Colleagues

Chapter 19 | Margot

After a moment, the door to the depressing room opened once more. A young woman, not much older than myself, entered. Her expression was kind, but I knew her questions would be leading as she observed my demeanor, body language, and tone in an attempt to uncover the truth. The conversation would also be recorded in its entirety. I hated psychologists.

As she sat down beside me, I took a deep breath and maintained my composure. She was not going to get anything out of me. Christian would be released by tomorrow morning. Everything was going to work out. I just needed to man up and keep my resolve.

~~~

"Hey Christian, it's me. Please call me back when you get the chance. We need to talk about this. I can explain everything."

I hated how my voice shook as I left the voicemail. Knowing Christian, he would read into my shaky message as an admittance of guilt. Maybe I wasn't the one who reported him, but who else had I told? He probably thought I frequently gossiped about his intermittent tantrums and angry outbursts around the office. He never really liked any of my coworkers. Except for Marcus.

In all honesty, Christian was probably still at the department for questioning. They had released me and seeing their failure to find any actual evidence that Christian was harming me and the fact that I refused to press charges, they would probably release him by tonight.

What then? A voice in my mind chanted, filling me with unease. How would he react? Would he threaten me? Would he pretend nothing happened? Despite my efforts to come to a logical conclusion, I knew he was unpredictable enough to keep me guessing.

I desperately needed somebody to talk to. Someone to provide me with some form of solace. But the person I wanted to talk to at the moment was the reason I was in this situation in the first place. I couldn't decide whether or not I should confront her tomorrow during work. The fact that she went behind my back, even if she truly believed her actions were just, felt like an unforgivable betrayal. How could she not talk to me first?

My current feelings towards Sadie were so confusing, I felt powerless in deciphering them. I didn't know if I wanted to yell at her or break down in her arms. If I saw her tomorrow, I had no idea what I would do. Truthfully, I was scared of what I was capable of doing.

The case of Earl Wilson and Megan Jones continued to haunt me, especially in the moments following my encounter with the police. I kept telling myself that there were truly no similarities between us and them, but lately Megan's story failed to escape my thoughts. The pictures of the bruises, the cuts, the burns. So much pain that persisted on for years with those around her completely oblivious to what was going on.

But we weren't the same. The fact that the thought continued to plague my mind was even comical. Christian was nothing like Earl, and I was nothing like Megan. I wasn't a victim. How could I be?

As I sat alone in the empty apartment, a memory began to emerge. Fittingly, it was the first time Christian had hurt me.

~~~

The moment I got to his place, I immediately knew something was wrong. He usually greeted me at the door, but this time nobody was there as I entered the cold apartment. Christian had a small yet cozy place with tasteful furnishings and photographs of different bars he had served at lining the walls. I had always admired Christian's taste in things.

I walked towards the living room where Christian usually was to find him hunched over. Immediately, the smell of booze filled my senses. Christian never usually got drunk. Even as a bartender, he never really partook in his own products all that often. But today was different. I knew something very bad had happened.

"My father visited me at the bar," he muttered, barely a whisper.

"Oh, Christian," I replied with feeling. I knew him and his father weren't close. In fact, they couldn't be in a room together without bursting into an argument. I was aware that his father had unattainable expectations and that he disapproved of his son being a bartender. But I could tell that whatever interaction they had today had particularly stung. I waited patiently for him to continue.

"He ordered a drink. Can you believe that?" Christian asked incredulously. "It's just like him to go through all the niceties before telling me I'm a fucking failure."

"Christian," I said. "I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry." I really was.

"Oh bullshit," he exclaimed suddenly, banging his hand against the chair and making me jump. "I know you're just like him. You think you're so much better than me." He laughed then. It was an angry, frustrated laugh. "And I don't blame you. You're this amazing lawyer at this successful law firm and I'm just a bartender."

"Christian, you know that's not true," I insisted. "I respect you so much."

"You're a great liar, you know that?" he replied angrily. "Is that what they teach you in law school?" I fought the urge to cry as he stumbled upwards, heading towards the pantry. "I need another drink."

I watched helplessly as he took out his favorite shot glass. He'd gotten it from his college fraternity prior to graduation. It was a tradition to give all the seniors a decorated shot glass with their name on it. I knew I had to stop him now before things escalated further. He was already wasted, quite visible in his wavering steps and slurred words. I walked towards him.

"Christian, stop," I begged, attempting to take the glass from his hand. But his grip was firm. In the struggle, the glass slipped out of his fingers.

Time seemed to slow. I watched in horror as the glass hit the floor, shattering into a million clear little pieces. My hand instinctively went to my mouth. But before I could apologize, he grabbed me.

His hand wrapped around my wrist, so tight I thought it would break. I took a step backwards in surprise, wincing at the pain. But his grip held firm, his fingers like flames burning into my skin.

"Christian, you're hurting me," I whispered. It was a quiet plea. I found myself disgusted by my own weakness.

After what felt like an eternity, he let go, blinking like a confused child just waking up from a long nap. I looked down, seeing the five red marks that framed my wrist. I already knew the bruises would form by tomorrow.

"Margot, I don't know what came over me," he said quickly, his expression and demeanor completely transformed from the cold, uncaring person he'd been moments before. "It won't happen again, I swear."

But his guilty oath was nothing but a fallacy. Some promises are only meant to be said and not kept.

~~~

I twisted and turned in bed as sleep eluded me. It wasn't uncommon that insomnia plagued me on certain nights. But tonight was particularly bad and understandably so. I dreaded the approaching morning, the thought of confronting either Sadie or Christian filling me with trepidation.

When I finally slept, I dreamt of shattered shot glasses and broken promises.