Life Is A Living Hell

Chapter 23 Sweet Girl (rewritten)

Trust is fiction,
and I don't fuck with fairytales anymore.
_____________________________________
Antonio Romano

After I showered, I did some work in my office. There was so much work to be done. These assholes couldn't even work. How hard could it be to take a package and leave it somewhere else? Apparently, it was impossible. They said, "it got lost". It never gets lost; they make it disappear. They took the packages for their own benefits, and now, they had to pay for it.

I hadn't realized how tired I was until I woke up on my desk.

Did I really sleep here?

This wasn't the first time I fell asleep in my office, and I was sure it wasn't going to be the last time either. I rubbed my eyes with a grunt. I had a look at the clock on my phone. The black wallpaper said 2 A.M.

For how long was I asleep?

I was famished, I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. I left my office and went to the first floor.

The cooks weren't here today, so I had no choice but to eat a lousy sandwich.

When I walked into the dining room, I saw a plate with pasta.

Did Olivia make that?

That's sweet. I hoped it tasted as good as her mouth.

The thought of her mouth on mine made the blood flow down to my cock.

I had to stop thinking about her in that way. She was clearly not up for a one-night stand. And I was not someone who would chase someone for a fuck. I could just call up a girl if I wanted to. But there was something about Olivia that I couldn't explain.

Why was I so attracted to her?

Fuck, forget her.

The pasta had gone cold, I put it in the microwave.

The silence was deafening, something was missing from the quietness.

Her voice.

No, fuck no.

Nothing was missing, I was most comfortable with silence. Just quiet stillness, nothing better existed on earth.

Are you sure? Not even Olivi—

Yes, leave me the fuck alone.

Not even here, she was here. It was like she was my subconscious, with her endless annoying questions.

You like me.

Correction, I like to fuck you.

The annoying sound from the microwave brought me out of my thoughts.

No longer sleepy, instead frustrated, I flopped down on the chair and began eating like a caveman in lieu of a well-mannered man.

The silence allowed my subconscious to piss me off and not let me enjoy the delicious pasta. The dish was really good, I hoped she could cook more.