SEXY SCANDAL

NINE

The next morning, my world cracked open with a single ding. A sharp chime broke the silence, my phone lighting up with a message. I reached for it sluggishly. My heart sank as I read it. Rent notice. s**t. The reality hit like ice water to the face. I blinked. Read it again. No. No. No. How had I forgotten?

The flicker of hope I’d nurtured the night before was snuffed out in an instant, replaced by a suffocating dread that coiled around my chest. I didn’t have the money for it and I didn’t have a plan. My heart raced scrambling for solutions that didn’t exist.

I thought of the late night shifts I’d picked up, the endless working, the meals I’d skipped to save a few dollars here and there. None of it had been enough. I was drowning, and the water was rising faster than I could swim.

I didn’t want to give up this house. This house was more than a roof over my head. It held a lot of memories that I wasn’t willing to let go of. It was the last place that felt like mine. The thought of losing it splintered something in me. I sluggishly walked into the bathroom, discarding my clothes and turning on the shower above me, hitting it before the water flowed freely.

The pipes groaned in protest, a familiar sound that I’d grown used to over the months. I stepped under the spray, expecting the usual trickle, but instead, a shock of icy water hit my skin, stealing my breath. It was as if the universe itself was mocking me, reminding me of my failures even in this small, private moment. I stood there, shivering, letting the cold water run down my back as I tried to steady my breathing.

I sat on the bathroom floor; my knees pulled to my chest trembling. The water poured over me, merging with the quiet tears sliding down my face. The weight of it all caved in. I hadn’t cried like this in months but this time, I broke. I thought I had gotten stronger but the truth was that I wasn’t strong enough. It killed me to admit that.

The tears came faster, hot and relentless. I pulled at my hair, harshly, trying to make the pain distract me from the deeper one inside, a desperate attempt to feel something other than the overwhelming guilt and shame that swallowed me whole.

“It’s all my fault…” I cried, my voice barely a whisper, hoarse and broken. Then louder. “It’s all my fault. Everything happened because of me” I buried my head in my palms and sobbed, the sound muffled by my hands and drowned by the water, but still loud enough to echo inside my own broken heart.

After a long while, I finally showered. I wrapped a towel around my shoulders, shivering slightly under the sudden chill of the bathroom. I stared at my reflection in the fogged-up mirror, and between the tears and red eyes, I barely recognized myself.

I stepped out of the bathroom, dressed quickly, putting on an oversized sweater and slipping into my favorite pair of jeans. I tightened my grip on my purse. There wasn’t much to figure out. I knew what I had to do. I pulled out my phone, “Hello Christine,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “Please… can you fill in for me?”

My only choice was Ellis f*****g Murray.

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I stood in the reception office in Standard Headquarters, a grand space that exuded an air of timeless elegance and sophistication. As I looked around, my eyes were immediately drawn to the vast expanse of the place, every detail spoke of luxury. This place was large, its high ceilings adorned with intricate chandeliers that cast a warm, golden glow across the polished marble floors, reflecting the light like a sea of liquid gold.

I walked over to the mahogany desk where the receptionist sat. The receptionist, with a stern figure with impeccably styled hair and a pinched expression, glances up from her computer with a mixture of boredom and disdain. Her sharp eyes, framed with thin, arched brows, seemed to assess me critically, as if my very presence was an intrusion.

Gathering my courage, I cleared my throat and asked in a polite tone, “Excuse me, is there any chance I might meet with Mr. Murray today?” The receptionist’s lips curl into a sneer, her eyes narrowing as she scans me from head to toe, making me shift uncomfortably under her judgmental gaze.

Then she said with a scoff, “I doubt someone of your… class could even dream of stepping into his presence.” The insult hangs heavily in the air, the venom in her words cutting deep, and the receptionist returned to her work with an air of indifference. I stood there, momentarily stunned by the receptionist’s cutting words.