5 Rounds: Chapter 22

I spend the rest of the evening getting shitfaced in my apartment by myself. I’ve never been any more than a social drinker, but in this moment, I just want to escape from my reality—or at least dull the edges of it. Anything is better than feeling what I feel right now.

Tristan’s parting comment plays on repeat in my head, and every time it does, I feel my heart splinter a little more. I can’t decide what hurts worse: his words, or the fact that I was so epically wrong about him. I alternate between hating Tristan for being so heartless, hating myself for being such an idiot, and fighting the pull of a downward spiral of sheer heartache.

Occasionally I remember my work troubles, which spikes a welcome distraction of panic through my thoughts. I have no one to blame but myself for what happened and I’m fairly certain I’m getting fired on Monday. So, on top of everything, I’ll be jobless.

I down another shot of tequila at the thought.

Jax calls me at some point but by then I’m already a few shots deep and I can’t bring myself to talk to anyone. I pour myself another shot as I let it go to voicemail.

Sometime later, I pull out my computer and attempt to write something. But I’m drunk enough by then that it’s just an angry stream of consciousness that doesn’t make any sense, and it barely provides any relief to my overworked brain.

I slam my computer shut and throw my head back against the couch, a single tear rolling down my cheek.

I somehow manage to sleep through the night, but after chugging some water and forcing down some toast, I go right back to sleep. My exhausted body happily gives into the blackness.

I wake several hours later, my head pounding with a vicious hangover and my phone beeping with incoming text messages. I groan and squint at the screen with one eye.

There’s another missed call from Jax this morning but it’s Hailey that’s blowing up my phone right now. I frown and try to focus.

My eyes widen at the texts. I always knew Hailey would reach the wakeup point eventually but I was definitely not expecting it with this much intensity. I immediately type my response.

Her response comes quickly.

I glance at the time. It’s almost 4:00, which means I’ve somehow managed to waste almost an entire day. And yet, when everything from this week comes rushing back, the only thing I want to do is curl up under the covers and go back to unconsciousness.

That plan is indefinitely put on hold when I hear Hailey fumbling with her keys in the hallway. She opens the door with a bang.

We both stare at each other with raised eyebrows—me because of Hailey’s whirlwind entrance and her because of my very obviously hungover and pathetic state on the couch.

‘It looks like we both have some issues to work through tonight,’ she finally mutters.

‘Damn straight,’ I agree gruffly. ‘Tequila is on the far-left shelf if you’ve reached that point.’

Hailey shudders at the mention of alcohol. She’s never been a big drinker, though I’ve also noticed that she’s even more opposed to it since she started dating Steve. I’ve never gotten an explanation about why he hates drinking so much but it’s obviously affected Hailey’s feelings for it, too. I can’t remember the last time I saw her actually drunk.

‘No thanks, I’m good,’ she answers as she pulls her sweatshirt off. ‘I just need to vent.’ She plops down on the swivel chair next to me with a huff.

I sit up with a wince and say, ‘That’s fine, but let me go pee. I’ve only moved off this couch once since 7:00 last night.’

Hailey’s eyes widen at that. I know she knows that I’ve been fucked up over Tristan, but it was never so bad that I didn’t leave the house. She has no idea that everything imploded yesterday.

In typical caretaker Hailey fashion, she’s waiting for me with two aspirin and a big glass of water when I sit back down on the couch. I give her an appreciative smile and swallow the pills. Then I lean back with a quirked eyebrow and stretch out my arms to rest on the back of the couch. I look at my sister expectantly.

She pulls her legs up to sit cross-legged on the seat and places her elbows on each knee, dropping her head into her hands with a groan. ‘I just hate him so much,’ she mumbles. ‘I don’t know how I got into this situation.’

‘Living with him?’ I ask tentatively.

Her head shoots up in frustration. ‘Being with him!’ she exclaims. ‘Why did I ever start dating him? We don’t even mesh. We never did.’ She sighs, the fight leaving her as quickly as it came. ‘I just feel like I’m starting to realize that he’s Prince Charming on paper, but the polar opposite in real life. I feel like I was somehow convinced to be with him.’

I don’t bother correcting her—the right word is actually manipulated. She needs to figure this out herself before she can see Steve for what he really is.

I stay quiet and let her vent.

‘He’s just not the same person he was when we started dating,’ she explains, throwing her hands up in exasperation. ‘It mostly has to do with how he is with me, which is what made me think it was just the honeymoon phase. I thought maybe I just bore him now. But I’ve noticed lately that it’s more than that. He’s actually kind of mean. He used to worship me—he would give me compliments, buy me little things that let me know he was thinking of me. Now it seems to be the opposite. He rarely ever texts me during the day or does anything to let me know I’m on his mind, and when we are together, he says things about me that I hate. He tries to play them off as jokes but they’re all just barely-disguised insults. He constantly brings up my past relationships, as if he’s trying to make me out to be a whore for loving someone before him. And he makes subtle digs about my cooking, my career plans, even my appearance. But by the time I’m ready to be mad at him, he makes it seem like I just can’t take a joke. Then he turns the charm on and ten minutes later I forget I was even mad. I get whiplash almost every day.’

She drops her head back against the chair with a groan. ‘I couldn’t figure out if it was just a phase or if he was always like this, but I’m starting to think this is just who he is. Which makes me wonder how I ever started dating him.’ She sits up with a wince. ‘And then how I get out of it.’

I look at her with a sad smile. ‘I’ll tell you the same thing I told you a few weeks ago. If he doesn’t make you happy, he’s not worth it. It doesn’t matter if you live together, or if you’ve been together for years, or if you have a pet together. If you don’t want to be with him then don’t be with him.’

She sighs and looks down at her hands. ‘I just feel like I only feel this way when he’s angry at me,’ she mumbles. ‘Like today. I said one wrong thing and now he’s giving me the silent treatment.’ I snort at that. If any guy I dated began acting like a teenage girl, they would immediately be cut loose.

Hailey either ignores it or doesn’t recognize the ridiculousness of her comment. She turns to look at me. ‘That doesn’t happen often, though. Most of the time we’re fine. Our relationship is fine.’ I raise an eyebrow at the fact that she repeated the word twice.

A word that should not be used to describe a relationship that anyone should be in.

But again, she ignores me. Her expression becomes desperate. ‘How do you end a relationship where you can’t exactly pinpoint a problem? There’s no one thing I can say is wrong. I can’t even give him a specific example of what he says that makes me feel bad. All I have to go on is my feelings. I can’t end a relationship without a reason.’

‘Hailey,’ I say sternly. ‘You can do whatever the fuck you want. If you want to dump Steve because you don’t like his haircut anymore, do it. You don’t need a specific reason to get out of a relationship if it makes you unhappy. That’s the reason. And it’s more than enough.’

She looks back at her hands, her face flushing pink with an ashamed blush. ‘I know,’ she whispers. She winces and rubs her temples with her fingers. ‘I’ll do it eventually. I already know it’s heading in that direction. I just need to do it.’ She sighs and looks up at me. ‘Let’s move on from my shit and talk about you. What’s going on? You look like you spent the night drinking from the bottle.’

Now it’s my turn to wince. ‘I kinda did,’ I admit. She raises an eyebrow and waits patiently for the rest. Ignoring the pang that slices through me at the reminder, I tell her, ‘I ran into Tristan at the bar last night.’

Both of her eyebrows shoot to her hairline. ‘You saw Tristan? And you were at a bar?’

I nod stiffly. ‘Those are actually the two parts of this particularly depressive episode. He was flaunting another woman in front of me, and I was only at the bar because I’m being charged with copyright infringement and needed to meet with that lawyer Jason to see how much trouble I’m in.’

Hailey’s mouth drops open in shock.

‘Yeah,’ mutter.

She continues to stare at me with wide eyes and a slack jaw. ‘You… I don’t… I don’t even know what to ask about first.’

I look toward my kitchen, debating grabbing the tequila again. Talking about Hailey’s problem was a welcome distraction but now that we’re talking about me, all the pain from yesterday comes rushing back—the issue at work, the sight of Tristan picking up another woman, and the hurt I felt when he implied that I was only good for a quick fuck. All of it brings back the bone-deep pain that makes my chest ache.

And I once again think about how this hurts way more than I thought it would.

So I tell Hailey everything. I tell her about my fuckup at work, and my upcoming Monday meeting with the company’s lawyers. I tell her that I think I might get fired but that maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing because I’m realizing I hate my job. I even tell her I’ve been writing again and thinking about giving my dream a real shot.

I tell her about realizing that I’m in love with Tristan. About seeing him with another woman and feeling like my soul was being pulled out of my chest even before he put the final nail in the coffin. She sits next to me on the couch when I tell her that I don’t understand how I could fall so hard when he clearly didn’t. She holds me as I finally break down for the first time when I tell her that it hurts so fucking bad.

And we stay that way for the rest of the weekend. Hugging each other and crying, laughing and eating junk food, sleeping on the couch and watching trash TV. We ignore all phone calls from Jax and Steve.

We’re just two sisters, holed up in an apartment for the weekend, comforting each other and readying ourselves to face the world again on Monday morning.

I look up at the building in front of me and take a deep breath. It’s Monday morning and I’m about to walk into work.

And deal with my colossal screw-up from last week.

I breathe in again as I steel myself for the situation that’s waiting for me on the 12th floor. I’ve been reminding myself all weekend that a) it was an accident that could’ve happened to anyone, b) I hate this job anyway, and c) I’m good with money and have enough saved to be okay for a few months. It isn’t the end of the world if I get fired this morning. It definitely won’t look good on my resume, but it’s not the end of the world.

I’ve barely had enough time to set up my laptop before my boss appears in my cubicle.

‘Remy, we’re ready for you,’ he says without any kind of greeting.

I look up at Brian and swallow nervously. He’s been my manager for about a year and a half, and while I don’t exactly have anything bad to say about him, I’m not really a big fan, either. He’s just kind of useless. Doesn’t seem like he knows what he’s doing, doesn’t ever offer any feedback or help, never cares enough to ask how things are going. I don’t think he’s ever even asked me if I like my job. And he definitely never helped with career progression. He’s just… useless.

‘I’ll be right in,’ I say with a nod. When he walks away without another word, I close my eyes and steady myself with a deep breath.

It’s okay, you’re okay. It was an accident, and you hate this job. Whatever happens, you’ll get through this.

With those affirmations running on repeat in my head, I stand and make my way toward the conference room.

There are three people sitting around the far end of the conference table: my boss, my boss’ boss, and someone else I don’t recognize. I take a seat, my nerves buzzing with the intimidating position of being the only person on this end of the table while three powerful people sit across from me. I clasp my clammy hands together in my lap.

‘Remy, good morning,’ my boss’ boss Will Templeton starts out. ‘You know Brian and myself, obviously, but this is Sam Hancock, our company’s corporate attorney. He’ll be involved in this meeting for obvious reasons.’ I nod stiffly.

Mr. Templeton pauses to study me for a moment. I don’t know anything about the man except that he’s damn good at his job as the VP of Sales, so I have no idea how hard he’s going to come down on me about this. But this moment of thoughtful attention gives me hope that he’ll be understanding.

He smashes that hope immediately.

‘Remy, you obviously know what this meeting is about. Our competitor has contacted us with a copyright infringement notice for a datasheet that you created. If they were anyone else or if this was any other situation, it most likely would’ve just been a ‘Cease and Desist’ request. But because they’re a competitor, they’re using this as an opportunity to hit us as hard as they can. This could potentially cost us a lot of money.’ His frown deepens. ‘Can you explain what happened here?’

I open my mouth to answer but I’m so nervous that my mouth is completely dry. I swallow and try again. ‘Unfortunately, the only answer I have for you is that it was an accident. I do a lot of research on the technology and that often means I end up on competitors’ websites. The phrase must’ve stuck in my subconscious and I added it to the datasheet without realizing. I would never knowingly plagiarize anything, Mr. Templeton. It was a complete accident.’

Brian leans forward on the table and clasps his hands in front of him. ‘Why would you need to do any research, Remy? Why aren’t you just working with the materials the engineers give you? That should be more than enough to fine tune and make marketable.’

My eyes nearly bug out of my head. I’ve been very vocal with Brian about my struggles with the engineers, so the fact that he’s even asking this is unbelievable.

Useless.

‘I rarely receive enough information from the engineers to create an entire datasheet,’ I answer delicately. I’ve never been one to burn bridges or throw anyone under the bus, so I need to be careful about how I answer this question and the inevitable next one.

Even though I’m dying to rat out those lazy motherfuckers.

‘I’m not sure how that’s possible,’ Brian argues with a glare. ‘I talked to Cassandra on Friday and she said she gave you plenty of information to work with for that datasheet.’

I’m grinding my teeth so hard that I’m surprised I haven’t bitten through my own jaw yet. I have no idea how to respond to that without calling both my boss and a valued employee a blatant liar.

Brian continues his scolding. ‘And anyway, why aren’t you checking your work before you pass it to the Creative team to get published? How did a mistake like this get all the way through to publication?’

By now, my words have taken on a sharp edge. ‘I triple check everything I create,’ I say tightly. ‘But this is the exact reason I’ve asked for another person on my team, so it goes through quality control and so I’m not the only person—’

‘I can’t hire someone just to check your work,’ Brian interrupts.

I stare at him for a moment in complete disbelief. He really hasn’t ever listened to a word I’ve said.

Either that or he’s just trying to save face in front of his boss by using me as a scapegoat.

‘I don’t need someone to check my work, I need help in general,’ I say firmly. ‘None of the other marketing teams are made up of only one person. The company has grown significantly in the past year, which means marketing demand has increased, and I’m not able to give each document the attention it needs because of that. Every document should have at least two eyes on it to avoid situations like this. And with the engineers not providing enough information, the time spent on these documents is—’

‘We can’t hire anyone else right now,’ Mr. Templeton cuts me off. My eyes widen at both the rude interruption and the blatant effort to shut me down. ‘We can revisit that idea at another time but for right now, we need to deal with the issue in front of us. And going forward, I expect you to pay closer attention to your work.’

A red haze clouds my vision and I’m sure they can see that I’m seething. But I’m so beyond caring that I just nod.

Mr. Templeton turns to the lawyer on his left and motions for him to begin.

The lawyer opens the folder in front of him before fixing me with a firm stare. ‘The first step here is obviously to remove that datasheet from the website and anywhere else that we can pull it down. Our team is handling that. The good news is that the competitor caught it quickly, so your customers haven’t had a chance to share the document very widely. That might work in our favor—they might not be able to claim damages or much of a loss of revenue. I’m going to push for a settlement so that this doesn’t make it to litigation, but if they find any way to prove that this was willful, or if they really want to push this to the max, they might take us to court for statutory damages. It is imperative that you do not talk to anyone about this. You say one wrong thing to the competitor or their lawyer, and we get taken to court for hundreds of thousands of dollars. Do not talk to anyone without me present. Do I make myself clear?’

I glare at him. I know he needs to talk to me this way, but I hate it anyway. ‘I understand.’

He nods in approval and turns back to Mr. Templeton, who fixes me with a stern look. ‘Make sure you do as Sam says. This is costing us enough money as it is, so we don’t need anything making this even worse. Please let myself and Sam know if anyone tries to contact you about this.’ He motions to Brian. ‘For the time being, you will submit all of your work to Brian for approval. Please check your work going forward. You won’t be let go because of this, but I expect that it won’t happen again.’

I’m so furious that all I can do is give a stiff nod. I know I made a mistake and that they need to do damage control, but I’m being treated like an incompetent child. Not to mention this could’ve been avoided if my boss cared to listen to any of my suggestions. And on top of all of that, I should be grateful that they’re not firing me. I can barely hold back my angry sneer.

Brian is the last to chime in. ‘You and I will meet again later today to discuss this further.’ To further scold you and to talk about your punishment goes unsaid. But the message is clear: even though companies hire lawyers and have money set aside for exactly these kinds of issues, I’m still going to be severely punished.

The meeting ends abruptly. At some kind of unspoken signal from Mr. Templeton, all three men stand and exit the room, leaving me sitting in shock at the conference table.

I didn’t exactly expect someone to tell me ‘it’s okay, it could happen to anyone,’ but I can’t help but feel hurt that there wasn’t a single positive message or appreciative comment throughout that whole meeting. No one to tell me I do a great job otherwise, or that the company is perfectly equipped to handle this kind of thing. After all, copyright lawyers exist exactly because this is a common issue.

Instead, I once again feel like I’m undervalued by my company, and like the only purpose I serve is for others to bash me. It’s the same story with my boss, the engineers, even the people that sit in the cubicles around me that don’t care enough to talk to me unless they’re teasing me for one thing or another. I’m completely unappreciated in every part of my work. Even though I’m damn good at my job.

Eventually I stand from my seat and go back to my cubicle. I spend the rest of the day on autopilot, working normally while my brain is lost in very different thoughts.

I think about my dreams in college. I think about my career up until this point. I think about my 5/10/20 year plan and where I want to be, and what I want to be doing.

I think about what makes me happy, and what makes me miserable. I think about the fact that I spend almost sixty hours a week doing something that I absolutely hate, and only eight hours a week in the gym being actually happy.

I think about what a horrible ratio that is.

I’m lost in my thoughts all day. I’m quiet throughout my entire existential crisis—as I work, as I go out for lunch, even as I talk to coworkers. I dissect and analyze everything in my life for my entire Monday workday.

Brian sends me an instant message at 4:00 to come to his office. I no longer feel angry or hurt—I just feel calm and sure of myself. I close my laptop and make my way to his office.

‘Have a seat, Remy,’ he says by way of greeting. I close the door behind me and sit down in the chair he indicates. My calmness remains even as my boss leans forward on his desk, a smug expression appearing on his face as he clasps his hands together and gets ready to deliver what is most likely a verbal lashing.

‘As you’re aware—’ he begins.

‘I’d like to give you my official two-week notice,’ I interrupt, much like he and his boss kept interrupting me this morning.

Brian’s eyes go wide. He clumsily leans back in his chair, looking physically taken aback.

I wait patiently for his response.

‘Remy, just because you’re in trouble doesn’t mean you need to make any rash—’

‘That’s not why I’m doing this,’ I interrupt again. ‘This is not me trying to get away from any kind of legal consequence. I will still deal with my mistake. But I no longer want to work here, so I’m giving you my two weeks’ notice.’

He stares at me, wide-eyed, for a few seconds. I’m sure this isn’t the way people usually resign, so it looks like he’s struggling to figure out what to say to me.

‘But… why?’ he finally asks.

‘Because I’m unhappy. I don’t like what I do.’ I spear him with a steely glare. ‘And without trying to burn any bridges with this company, I have to admit that I did not mesh well with anyone here.’

He swallows roughly, and I’m sure that he caught my not-so-hidden meaning. Despite his comments this morning, he knows how unsupported I am and how much the engineers take advantage of me. Not to mention he has to be aware of his own role in this game. Or lack thereof.

‘I’m resigning, that’s all there is to it. Let me know what you need from me to get it done.’ I stand from the chair and turn to leave.

‘Quitting like this won’t get you a recommendation from this company,’ he blurts out as I reach the door. ‘And it’s the only job you’ve ever had, so it won’t be easy getting another job in the industry.’

I turn to face him, my hand on the doorknob and a sad smile on my face. ‘If I’m lucky, I’ll never even look at this industry again.’ I leave his office without a single glance back.

I had already packed my tote bag before walking into Brian’s office, so I grab it now and walk out of the building, not saying a word to anybody. I can practically feel people’s surprised glances follow me out—it’s only 4:00 and no one has ever seen me leave even a minute before 5:00.

But right now I don’t give a flying fuck. I feel too good, too free, for the first time in a long time. I don’t want to spend another second of the day being unhappy.

Part of me wants to go to the gym, not caring that I would probably run into Tristan. But for some reason the rest of me doesn’t find the idea of a workout appealing. I know I need to deal with the gym issue soon—I will never be the kind of girl that quits something solely because of a boy—but that day is not today. Right now, I feel myself wanting to do something new and exciting. Something that I’ve always wanted to do but have put off for one reason or another.

And maybe it’s my current ‘fuck everybody’ mentality, but I find myself pulling my phone out to run an internet search. A minute later, I hear my call ringing out.

‘Hi, my name is Remy. Do you by any chance have any availability for a cut and color today?’