The Carrero Influence: Redefining the Rules

The subway to work is crowded as usual, even at this early hour the smell and noise are overwhelming. I’m overly fragile, nausea plaguing me all the time these days; the stress of moving offices and away from Jake making me physically ill.

I check my watch for the fiftieth time this morning.

I’m late again … What the hell is wrong with me lately?

I groan inwardly. I can’t seem to get my head together or get back on track with anything. Giovanni Carrero has yelled at me so many times these last three weeks, I feel like resigning. He’s demoted me to coffee bearer for now and I’m slowly losing everything I’ve worked for. My reputation as an efficient PA is shot and I’ve heard the rumors circulating the building.

Jake Carrero dismissed me for my incompetence and moved me to his father’s building, because he felt sorry for me.

That stung. The lies upset me, but I push them down into the depths of my mind along with everything else about Jake Carrero. It’s better than people knowing the truth; that the stupid, naive PA fell in love with her boss and he didn’t feel the same way.

That truth hurts more than rumors and lies ever could.

His father has more assistants than he needs, but he likes to be surrounded by a swarm of servants, yet still, I am surplus to requirements it seems. So, instead, I've become a glorified receptionist without a desk or any actual tasks or responsibility. I am that person who is asked to do the menial things, like hauling files to the library, making trips to Starbucks, and serving hot drinks to stuffed shirts when a meeting is in full swing. It just adds to the rumors that I am useless.

My life is over.

I've thought about leaving so many times, scanning the classifieds in the paper almost every chance I get, but something always holds me back.

More like someone!

Somehow, still working for the Carrero Corporation is my link to Jake and I’m not ready to let him go just yet, if I ever will be. The pain is still too raw, even though I haven’t seen him or heard from him. This is the true definition of being frozen out, and even the office gossips don’t seem to know about anything going on in Jake’s life since he dismissed me.

That’s the whole point of him keeping his staff small and in his trust, I guess. Unlike his father, who has an army of minions and everyone seems to know Senior Carrero’s business. He’s so public about a lot of things, and loud, and commanding.

He yells at staff frequently and isn’t shy about his movements or dragging an entourage with him wherever he goes. He has a mix of security, assistants, and god knows what else, always crowded around him pandering to his every whim. I miss Jake’s less inflated, uncomplicated character. He’s only ever needed me … as ironic as that is.

I walk the last block to my new office building; it stands tall and blindingly bright, another column of pointy glass and harsh edges—just like Executive House. A sharp knife looking column amid the Manhattan corporates, standing as tall as most. I shudder. I hate working here. I hate everything about this place. I miss what I had at Executive House in so many ways, beyond Jake.

The sterile interior is uninviting, and the staff at Carrero Tower are always so afraid to step out of line under the command of Senior. The relaxed aura of Executive House is completely absent in this building and I never thought I’d see the day where I missed Jake’s laxness and personal touch. The whole atmosphere between the two is so different.

The receptionist casts me a disapproving look as I shuffle past in a hurry, knowing for a fact I look disheveled. I slept in, rushed about, and practically got dressed while running out the door. This shorter wavy style in my hair is always doing its own thing nowadays but I simply don’t care anymore. I glare back at her icily to cut off her stare.

Yes, I’m late … I don’t fucking care.

She glances away fast. She’s met my anger before; during the first three days I was here. She spilled coffee down my cream pencil skirt when passing, so I unleashed teen Emma in a rather grand fashion. I’d been a touchy, aggressive, nightmare those first few days and one wrong word got her a tongue lashing from hell. My face twists into a snarl, thinking of the calm and controlled Emma of the past who was always so poised.

Where is she now?

She’s jumped off a goddamn bridge! I can’t seem to muster her of late, no matter what. I miss her. Jake Carrero killed her; weeks of tears can do that to a person.

I drop my bag and cell on the desk in the office, among the sea of temp desks. It’s pretty much a free for all where you sit when you need a seat. I miss having my own office and my own space, but it’s not like I deserve it anymore. The inclination to run and organize my new boss’s life has deserted me. I have zero interest in his calendar or responsibilities. I’m a train wreck nowadays and probably couldn’t organize an alcoholic’s party in a brewery.

My cell vibrates across the table, Sahara name lights up the screen along with her face brightening it with a grinning self. She never calls me at work so concern rises in my stomach as I reach for it. She’s my best friend and roommate, but even she knows not to bother me here.

“Sarah, what is it?” I ask in a clipped tone, laced with nervous apprehension, inner dread rising that something is wrong.

At least I still have anxiety by my side.

Nothing changed there then.

“Emma, I’m really sorry to bother you at work … I know you don’t like it … But your mother is here,” she mumbles sheepishly then silences at my angry gasp of air.

“What the f—?” I cut myself off, glancing around the room for listening ears. There are a couple of assistants milling about so I lower my voice, bringing my mouth to the receiver to quietly hiss.

“What the hell is she doing there?” I know I shouldn’t take this out on Sarah, she’s only the messenger but I’m seething from every pore at the mere mention of Jocelyn Anderson appearance. Weak pathetic woman who chose another abusive boyfriend over sense or logic.

She has no right to show up like this! Invading my life after what she’s done.

“She says she came to see you … To talk … What shall I do with her, Ems? I need to leave for work soon, I’m on an early shift today.” She sounds genuinely upset, knowing she’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, but my girl knows which side she should be rooting for—if she has any sense at all. I take a steadying breath, pushing down my internal rage in a bid to remain calm and adjust my tone to as neutral as I can muster.

“Show her the door,” I reply bluntly. “I need to get back to work, Sarah. Goodbye.”

“Emma, but—”

I hang up quickly. I know Sarah will try to talk me around, but I can’t deal with this right now. I can’t deal with anything lately. I just need everything in my messed up, pitiful life, to take ten steps back, give my brain time to stop reeling and find its feet again. The last few weeks have been one constant headache and I’m drowning, I can barely breathe with it all.

My cell rings again but I reject the call. Sarah is persistent, more so of late since the changes in me have hit her hard; I feel like she’s been smothering me with over-protectiveness. She doesn’t know this version of me, this unraveling mess of tears and bad moods, the scatter brain behavior, or the chaos I’m leaving in my wake. I think even she longs for a hint of the old Emma to come back and I’m really trying, for both our rakes. Her insecurity over my new persona is obvious and upsetting.

Somehow the mention of my mother has flipped a little switch inside me though and a wave of numb seeps in as the icy controlled part of PA Emma takes hold. I’ll have to deal with my mother at some point, just not right now, and it only angers me further that she thinks she can just waltz in unannounced as though I owe her my time. I lift my chin defiantly.

That’s right, use the anger to fuel your return, cling on to that tiny piece of defiance and get your goddamn life back on track!

I am relieved at the tiny inkling of fire burning deep down inside my belly once more.

You’re still in there, Emma. You can do this.

Walking into the board room I catch sight of the mess left behind from the breakfast meeting I obviously missed. Not that I really care. I sigh, heavily, since it’s me who is going to have to clear this up, despite this floor paying cleaners to keep the place tidy—but they usually only appear after hours. I pout at the monotonous tasks that have become mine. It’s so deflating considering I used to travel the world as the right hand of an accomplished CEO.

What the hell happened to me? This time last month I was PA to Jake Carrero! I was organizing his entire life, sitting in five-star hotels, pouring over contracts with him. We were friends and the whole time I was trying to ignore the fact I was head over heels in love with him.

I shake my head, discarding the thoughts that come uninvited into my mind, and start picking up the scattered documents and brochures from the table and returning them to the cart to be filed away. I stack the empty mugs and plates on the trolley, meant for serving food and drink, by the door. At least I can lose myself in cleaning up this room and bringing some calm back to the chaos in my head. I set myself to task, submerging my brain into deep cleaning the room and wiping away the mess made by its previous occupants; hopefully some of it will rub off on my thoughts and help me get back to myself.

* * *

“Emma? Mr. Carrero wants to see you.” A small childish voice comes up behind me, causing me to flinch and drop my duster. My heart hits a sudden stop as I inhale heavily pushing back my hair which is stuck to my face from the exertion of my enthusiastic cleaning, my eyes widening in disbelief.

What? Jake? He’s here?

My brain reels a moment with a lurch of possibility before sense smacks me in the chest sharply, kick starting rapid heartbeats.

No. Giovanni! Of course!

I feel like an idiot. I throw a tight smile her way before turning smoothly to acknowledge the girl, pushing down signs of my overreaction and trying to calm my crazy thudding pulse rate. It’s one of the small receptionists, all blonde hair, and big boobs—like most of Senior’s staff. He’s sickeningly singular about the women in his employ, finding those whose looks are less like the woman he’s married to and more like the “bunnies” of the Hugh Freshener world.

“Okay, where is he?” My voice is even, despite my irritation and internal mental breakdown and a familiar wave of control moves across me unexpectedly.

“In his office, you’d better go right away, he’s in a bad mood.” The tone in her voice betrays her fear of Senior Carrero, but I ignore it. He doesn’t scare me in the slightest. His attitude toward his employee’s grates on my nerves at the best of times; I’m used to that familial Carrero glare and its wily ways. Jake hadn’t been against using that glare when bad moods struck, impossible scenarios or general mess ups. I think, somehow, coming here, I’ve lost all unease around Giovanni Carrero. My heart being ripped out by a man who shares his name has made me immune to the effects any Carrero would've tried to pull on me.

I push memories of Jake aside harshly swallowing that lump in my throat that hits me whenever my brain focuses on him. I can’t think about him right now.

Ever!

If I do, I’ll just dwell on how much I miss him and how much I think about the night we had sex … repeatedly. I’ll torture myself into insanity, and I can’t afford to do that. Mentally, I am only just starting to see glimpses of the old me and don’t want to scare her back into submission already.

I follow the girl silently from the room and head toward the long hall leading to King Carrero’s domain with my chin in the air once more, showing pride and defiance that I don’t feel. I am not going to be intimidated by this man. No matter how badly he thinks I am doing at my job.

Senior visibly bristles as I enter his office, for once he’s alone, and sat in his leather throne behind his oversized, polished walnut desk. The sun is blazing in from the wall of glass behind him and the breath-taking New York scenery pulls my eyes to the city for a second. He looks like a formidable billionaire framed by his kingdom; small and tanned with highlighted brown hair and dark evil eyes veiling that shrewd brain.

He watches my every movement as I stroll nearer his desk, knowing that he would never ask me to sit, so I don’t even try.

“You asked me to come see you?” I start tonelessly, my body rigid under his scrutiny. My nerves swirling uncontrollably low down in my belly despite my demeanor. There is no love between us, I am merely another irritation to his life and another faceless employee.

“Yes, Miss. Anderson, I did … My son sent you to me as a PA, yet I’ve no need for more assistance. Your performance has left me with a sour taste in my mouth and I think we need to have a little chat.” He doesn’t even have the grace to continue looking at me while saying it, his eyes on his laptop as he types as though I no longer interest him.

He’s not one to mince his words and I stare at him blankly, surprised. I’ve expected this moment for a while, amazed it’s taken three weeks for us to have this conversation.

“My son obviously saw something in you, so I’m not ready to dismiss you just yet … In fact, he insisted you stay in this company, indefinitely.” His unexpected confession causes a sharp knife-like pain in my chest, a slight confused expression warms my face. When he glances up, his uninterested gaze sweeps my features with a deadpan look, betraying nothing.

Jake asked his father to keep me employed? No matter what? Despite sending me away … But why?

Raw painful emotion tugs at my throat like a large ball wedged mercilessly but I push it down harshly, almost unable to swallow. I’m not ready to dissect Jake’s reasons yet, if ever. It’s too hard.

Senior never says anything lightly, always direct and to the point, not wasting his breath on small talk. I know he’s not embellishing. If he thinks I am a drain on company finances, excess to requirements, then I’d be gone already.

“So, what’s to be done with me?” I respond daily, less confident at the turn of this conversation. Grasping my hands together as they start to tremble, I lay them across my waist to regain my posture, trying to appear business-like, despite the pounding thuds in my chest.

Right now, I wouldn’t care if he sent me to Timbuktu if it meant I didn’t get fired.

“You’re going back to Executive House, floor thirty-two … Public relations, organizing events and the like …” he waves his hand around, uninterested “… Jacob told me you excel at planning and juggling a high workload, so I hope you finally prove it to me.” His harsh penetrative gaze rests on me coldly, assessing me, but I steel myself against his stare.

The thought of going back to that building surges through me like fire, igniting my fear manically, but I remain impassive under his scrutiny while my blood freezes in my veins and my lungs turn to ash.

“I don’t know what happened with my son, Miss. Anderson, but I am pleased with your discretion on this transference. There has been no real gossip as such, but I do want to point this out … You’re still employed under duress of my son, he was very clear on this, and as you know, my relationship with Jacob is somewhat strained; so this …” he waves his hand to me then back to himself dismissively, “… is the compromise I made to keep him happy. If I hadn’t made such promises to Jacob, I would’ve fired you in under a week.” He visually releases his grip on me as an end to our discussion and he goes back to tapping away on his laptop.

I lower my lashes and swallow, involuntarily, face hot with shame and body weakening with cold anxiety. I suppose I should be grateful for this, despite my inner organs trying to shrivel up and hide. I still have a job.

What the hell has happened to me?

My job was my universe. The one thing I excelled at and pushed through. My life consumed with work, got me to where I was because of it. Yet here I am, saved from unemployment because Jake felt guilty enough to ensure I kept my job.

The thought is sobering, and Giovanni’s revelation is a surprise. Jake and he were always so formal, distant, and cold, it makes me wonder at his willingness to please his son.

There may be more to their relationship than either Jake or I realize. Maybe Senior loves his son more than he shows.

“Jake didn’t need me anymore … That’s all there is to say.” I point out blandly, avoiding the eyes that have once again come to rest on my face at the utterance of words. In a way, it’s the truth. He doesn’t need me … not in the way I need him, so, there was no reason to keep me any longer.

“Right …” His voice is drenched in sarcasm. I glance up and for a moment I catch a hint of challenge in his eye, maybe even a slight thawing of his normally cruel tight mouth. He’s almost as unreadable as his son. “Pack up whatever you brought here; you’re going there today. Wilma Munro is expecting you.” He moves his focus back to his screen; a clear move to signal my dismissal. He’s issued his demands and now wants me to remove myself from his presence.

“Yes, sir.” I nod briefly and turn on my heel, needing no more direction. I walk out briskly, glad to escape, my steps seemingly confident despite my insides turning to mush. I can barely breathe with the weight caving in on me.

I’m not sure how to feel right now.

I’m going back! Back to Jake’s building, back to being only floors below him and I don’t know how to navigate it, or how to process it.

Chance sightings … chance meetings. I don’t know if I can handle it. I don’t think my heart can handle it.

Waves of nausea return bitterly, my hands tremble at the thought of possibly seeing him again and a sickening dread almost consumes me. This has to be the worst decision ever made in the history of mankind and somehow, I feel like it’s going to be my complete undoing.

Wilma Munro is a shock to the system. She’s Scottish and her accent is thick, but not completely alien, with hints of a long New York residency. I can understand her for the most part and she’s a resolute force to be reckoned with.

Wilma is small with dark coppery curly hair and huge brown eyes set in a love heart face, standing at only four and a half feet tall. She catches me immediately in her whirlwind of enthusiastic energy. Loud, but not in a commanding way, she is direct, yet friendly and slightly terrifying. She whisks me into my new domain, assigns me a desk near her office, and outlines my responsibilities as part of her team, thrusting a box of files at me. She believes throwing someone in at the deep end brings out their inner worth.

“I’ve heard enough about you, Miss. Anderson, to know you were being wasted at Carrero Tower. I’ve great expectations of you.” She smiles warmly, soft eyes twinkling merrily as she fawns over the files.

“Mr. Carrero seemed to imply I was only seconds away from dismissal,” I respond daily, instantly regretting letting my mouth jump in before my head. I look away nervously, my fingers finding my jacket to twist the hem, anxiously.

Nice move just tell your new boss how useless you are.

“I’m particularly good friends with Margo Drake, my dear. I spoke to her only this morning when I was informed you were coming to me. She only had good things to say about you … and maybe some insight on recent behaviors.”

I spin to look at her, sudden shock on my face, blood draining away and leaving me cold as I get the gist of what that might mean.

What did Margo say to Wilma? What did Margo know? Surely Jake didn’t tell her about sleeping with me? Everything that happened?

My head is reeling. Of course, he would. He tells Margo everything about anything, she’s like a surrogate mother to him, and my old mentor. She would’ve pushed him to give her the real reason he let me go, unsatisfied with excuses and seeing through any untruths. He would’ve told Margo about that night for sure. That we had sex on the hotel floor.

But would Margo have told this woman?

Even when I was with Jake, I kept Margo up to date with how he was doing; she always wanted to know, she always seemed discreet to me, so I hope right now she has been. Wilma winks at me knowingly and I pale, my body turns colder as the blood leaves my veins and my mind almost crumbles hysterically.

Oh, my god.

She must know!

I feel sick and betrayed by my old mentor, the pain is almost overwhelming. I swallow hard, unable to think of a response, but Wilma doesn’t dwell. She sweeps away from me with a wave of her hand, leaving me reeling in panic with nothing more to say on the matter.

“The schedule is on top of that file, Emma … We’re arranging a dinner and dance for the Carrero anniversary. Read the files, we have press releases and a guest list to sort out, that’s going to be your job. Look over what’s been arranged, then we’ll talk. The suggested guest list is in there too.”

I watch her walk away, gob smacked, completely overwhelmed, my head somewhere in outer space, stunned, like I’ve been hit by a tornado, but I push it all down deep inside and stare at my hands as they tremble around the file I am grasping.

Forget Margo, forget Jake. This is my life now and they owe me nothing. He owes me nothing.

Wilma doesn’t seem to care about the past, so neither should I.

I turn my attention to the box, dismissing all of it and focusing on work as it’s what I do best. The schedule looks full and exhausting, but I see potential. I can work my ass off on this and regain some of my reputation. This job should be easy; easier than facing Senior Carrero and handing out coffee like a mindless minion every day. This is exactly what I need, a new challenge and a new distraction. Time to get my complicated head back together and file everything into that little black lock box in my mind. I can be the old me again.

I set to work, finding myself engrossed in tasks I’m more than capable of and the hours fly by for the first time in weeks.

I glance up seeing people leave, realizing it’s the end of the workday already and I have been so zoned I didn’t notice.

This is exactly what I needed to forget him.

* * *

The apartment seems quiet when I put my key in the door and my heart pounds through my chest wondering if Sarah made my mother leave, but something deep down tells me she hasn’t. I open the door slowly and take a deep steadying breath to calm my nerves. The small hall which opens into the sitting room, smells of food bring cooked and I sigh, anxiety riling up again.

Sarah won’t be home from her shift at work, Marcus is unlikely to cook so that means someone else is here. I stiffen as I walk in, glimpsing my mother leaning over the stove, her arm still in a cast. There’s a young brunette hovering by her side helping with whatever she is currently massacring.

Figures. My mother’s cooking expertise stops at heating a can of soup.

I take a moment to work out that the brunette is the nurse Jake’s still paying to take care of her. He’s honoring his promise to Sophie, a runaway we met when she was living with my mother in Chicago and who is now being adopted by family friends of the Carouser. He gave Sophie his word he would take care of her until her injuries are fully healed, despite cutting ties with me. It causes a dull aching lump to form in my throat and my eyes well up with tears I refuse to cry. My heart breaking all over again.

Throwing my briefcase on the nearby couch I tense up, ready for this little altercation. They haven’t heard me come in, too busy making noise in the kitchen with bubbling pots and pointless chatter. My rage simmers at the sight of her in my home, taking over. I’m still reeling with the fact that she let Ray Vanquish back in her life, after everything and yet here she is.

“Mother,” I snap, loudly and firmly. No warmth at all as both heads spin round, minor surprise replaced with quick smiles.

“Emma.” My mother gushes as she comes out of the little kitchen toward me, her face still bearing some of the yellowing bruises from being beaten to a pulp by the so-called man in her life. She attempts to hug me but meets my icy stance and statue like posture. I flinch at her touch, so she quickly recoils to stand a foot away from me awkwardly.

I notice her nurse hovering in the background, her face a picture of confusion and embarrassment, at least she has the good grace to turn back to the stove and continue cooking, acting like she hasn’t seen anything.

“Are you still mad at me?” My mother whimpers like a child, causing my anger to flare again. That childish, wide-eyed expression of hers, the one I’ve seen a million times on her frail little innocent face, reserved for an audience. I turn away from her before I say something I can’t take back.

“I’m going to get changed,” I snap and walk off, leaving her to stand in the center of the room like a lost puppy. I take satisfaction in the hurt evident on her face, maybe it’s about time she knew what it felt like to have someone who’s a part of you treat you like you don’t matter to them.

* * *

In my room, I sit on my bed and take a moment to inhale slowly, despite my outward frosty reception, I’m shaking on the inside from her visit. She affects me in ways I’ll never understand, no matter how I try to deny it. The woman knows how to make me feel worthless without trying.

She always pulls the rug out from under me, is that the curse of her being my mother? On some level, that child inside of me still wants her to wipe away my pain, unaware that she’s the one who causes most of it.

I smart at the thought and my eyes wander to my closed door.

I know that I dislike who she is. I don’t hate her … I don’t know if I love her anymore … But I don’t know what I feel.

I get up and change into casual clothes, tight jeans, and loose top, glad to be out of the confines of a suit. I used to love dressing that way, but nowadays it feels stifling and claustrophobic. My hair, already loose, has grown an inch since I had it cut, it brushes my shoulders constantly with its wild waves. I look in the mirror at my head of tawny hair, brushing it back to reveal tired eyes and a sad face.

Do I look like this all the time? Or is this the effect Jocelyn Anderson has had on me just by walking through the door?

I push back the sad expression and lift my chin defiantly, pasting on the face of self-preservation that I’ve perfected over the years. Refusing to let her see my pain.

Returning to the sitting room I see she’s trying to help dish out beef stew into bowls with a smile on her face. Bad moods forgotten, pushed to one side, like always. This is just the way she is, acting like nothing has happened. The sad story of my life with her.

I bristle and grind my teeth to curb the raw fury which rushes up. I’m on edge just watching her, while she acts like this is the most normal scene in the world. I glance at her young nurse; she seems capable and has a maturity about her.

I wonder how much she knows. I wonder how much Jocelyn Anderson has let her see.

“Food’s ready.” The young woman chirps brightly upon seeing me, laying the bowls on the small dinette table. I watch my mother hesitantly stay back. She’s waiting on my reaction before she makes a move.

I slide into a chair at the table and concentrate on picking up the cutlery, starting to eat. I know I’m being cold and rude, and right now I just don’t care. The last time I saw her she was in a hospital bed, battered and broken and I’d just learned that the man responsible was the same one who tried to rape me when I was eighteen. She’d gone back to him, the abusive prick, without a second thought to what it might do to me, or to our relationship.

They both sit and begin to eat; the silence is awkward and tense, but no one attempts to initiate conversation. The nurse looks around timidly before deciding staring at her plate is the best option and lowers her head. Finally, feeling my irritation rise beyond control, I break the glass-like atmosphere with a sledgehammer.

“Why are you here?” I blurt out, with not-so-subtle venom.

“I … We needed to talk about things, Emma.” She lowers her lashes, attempting to be coy, maybe even feebleness, but it only angers me. Putting her fork down and crossing her hands on the table she leans toward me.

“About what exactly? The fact that you’re screwing the man who loves to beat both of us up and tried to rape your only child?” I spit, harshly, taking delight in the nurse’s gasp of shock and the color rising up her cheeks.

I guess she didn’t know after all.

“Yes … Emma, he’s gone … I know what I did, I see what I did.” She tries to reach for my hand, but I yank it out of reach. Her voice has that air of victim that I hate.

How many times have I heard this bullshit? How many times has she pushed men away after they hit one of us, only to have him crawl back into her bed days later?

“Too little, far too late, Mother! You think you can just show up here and smooth it all over? Do you even know what he did while you were lying in a hospital bed?” My voice is raised and agitated; I need to regain a little control in this if we are to have it out. I hate that she always makes me break this way.

“No …” Her weak tiny voice betrays her nervousness, she’s afraid I’m going to tell her he succeeded this time. I catch that moment of doubt, casting my mind back to the look on her face when she caught him trying to hurt me once before … The fear he would want me instead of her. It makes me sick to my stomach, which only helps fuel my rage.

“He attacked me!” I snarl. “He’s just the same evil man he was eight years ago, nothing has changed!”

“What?” her eyes widen in alarm “Did he…?” She can’t formulate the words, but I can read her like a book. All she wants to know is if he had sex with me. This isn’t about me or my getting hurt, it’s about her boyfriend cheating on her.

“No. He didn’t. He just wanted to prove his dominance over me, to scare me, and he did,” I yell at her, the twist in my gut deepening as her expression confirms my thoughts.

She’s relieved. Her boyfriend didn’t betray her. She’s happy. She never cared about me; it was always about her and her men. I just got in the way. I was collateral damage.

I start raveling and lose my temper completely. Something inside of me snapping so very easily. It’s like a damn just implodes and the waters crash free. I have been holding this in for weeks and I just can’t do it anymore.

“Jake beat the shit out of him and I’m glad … he deserved it! I wish he’d killed him.” I break completely, screaming like a banshee, jumping to my feet, and sending the table into chaos as my body knocks it furiously. The bowls spill and glasses tip over, knocking drinks everywhere. I have no control over the way I react.

Her face pales in sudden realization of how Ray incurred his injuries and I catch the look as it clicks in her brain. The nurse tries to grab the cups to set them straight, without success, all the while her face flaming in terror at my outburst.

Yes, Comma! Jake did that to him … Jake beat him to a pulp for laying his hands on me … Someone who didn’t have any obligation to love or protect me. My boss! Not my mother … My mother never would’ve stood up for me in that way, never chosen me over her man.

The thought makes me want to lash out and beat her stupid face to a pulp the way Jake beat Ray.

“Why can’t you see what you do to me?” I screech again, tears flowing down my face, emotions getting the better of me. My voice hoarse with the effort of losing my shit.

“Emma … How is any of that my fault? Jake had no right to hurt Ray … He’s the reason Ray left!” She yells back at me, dropping her mask, voice filled with rage and accusation, poised like she wants to hit me. She’s on her feet trying to bring her small wiry frame to my height to scold me. The nurse stays seated, staring at her hands in her lap as though she wants to be anywhere but here. I have a tremor of pity for her, she wasn’t paid to get involved in the Anderson women drama or to witness any of this.

“Wait a minute … What?” My inner body lurches at her words as I click on what she said as I scramble to calm myself. “What do you mean he left? You said he was gone … You implied it was your choosing?” I fall still, that moment of pause in my hysteria as logic shakes me. My tears halt as numbness holds me steady.

I was so stupid to ever believe she’d make the decision on her own to send him away.

“He left. He came by looking like he’d been in a car wreck, told me it was over and left. I haven’t seen him since. You chased him out of my life … again!! I hope you’re happy this time, Emma,” she yells at me hatefully, unaware that she’s just incriminated herself with every word from that harsh mouth.

Is she so self-absorbed that she is deaf to what she is saying?

The rage inside me, teen Emma, is unable to hold herself back any longer. All the recent weeks of agony without Jake built up, breaking my ability to reign myself in. And I explode.

I lash out uncontrollably, snatching and throwing my plate of food at her blindly as tears overtake my vision, missing her head by an inch and smashing into the wall behind her with dramatic effect. Both woman squeal and jump in fright and I push the table hard onto its side, so it rolls over onto the floor, spilling everything else down with a horrendous crash. The fury and aggression that have been tethered too long are flowing out of me, unbridled.

“GET OUT OF MY FUCKING APARTMENT!!!” I scream devilishly at her, kicking away my chair ruthlessly so I hurt my foot, grabbing at my hair, almost ripping it out in frustration. I’m pacing, trying so hard to hold in the last ounces of control I thought I had conquered in my time here.

I haven’t been this way since the week before I left Chicago, so many years ago. When she pushed me to this stage of erupting and going insane and I ran away. I ran, to protect myself, and protect her, from this anger inside me that wants so badly to hurt her; to retaliate at her failings as a mother. I can’t run away now, nor do I want to. This is my home … my space and my life.

“Just fucking get out!” I screech again, only less insanely as my voice breaks hoarsely. This time the nurse hurriedly picks up their bags and pulls at my mother’s sleeve in a desperate attempt to remove her. She can see I am losing my sanity and have more than this to come.

“Emma …?” Her lip wobbles as she throws all into the victim role once more. That mask back in place once again.

“No! Enough! Just go!” I throw my arms up, wild and seething, looking insane. She needs to leave before I lash out directly at her. I know I’m more than capable of it. I’ve hit back before at men in the past, but I’ve never hit her even though right now I want to. Like a pulsing need inside of me. The need to punch her stupid head against something hard and knock sense into her.

I hate her so much! This is what she does to me.

They both turn and rush out mid panic, leaving me behind in my own chaos and rage. A moment of pause as the door crashes against the wall behind them and my desperation crumples over me. As soon as the door swings back and clicks closed again, I crumple to the floor, letting it all go in a devastating wail, tumbling out until my body has no energy left to make a sound.

* * *

I finally sit up and look around, taking stock of the mess I’ve made but I don’t care. I watch the food sliding down the light gray painted wall like a gaping wound. It feels right to sit here, surrounded by broken things and ugliness, like I belong here. I know soon I’ll get up and clean it all away, hiding the evidence of my break down. I’ll pull myself up, straighten my face and my clothes and go back to poised Emma before the morning. Haven’t I always?

This is what I do, this is what she taught me! That no matter what, I must contain all that is wrong with me and hide it away, show the world that I’m capable and strong… but still worthless.

No one gets to see vulnerable Emma, and no one, no one … gets to inflict more pain on me. By morning I’ll have filed it neatly into my internal black box and will have pasted on my professional smile, ready to face another day.

That’s who Emma is, who I am. She’s a fake smile and cold demeanor. She’s outwardly unshakable and cool and has nothing going on in her empty life that would even raise a slight question about her sanity.

Jake saw that Emma and honestly believed that’s all there was of her. He’d chosen to send her on her way, rather than see the broken mess inside, literally falling to pieces at just knowing him. He broke the facade and he doesn’t even know it.