Chapter 1

Dear diary, yay. It’s Monday. Woohoo!


          I don’t really know what exactly is happening to me. I feel like I’m having the absolute worst out-of-body experience. I see my body moving, but it’s not even, really, me. I mean, what is wrong with me? Did I lose a brain cell, or two, somewhere along the line? How, in God’s glorious name, did I end up here? Is it because of her? Did she make me like this? Or did I make myself like this? Did my decisions bring me down this path? And did I really not realize it?


         I ask myself these questions, almost, every day. There is so much I want to do with my life, that I don’t even know where to begin.
I’m sorry, that’s a lie. I do. I know exactly what I have to do first. Get, the fuck out! I cannot, no fucking way, stay in this woman’s house, and get what I want. It’s just not happening. I have tried and it is not working out. I am no longer to blame, and I cannot keep on creating excuses. I need to breathe and think and act. Yes. That is exactly what I need to do – take action… right now…

“Good morning. Thank you for calling P.U.B.S, how may I help you?”

Ah, I feel like puking.

“Yes, hello?”

Here we go.

“I would like to make a reservation for my daughter... She’s getting married soon and I heard your company was the best. Is there any way you can fit us in for next week? We just have a busy schedule, preparing for the wedding and all, you know how it is….”

Holy shit, shut the fuck up. I don’t know how it is. I’m not married... Not that you care.

“Okay ma’am, no problem. Is next Wednesday, the 3rd at 4 pm okay?”

“Yes. That is perfect. Oh! Thank you so much. We were actually hoping for Wednesday. Can you believe that!? Ahh I love you guys already. My daughter is going to be so happy to hear this….”

Must be nice.

“Alright ma’am, I am so glad to hear that. We are excited to meet with you and your family next Wednesday at 4 pm. Thank you so much again for calling P.U.B.S. Have a nice day.”

And please, drop dead too if you can.

         I have to give her props man, I really do. Being able to turn providing bridal services into a full-blown organization is one hell of an achievement. I mean, sheesh, who does that? Good for her. I, on the other hand, don’t want anything to do with brides and weddings, but I want her success. That is my goal. I want to be able to wake up in the morning and know that I am set. I don’t have to go to work, or I don’t have to worry about my bills getting paid, and if I ever have children, I don’t have to worry about them getting whatever they need… and want. I want to know that I am all set.

         So, I started. I didn’t wait, I didn’t hope, I didn’t just pray and leave it in the hands of God. I started. I moved. I did, and I still am. I haven’t reached her level of success, yet. But I’m well on my way. And I can’t - I won’t – complain about anything otherwise. I have my goals set. I’m on my way, I started, and that’s all that matters.

         However, as successful as she is, why can’t this woman respond to a fucking email?! That is, literally, her only job at this point. It is very annoying being the executive assistant to someone who behaves like they don’t have a fucking executive assistant. Like, what the hell?! All the important people – and customers – are calling me and I have no god damn clue where she is. And guess who’s going to get in trouble for that when shit hits the fan with one of these people? Yeah, exactly, ME.

         Let’s face it, I make good money here. I do. I really do. But man, this shit is not funny. She has been getting on my nerves for the last couple of weeks. Like seriously, the wrong person flirts with me, and BAM! I’m on her shit list. Why though? She didn’t even claim them. Bitch never marked her territory. It’s not my fault. And why are they flirting with me in the first place? Have you ever thought about that? Cause it’s not like I went after them. I don’t want your damn sloppy seconds. Don’t get it twisted. And yet, here I am, three weeks later, still getting the silent treatment, when we are all supposed to be adults.

So, please pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up please!

“Yes? Jesus. What?”

I would like to start by saying, fuck you too.

“Customers are asking to speak with you, and some Execs for your location to meet with you. I just wanted to know what to tell them all.”

Since you won’t tell me.

“Ugh, I didn’t tell you where I am?”

Are you dumb? Who the hell are you giving an attitude to?

“Oh, did you?”

Let’s play, you dumb bitch.

“I most definitely did. Let me show you. It’s in the email with the…. huh. Oh, right. I texted it to you at…. Oh.”

Like I said, fuck you too.

“Mmm -hmm.”

“Well, I’m at his office right now.”

His office? This woman. You think that at the time that YOU wake up, you will be able to get ready and be in Midtown by 10 am? You are the only one stupid enough to think, that anyone, who even remotely knows you, would fall that shit. You probably haven’t even gotten out of his bed yet.

“Okay. Thank you. Will you be coming into the main office today?”

Because as much as I despise this woman now, I can’t front. She got it. Multiple locations all over the states and then some.

“Maybe. I’m not sure yet.”

Ha! Yeah, right.

“Okay. Thank you” Click.

         She can’t replace me. I’m too good at my job…whenever she lets me. At least, not yet anyway. And by the time she can, I will be set, all on my own. So until then, I can hang up on her before she can get a word in, whenever I feel like it. Yeah, yeah, I know – that’s petty as hell. Don’t really care though. Sorry.

         And so Monday went on just like that - a drag, as usual. I would complain and say ‘hey, I have a great idea! Why can’t we just add Monday to the weekend permanently?’ like a dumbass. But when really thinking about it, if we added Monday to the weekend, won’t Tuesday just feel the same way? Seriously. So what’s the point of complaining about it? It’s not going to change anything. Certainly not the way we feel about having to come in to work, or school. And it’s not like we can live without working or going through the educational process. Well… most of us. 
Shit. That’s depressing.

        Finally, it’s time to go back to my bed. Oh, how I’ve missed my bed today. If only my bed was somewhere different; my own space; somewhere I actually feel safe and happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. 

What about you?

        “Why are you back so late? Don’t you close at 5? This is 9:30! Where have you been? You think this is your personal hostel? The dorm? Do I look like your maid to you? You think you can just go to work and come back whenever you like and behave as if you are not part of this house? This family? Ehh?! Then MOVE OUT! Nonsense. Abeg! My friend, go and clean meat for me, I want to make soup. I come back and there’s no food in the house. I do everything ….”

I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t do this anymore. My heart is breaking… and it fucking hurts.

“Okay. Goodbye.”

“Eh? What? What did you just say?”

“Good bye.”

         Whoever said that it took forever to pack and move into a new place, obviously didn’t know me. My things, stuff I bought with my own money, were in my car within the hour. I don’t think I have ever moved that fast in my entire life. Although, knowing that it was to get away from her, I’m not that surprised. Everything I have done, every decision I have made, has been to get away from her. Everything.

         She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know what I feel; how I hurt or why. And I have tried. I have really tried man; to talk to her, to bring her in, to let her know; but every attempt has been a slap in my face, a spit in my eye, added salt to my injury. I can’t. I can’t do it anymore. There is nothing left for me in this place. I have to leave and find myself. And I can’t do that if the hurt and pain I feel here is suffocating me on a regular basis. I need to leave. I am leaving. 

       That’s it. I don’t know if I’ll ever talk to her again in a serious conversation. I will need to come back to get my documents from her, passport and crap like that, and yeah, despite my anger, I’ll still send her money every month – that way, she can never say I never did anything for her in return – but otherwise, I think this is it.

         I’ll miss them, but not that much, cause I will keep in touch. I won’t leave them behind, despite what she thinks. In fact, I’ll be so close to them, yet so far away from her, that I really hope it hurts like a bitch; I hope it cuts a wound so deep into her soul… she’ll finally start to understand me. But, I won’t abandon them. They have her, she’s good to them, she treats them better, but I’m okay with that. I’ll just be there for them too; if they ever need anything I can give. I love them. Both of them. Despite what she says, I do, and they know it. But she doesn’t.   

Because she doesn’t know me.

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