Page 14 of The Heart of a Painter (As I Am 1)

Iplaced my hands on my hips, my fingers digging into my skin through my shirt. “Erin, you can’tcry your way out of this. You intentionally messed upmypresentation,mywork,myreputation.”

“You want an apology?” Her mouth curved downward. She raised her hands in the air between us and took astep back. “Here you go, I’msorry!” She hiccupped between sobs. “No need to give me shit about the lecture.”

“Oh, but Iam going to give youshitabout the lecture.” My nostrils flared and Ihad to calm myself down. Yelling, just like sobbing, wouldn’tsolve anything. Talking would. “Crying and ahalf-assed apology won’tget you off the hook. Not with me.”

“Get over yourself.” She rolled her eyes, and if not for what she said next, Iwould have snapped. “I’mnot crying because of the lecture.”

Iinhaled, trying to find compassion for her, for whatever she was going through. “Erin, I’mnot your friend, I’mnot your colleague, I’myour boss. This is aworkplace. You can’tact like this. What you do need is to get your shit together, stop crying, and not fuck with my presentations. That simple. Are we clear?”

She twisted her fingers, looking down at her hands. “Yeah, we’re clear.”

“Good.” The short answer left my lips, while astorm of words and sentences and feelings remained inside of me.

She needed to learn; she needed to not do this shit ever again.

When the cloud of bright red turned ashade lighter, Irealized that Icouldn’tkeep acting like this. Because the lecture was eventually successful. Because she was acrying woman. Because once again, Ineeded to apologize, and once more Icouldn’t.

Instead of doing any of it, unable to face this mess asecond longer, Ileft her there, still sobbing when Ishut the door behind me.