Haze, Andrea Wolfe [english novels for beginners txt] 📗

"Effie, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

Feeling like a pipe about to burst, I blurted "No!" and fell silent again. Those damned tears returned, slinking down my cheeks as if I somehow wouldn't notice their salty presence on my face.

"Effie, did something happen at work today? Oh shit, did that Dan guy run his fucking mouth?"

I hated to say it, but I was a veritable mess, beyond the obvious events of the morning. That was the simplest way to describe me in that moment. I had spent Sunday realizing that my qualms with Jack had been unjustified, that I needed to let my guard down and trust him.

It felt good, no lie, but maybe it was just because I made a fucking decision for once. It felt good what Jack did to me, what we did together. He took care of me physically and emotionally. Yet like a parasite in my belly, that desire to be independent and free awoke, telling my emotions to go fuck themselves. That desire could really be an unreasonable asshole sometimes, perhaps even worse than Sam.

By the time I realized what side of me I wanted presented to Jack, it was already too late. "I fucking got fired thanks to our little adventure this weekend. Sam called me a whore and humiliated me in front of everyone!"

"Wait, wait," he said, urgency surging through his words. "He called you that and it was humiliating, or he called you that and did other stuff to humiliate you?"

"It doesn't fucking matter," I snarled.

"You could sue his ass for sexual harassment. That fucking prick."

"Jack, I don't have a job anymore. I have rent and student loans to pay. I don't have time to sit around waiting for a lawsuit to go through. Or a lawyer for that matter."

His voice got weaker on the other end, perhaps reflecting a change in strategy. "I'm so sorry, Effie. I didn't know this would happen. Let me make this—"

"Well, I did know this would happen. That's why I asked for a break. I didn't want Sam to have any ammo to use against me. Instead, I gave him a fucking atom bomb!"

"Dammit," he said calmly. "I'm sorry, Effie, I couldn't resist inviting you. When you're around, everything is better." He seemed to choose each word with careful consideration, uttering it with an even cadence. "I couldn't just idly sit there doing nothing, hoping you'd come back. It felt like too much of a risk. I don't want to let you go, Effie."

Unfortunately, there was a lot of truth in what he said, far more than what I wanted to allow myself to believe at the time.

"What am I going to do?" To me, the question had no answer, but I needed to ask it.

"Let me make this right," he pleaded. "I swear everything will be fine. I promise you that I'll take care of everything. Let me take care of you."

His promise felt like nails on chalkboard. Something told me he was right, that he would help me unconditionally, but the whole misery loves company part of me didn't want to hear it. He was trying to help—and it scared me.

"Jack, I have to go right now. I can't deal with this."

"Effie, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry about the trip and I'm sorry about what happened with Stacy."

"It's nothing but sorries these days, isn't it?" I asked. I didn't even know where my attitude was coming from. "Goodbye for now, Jack."

"Trust me." He hung up before I did. I looked at the phone and realized that thanks to the shattered face, I couldn't have pressed the end call button anyhow. I sat there silently, hands splayed across my lap, pondering my life in that moment.

Why was it that sometimes people would refuse the best advice only because they hadn't arrived at it themselves? What was it about us that made us so selfish and prideful, so unwilling to budge until we came to terms with things by ourselves? It seemed like a lot of heartache could be avoided by just listening instead of talking or shouting.

My internal determination to succeed on my own didn't make much sense, yet it was the only thing I was fixated on, the only thing I really cared about in that moment. I needed to make a plan for myself, a getaway from the mess I was in. I grabbed my laptop and opened up a new blank text document.

Goals for tomorrow:

1. Sort out finances.

2. Fix phone.

3. Update resume.

4. Check classifieds and job websites.

Jack?

I typed that last bit without a number, a quiet acceptance that Jack might actually have an unstructured solution for me. Whether I ever looked at the document again or not, it felt good to type everything out. I didn't want to deal with this tonight, I just couldn't.

Tomorrow, however, was a different story.

Out of nowhere, I realized I needed to eat, and fast. Even though I was on a budget, I decided to grab cheap Chinese food, just for tonight. Even though I had nothing to do, making something in the kitchen and having the scrub dishes sounded like the furthest thing from soothing.

After a quick trip to the nearest restaurant to grab my take-out—my budget definitely wasn't about to include delivery charges—I met Jesse in the kitchen.

"Effie, how are ya?" he asked. He was alone, his backpack slung over his shoulder. It was obvious he had just arrived.

"I'm fine, Jesse," I said, lying through my teeth."

"You don't look fine," he said sympathetically. "Is something wrong?" I didn't know if I should tell him what happened or not.

No, I wasn't ready yet.

"I feel a little tired and sick. I didn't sleep that well last night." I threw my take-out bag on the table like it weighed a hundred pounds and I needed relief.

He gave me a disappointed look. "That sucks. I've got to catch up on some work though. Try to feel better, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Jesse appeared to be mildly