Miraculous Mistakes

I'm A Homewrecker & I'm A Slut

The walk to Delilah's office was too short, I wanted to walk slower, so I could brainstorm what excuse I could possibly come up with to keep my job. But I knew no matter how hard I tried to even think of one, not a single one was good enough. The minute I make it into the room, she's pacing in front of her desk, eyeing the floor with her hands on her hips. 

Her bangs covering her forehead, as her small bob was to the length of her shoulders. Her cherry crimson lipstick applied perfectly to her lips, and complimenting her fair toned complexion. Delilah never lacked in the department of beauty, so I never understood why Tim was so infatuated by me. Sure, Delilah was in her forties, and she had a few wrinkles here and there. But in my opinion, she looked fantastic for her age. 

When she heard me come in, she folded her arms, scolding in my direction, as her stare sent shivers down my spine. Tim was twiddling his thumbs in the chair in front of her desk, as he seemed nervous. And here I am a complete train wreck. She didn't say a word, but her anger was infectious. She points to the chair next to Tim, as I nod slightly, feeling my eyes well with tears, as a small shakily sigh leaves my mouth. 

Once I'm seated, Delilah looks at the both of us, before taking a seat herself. I calm myself slightly, taking small breaths, and trying not to cry in front of her. 

"You do realize you're fired, correct?" she finally says, in a tone that makes my stomach drop. 

"Yes mam" I said, meeting her eye contact, as she shakes her head.

 "I expected more from you.. so much more" she says, as I nod. 

"I'm so sorry-" I begin, but she shakes her head. 

"Clear out your desk and be gone by the time I leave this office. If you aren't gone, you will be escorted off the premises. Understood?" she asked, as I nodded. 

Clearing my throat, "yes mam" I said, as Tim scoffed. 

Without hesitation, I removed myself from my seat, walking past Tim. 

Within a second, he throws his hand in the air as I pass by, slapping my ass. 

I audibly gasp, as anger boils within my veins, causing me to ball my hand into a fist and slam it across his jaw. Making Delilah's eyes widen, before the strangest sound leaves her mouth, laughter. I'm bewildered, feeling the urge to chime in with her, but instead, I clutch my now swollen knuckles with my other hand and storm out of the office. 

Afterwards, I'm packing up my desk and placing my personal items in a box for me take to my car, which was waiting for me in the parking lot. I'm walking down the aisle again, with now my box of shame, the weight is surprisingly heavier than I thought. As the exit doors are approaching me, my left stiletto heel breaks, making me trip and tumble to the floor. 

As if this day couldn't get any worse.

People are walking past me and laughing, some still whispering, and others just staring. As I pack the items that fell out of my box back into it, and take off my heels. Placing them inside the box as well. That's when I realize my stockings are ripped, as a pang of fear seeps into my stomach. 

Were they like that the whole time?

I finally make it out the exit doors, walking barefoot on the hot concrete, as I head to my car. 

"I always knew she was up to no good" a voice said, as goosebumps trickled down my neck. 

"Sleeping with our boss? who does she think she is?" another voice said. 

I started to walk faster, attempting to outrun the remarks they were throwing my way. 

"Slut" a third voice added, as the word echoed into my subconscious. 

I unlocked my car, shuffling with the car keys from my purse, as I opened the back door, placing my box of shame in the back seat. I gave my old job one last glance, before sitting in my car, and closing the door next to me. 

To start from the beginning, Tim has literally been wrapped around my finger ever since I landed an interview in his office. I could tell just by the way he looked at me. Undressing me with his eyes, as they wandered over my body. After I was hired, he would always find a way to touch me inappropriately, while I worked. He was treating me like his personal assistant. Telling me to go fetch his dry cleaning, pick up his dog from the groomers, or flowers for his wife. 

He was handsy with me, inappropriately touching and grabbing me in public. It wasn't long before he was convincing me to sleep with him, just so I could get promoted. It's time like these where I start to wonder how my life became like this to begin with. I grew up in a small town named Scattervale, finished high school there before moving to New York for college and choosing to live full time here. 

Scattervale is rumored to be cursed, people say once you live there, you'll only want to scatter. Hence the name. But I enjoyed my time there as a kid. Until high school at least. 

I always believed though, the farther away I was from my childhood town, the more I Maddison Manson, can evolve as a person. Even though I enjoyed being a kid in Scattervale, high school for me was a complete nightmare. College was the only public place that treated me well. That was the place where I got my braces taken off, and succumbed to a skin care routine. 

I found myself in college, and I pursed a career in business. I even did exceptionally well on the debate team. If I do say so myself. But I was the quirkiest and clumsiest when I came in for my interview with Tim. But I was eager to speak with him, telling him about my passion to fight for a difference and how I'm perfectly great at arguing and getting my point across. Which we laughed together about. But I could see the look in his eye, cause I saw in every guy that looked at me. 

Now here I am, months later, fired and unaware of what I am going to do with my life. I take another deep breath, realizing I had my dream job but it didn't have me. I started up the car, and drove out of the parking lot onto the road. As I could feel the tears streaming down my face, I keep on feeling like I let myself down. I pulled up at the nearest bar I could find, so I could drown my sorrows in the comfort of alcohol. 

I am so tired of seeing my box of shame, in the rear view mirror.