The Alpha boss and the PA

The moment my roommate had enough

Alissa POV

It has been four weeks since Paul broke my heart on that faithful Friday evening and flushed my career down the toilet.

After the cab he oh so kindly called for me dropped me off at my apartment, things finally started to sink in. I lost it all. My love, my job, my future. The night that was supposed to be the next step in my perfect life-plan, had instead ruined it all. I had made it to the couch on wobbly legs and had completely broken down. That’s how my roommate Daisy found me a few hours later. She tried to get me to tell her what happened, but all I could do was cry hysterically. She managed to piece together that I was not in fact engaged and that something went horribly wrong. I think it was all the crying that gave it away. Could have been the pitiful moans and wild arm gestures though. We’ll never know.

After trying to decipher what was going on with me, and failing, she had gone into the kitchen to fetch a tub of Ben&Jerry’s ice cream. I was too busy being an inconsolable mess, so she just spend the evening sitting next to me on the couch, patting my back and eating the ice cream herself.

After that things got considerably better. I must have fallen asleep at some point from exhaustion. When I woke up the next morning, still on the couch, I was actually able to string together enough words to explain to Daisy how Paul, the love of my life, had dumped me and had told me to quit my job. That pissed her off. She told me he was a good-for-nothing playboy and that she always knew he was all sorts of wrong. I kind of thought it best not to inform her that he had also let me know that I was beneath him, being a mere PA and all, and that the whole relationship had meant nothing to him. I didn’t have the money to bail her out of jail for assaulting him, since I was now unemployed. Despite Daisy’s best efforts to get me to move, I spend the rest of the weekend on the same spot on the couch. I might have gotten slightly dehydrated because of all the crying, but Daisy did provide me with comfort food and enough tissues to fill a large shopping cart with, so there was that.

Monday things improved even more. After Daisy made it subtly known that I had started to smell by spraying air freshener on me, I managed to get up and take a shower. I even put on fresh clothes. Okay, I may have then migrated back to my spot on the couch, but it was progress.

Tuesday had a bit of a dip, since I got an e-mail from Paul asking me where my notice was. We had agreed together that I would hand it in Monday after all. I could not remember agreeing to anything. I did not write my notice. I did cry. A lot. When Daisy came home and found me curled up in a ball on the couch, all I could do to answer her questions was show her the e-mail. She then ranted for an hour about how evil Paul was and she got really creative with her cursing. That cheered me up a bit.

Wednesday was Daisy’s day off, so she decided to help me write my notice. Because I would not want to work for such an evil, vile, despicable sorry excuse for a man anymore anyway. Her words, not mine. It unsurprisingly ended up with Daisy writing the notice and me crying. But the notice got send, so I am calling that one a win.

The rest of the week I only cried a few times a day and I did sort of move around the apartment. I showered, afraid of getting another dose of air freshener, and I actually laughed once. It was when Daisy had a creative evening journaling with stickers and stamps and all, and she tripped and accidentally stamped herself on the forehead. It was funny. She didn’t agree.

I think it was halfway through the third week that Daisy started to get a bit fed up with me.  I had still refused to leave the apartment and I had now gotten into the habit of watching Spanish soap operas in my pajamas. Not that I could understand Spanish, but I liked the fact that the people on it clearly had more drama going on in their lives than me. I mean I lost my boyfriend and my job, but at least my evil twin sister wasn’t trying to kill my husband for getting his mistress pregnant instead of her (at least I think that was what was going on… really can’t be sure).

Daisy might have also gotten a little annoyed by the growing pile of pizza boxes in our apartment. I may, or may not, have ordered one every day. But honestly, who could blame me? My life was ruined. I was allowed to wallow in self-pity.

By the end of the fourth week Daisy sat me down for an intervention. She told me she loved me and that what had happened to me was very sad. However, she explained to me, pizza did not grow on trees and the tv that brought me my Spanish drama’s, did in fact not run on air. In other words: there were bills that needed to be payed and she couldn’t cough up the money herself forever. I need to snap out of it, get dressed, get out of the apartment and start looking for a job.

She was right of course. My last paycheck had come in 3 weeks ago and I was living off of my savings. That would dry up soon enough at this rate. So I nodded like an obedient little girl and promised her that I would start looking for a job.