"Strip for me."
I have come to the conclusion that Mike was indeed the most perfect man on the planet.
Maya is not here to hush me for my naivety because of my lack of experience with men.
I want to lash out and throw a tantrum over his words, but I am glued to the chair, dazed at such a request, even after explaining mylife's historyto him.
I survived the fire. The fire that ended the life of my friends, my family, Mike.
I have cycled through the stages of grief, and I am finally heading toward acceptance. Perhaps, I wavered for too long. Now I have to pay the price of not moving on quickly enough to pick myself up. Now, this man—sitting behind his desk with his stupid fountain pen between his lips—dares to wink at me.
I can walk away right now, hold my integrity and my pride, but something about the daring lookin his eyes—no, I can't do this.
This is unacceptable.
"I am sorry?" I raise a questioning brow, clasping my hands above my flare skirt. The same skirt I had worn the day Mike had brought me to ecstasy on the grass for the first and last time.
"You heard me, Miss Smithson. If you want the job, you have to strip right here in my office."
Fuck it.
Fuck you, your fucking stupid fountain pen and your fucking office. You disgust me.
I say all these in my mind, but when I open my mouth to speak the only thing I utter is, "I believe I have misread the job posting. I never thought this was a strip club. I'll take my leave now." I make a move to stand.
"Oh, Emily. Come on, you must have had a hard time. The fire and all—people die and all. I am willing to give you this job. I want you to have this job
Come on, I’ll even promote you on the spot, but I need to be sure about what I am getting in return. It won't always be you anyway, I have other girls available for—"
"Fuck you." My feet are leading me out the door before he can complete his obscene statement.
Fucking asshole.
I barely make it out the door before I reach into my purse, take out a cigarette, and light it. It's January, it's cold, and a man just spilt all his bullshit on me because I have finally decided to get a new job.
Right after I left the hospital, the tall blonde nurse, who I now know as Sasha, took me into her home.
She quit her job after all and joined a modelling agency. Then she quit her job as a model to become a flight attendant.
When she gave me the news, it was hard for me to stay completely happy because I knew what it meant for me; it meant I had to find a new place to live. She didn't need to keep paying rent when she would always be up there in the air doing whatever it is that flight attendants do. Before she moved out of town, she found a way to help me contact other survivors of the fire, Paul turned out to be one of them. He was now working as a bouncer at a bar.
A call was made, and a date was fixed for me to move to his apartment. From sweet and compassionate Sasha, to arrogant, hostile and noisy Paul. I found myself forming habits that were allinfluenced by Paul, the smoking habit being one of them. There is no helping it; we need each other to get through this.
My phone rings in my purse. I take a final drag before getting rid of the cigarette.
Pain changes people.
You become the things you never imagined becoming.
Or maybe this is all a part of the wildness Mrs. Fox talked about.
When I stare at the screen and realize it's Paul, I take a deep breath and clear my throat before I answer him.
"Hey," I say.
"Hey," he breathes.
I begin to make my way down the street. I wish to stop by the hospital and see Maya before heading home.