NARCISSIST

NINE

The next day back at work after the Veronica and Stefan incident promises utmost discomfort, and as if that isn't bad enough, I promised Tracy I'd meet her at the bar tonight. I got myself out of mingling with her and the boys over the weekend - some lame excuse about being there for Mo during a tough time - but I could only hold back for so long. The thought of seeing Garrison again sends a burning chill up from my gut and makes my stomach suffer with nerves. I haven't seen him in months, or almost a year. Garrison knows how to keep his cool confidence in check, and so I know he won't make things awkward; I will. I try not to worry about what he thinks, and luckily, I'm saved by the interruption of my thoughts when I reach my floor and step out of the elevator. What am I supposed to do? I can't even imagine looking at Veronica or Stefan without my throat closing up.

I sit in my own personal area and start on my work for the day. I open a spread on my computer. Only moments later, Veronica passes on her way to the coffee station. She smiles.

"I like your hair today."

My eyebrows lower once she passes. It clicks. She's being nice so that I don't tell anyone about her and Stefan. I push myself up from my desk and find her next to the coffee machine.

"You're being nice," I slyly remark as I make my own cup of coffee. She whips her head to face me.

"Listen," she starts. "I know we've had a rough start, but please, you can't tell anyone about this." I don't respond, so she continues. "You shouldn't have been there."

"I forgot a flash drive."

"Okay, just," I can see her becoming frustrated. "You can't tell anyone."

"Can't?"

"Please. We'd both be fired. Me and Stefan."

"I only find it pathetic that you're only being nice to me when I know something that can hurt you," I take my cup and begin to pass her.

"Please, I'm-"

"I'm not gonna tell anyone, Veronica." I state firmly. I have class.

<>

The dreaded moment approaches.

After a long shower to wipe away the nerves and stress of my future evening, I blow-dry my hair and let it hang around my shoulders in its natural waviness. Yet as I paint my eyelids, the nerves begin to settle in my belly once again. I check the clock. Twenty-five minutes until I have to be there. It couldn't hurt if I was a little bit late, I remind myself. I sit on my bed in front of the TV to distract myself, still dressed in a tank and boxer shorts. An old episode of The Office plays.

I startle at the sound of a FaceTime call from Tracy just next to me. I almost pick it up to answer it, before deciding not to. She's probably already with Garrison and Jaxon, and picking up the phone won't ease my nerves in any way. I push myself off the mattress, losing time, and get myself dressed. I assess myself in the mirror. I wear a black-sequined short dress. I eye the way the V-neck shapes my chest and the tightness shapes my waist. I sigh and return to my closet, searching for something more flattering. After tossing a few options aside - none worthy - I return to the mirror. I shake my head to shake away the insecurity; I shouldn't care what Garrison sees in me anyway. I slip on thick black pumps, grab a stylish jacket and small bag, and head out to my car. I haven't dressed this way since Garrison.

I arrive. If I've ever felt butterflies erupt this abundantly, I don't know how I could've survived it. Now, I feel like throwing up. I'm slightly late, so I make my way to the entrance, flash my ID, and head in, booming music and a mixture of cologne and women's perfume filling my senses. I finally catch sight of Garrison standing at the bar in all his glory. He stands with ease, one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket and his other ring-littered hand loosely hanging onto his glass. He lifts it to his lips. My heart begins to ache ever-so-slightly. I roll my shoulders back. I take my place next to Tracy, as far away as possible from Garrison, which really is only a few feet.