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“Just give it to me,” I said calmly, “I’ll see it there or I’ll see it with Marissa’s phone.”

He handed it to me and luckily for me, he already had Joseph’s account open and the first thing I saw was his statement.

He wrote and I quote, “Adira and I are nothing but acquaintances. We have never had a relationship outside of being cordial with one another. I am in love with Bailey and I would never dream of doing something as heinous as cheating on her. It is about time that the media refrained from spreading lies and gossip to ruin lives and relationships.”

I almost threw the phone across the wall as I read it. It wasn’t about him setting things straight, and it wasn’t about him refusing to contact me first, which in itself is very annoying. I’m glad he did because I was receiving at least fifty death threats an hour .

It was how he completely disregarded two years of our lives as nothing. He pretended as if we were strangers and mere business partners when we were a lot more than that.

I was practically living in his house and he was my first everything that mattered. And he threw it away all in a bid to defend his precious little relationship that he built while he was still in one with me.

A part of me wanted to respond with a sarcastic and scathing remark but I knew that doing so would only rehash what had just been buried and bring even more unnecessary drama to me.

I saw that he didn’t turn off comments so I decided to go through them. I almost laughed when I read what people were saying.

Some of them were talking about how I was out of his league- they’ve got that part right, I’m just sad it took this long for me to realize it. Others were talking about how ‘Bailey’ is a lot prettier than me.

It was comical how everyone had thrown away their past beliefs; no one was talking about how I was threatened daily, and how I was harassed for being a home wrecker. No one was talking about all the shitty things that I experienced. They were all using the comment section to compare me to her.

I let out a deep exhale and handed Nathan’s phone back to him. “Thank you.”

“It’s still early,” Nathan began, “By tomorrow people should start issuing apologies.”

“I don’t want their fucking apologies.”

I started rummaging through my bag and drawers for my phone. I forced myself not to let out a scream of frustration .

I turned back to Nathan, “Did you see where I put my phone?”

“It’s on your table.” I face palmed myself as I saw it, “Adira, Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I cut him off, “Just give me a second to think.”

As if reading my mind, Olivia’s name flashed across my screen. I let out a sigh of relief as I picked it up. I couldn’t bring myself to utter the first words so we stayed quiet on the call for the first full minute.

“Are you okay?” she asked and I hummed, “Do you want me to come and pick you up?”

“I drove here,” I spoke finally, “And work doesn’t end till six for you.”

“Do you want me to meet you at home?”

“Yes please.” I hated how soft I was, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” I hung up immediately and started packing up my stuff to leave.

I didn’t notice Nathan had started moving until he was in front of me, “Are you sure you should be driving like this?”

“I’m not drunk or dying,” I snapped, “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself home.”

“Being drunk or dying aren’t the only emergencies.”

“Don’t waste your time implying shit, say it.”

He didn’t say anything so I side stepped him and left him in the office. I never leave people in there, but I have more important things to worry about right now.

I passed by Marissa, and I could see the concern in her eyes, but she didn’t speak to me- she knows she shouldn’t .

She saw Joseph and I together. She saw all the times he would send me gifts here and the few times he would come in here to see me. She must have also seen the tweet, she monitored my social media like a hawk, even though it wasn’t her job.

As I drove, I tried to call Joseph. I knew I shouldn’t call while driving but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

After two tries, I realized he had screened my calls.

For the first time since we broke up, I found myself bringing up his mother’s number to call her.

The first time, it rang out, but by the second time, my calls had been screened.

I could feel the pressure of a scream building in my chest. Like a caged animal, clawing its way out of a ditch. My chest constricted almost to the point of pain and I had to take deliberate efforts to force air out of my lungs.

It is a miracle I made it home in one piece, I would have half expected to end up smashed into a telephone pole with how distracted I was.

I rushed into my kitchen and opened the drawer where I keep my stash for special occasions. I am not a heavy drinker, if I’m being honest; I don’t even like alcohol that much. Most of the alcohol I kept was for Joseph.

He used to say that there was always that one client, that one friend or that one situation that would drive him to the brink of his mind and he would need a drink to calm down.

I never understood that because I let my anger out the moment it rears its head.

But I chalked it up to the fact that my profession gave me more leeway to talk to clients how I wished than his.

I found a bottle of tequila that Olivia had bought and I took out a tumbler and filled it to the brim.

I didn’t care how unreasonable it was but I downed a quarter of the glass at once.

It burned the back of my throat and my chest enough to push that caged animal a little bit further down where it belongs.

I heard the door crack open and I took a sip of my drink as Olivia made her way over to me. She glanced over at me and I shot her a sardonic grin.

“Would you like a drink?” I asked, “There are glasses in the kitchen, or I suppose you could drink straight from the bottle.”

I must look like a sight to behold in my work clothes- a plaid skirt, a nude colored top, a cream jacket over it and nude heels- with a half full tumbler of tequila in my hands.

I half expected Olivia to pull the glass out of my hands, and I was ready for the screaming match that would ensue when she pulled it away because she would gladly place herself as the object of my anger.

Instead, she walked out of the house and returned with a box in her hands, and then she made her way into the kitchen. When she returned, I noticed that the box was filled with donuts; she had her own glass and another bottle of tequila.

“If we’re going to do it,” she began as she poured from the opened bottle into her glass, “we might as well do it right.”

She clinked her glass with mine and I felt my eyes water. I showed her with my eyes the things I couldn’t say with my mouth. She gave me a smile letting me know she understood and reached for the remote.

“We would watch ‘How To Get Away With Murder’, but I don’t want to get any ideas,” her words made me chuckle lightly, “So instead we’re doing Barbie, and I don’t even want to hear you complain.”