn’t think much of it when I grabbed it off the seat for him, but when the screen flashed a pair of completely fake breasts at me, I had to tap the message open.
Who wouldn’t?
Text after text after text came up.
Gerald Johnson III was everything I’d wished for. Kind of. The neat box of emotions I’d built for myself really complimented his even-keel attitude. He was your average working man with soft cheeks and blond hair, a quiet demeanor, and was amicable to almost everyone he met. I’d thought everything about him other than his job was perfect. He had work trips that took him around the world. But his father owned a big investment firm, and that’s what they had to do—or at least, that’s what he told me.
And it’s not like I didn't trust him. I’d been on the trips. He’d shown me he was truly working on them.
Or so I’d thought.
His last trip had been two whole months long, and two weeks into him returning home, he wanted nothing to do with me. So much so that I started to question if I was good enough, if something was wrong with me. Had I pushed him away?
Which, now I’d like to say, was absolutely legitimate, considering the texts. But it wasn’t my fault. It was his. I held the phone up for him to see, only for him to reply with that line. “It’s not me. It’s you.”
My fault? How was him cheating on me my fault?
“It’s me?” I squeaked out, the lid of the jar that kept my dark side locked away turning just a bit. “Let me guess, I drove you to message this Lucy girl your dick on a platter. A platter, Gerald! Really?”
He shook his head full of blond hair and frowned at me with puppy eyes I used to think were cute. “Baby, I didn’t want you to find out this way, but honestly, do you think I wanted to come home to this?”
He motioned at me. I peered down at myself, not exactly sure what he meant.
“I told you I needed you to try harder with this workout thing and to let loose a little. Instead, you didn’t try at all.”
My heart dropped as my blood pressure skyrocketed. Break ups were always a mixed bag of anger and sadness but this time I was clinging to the anger.
I geared up to tell him off, but he kept going instead of letting me talk. “Don’t get me wrong—I love how you look. I do. But you know I have a standard to uphold. I need a girl who’s going to look the part. Lucy does. And you won’t even drink much with me at our charity events. You know that my dad’s company really needs me to have a social butterfly on my arm. I think we just need a bit of time apart for you to work on that.”
“A bit of time apart?” I sounded like a broken record repeating what he said. Did he think we could get back together after this? Was I dating that much of an idiot?
He'd come home, yet his mind was still far away. I couldn't even get his attention long enough for a good lay, not that he was ever that great in bed. Sleeping with him was trying to scratch an itch that was just a centimeter out of reach. But I'd been celibate for two months and I needed to stop that dry spell.
Now, he was trying to tell me I was no fun.
“Look, I don’t want things to end this way. Maybe we can work on it.” His brow furrowed while he tried to make puppy dog eyes at me.
“Oh really? Should we text Lucy then and tell her you’re done with—”
“No!” he yelped and grabbed his phone away. “It’s . . . why don’t we do this? I’m only breaking up with you for now. Like I said, I’ve always enjoyed you, Izzy. Just…honestly, I’ve been talking with my father and some of my friends. We think maybe you need to lose a few pounds before we get married, get into a better place where you don’t work so hard and can be on my arm a little more, you know? It’ll be good for us to take a break, date around, and circle back—”
“Gerald, I do not want to marry you.” I blurted out, my body cringing at the idea. Then, I enunciated each word, trying to make clear that this relationship was over. “And I don’t want to work on things.”
“Look, I know you’re mad. But remember what your therapist said.”
My eyes bulged. Was he really going down that road? If so, I think my therapist would have understood if I’d clawed his face apart right then. The jar creaked open a bit farther.
“See. You’re getting mad. You do have a temper and a tendency to react when you’re hurt. So I have to deal with that too. It’s a lot. How do you think it feels for me to be dating an addict, Izzy?”