Bruises

Ch.8-We All Fall Down

"What? But-but I don't understand."

The lady with the thick-rimmed glasses and blood red lips smiled sympathetically at me. "I'm sorry, ma'am," she said, folding her hands atop the desk. "But we got a resignation letter, and the position has already been filled."

I flopped back against the stiff chair, incredulous. How could this be?

When I had woken up at six-thirty in the morning by a call to go down to the daycare, hearing that I had supposedly "quit" wasn't what I expected. Surely if I had resigned I would remember. And it was the last thing I would ever do, seeing as I desperately needed the money.

"There has to be some mistake," I insisted, hating the pleading tone in my voice but not being able to help it. "Please."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Miss Holliday. There's nothing more I can do."

Shoulders slumped I left her office, at a complete loss. I wrapped my jacket tighter around myself, feeling the harsh wind whip my hair around my shoulders and bite any exposed skin. How could this be happening? I surely didn't resign!

Frustrated beyond belief, I made my way back to my apartment. Impossible. How could I just not have a job? I had only three days! There had to be something wrong with their system, some kind of error. But that woman had been unrelenting.

I stopped outside the shabby brick building, taking a moment to collect myself as I fell against it. I didn't have a job. I was unemployed.

That meant no money.

That meant no rent.

And that meant I would be homeless.

When hysteria started creeping into me, I breathed deeply and forced myself to keep a clear head. I would figure it out. Just like I had for the past eight years, I would make it work.

There was no other option.

Sam had gone out pretty early-earlier than me, even-to get some groceries. He insisted on paying for them, which I was hardly going to talk him out of. Especially now, seeing as I didn't have a job.

And as if my day couldn't get any worse, Victor's car had been in the lot.

I took my time climbing the stairs to my floor and room. And even longer retrieving my key. But entering and facing him was inevitable, so I sucked it up and pushed open the door.

Victor was lounging against the counter, his cell phone beside him. I avoided his eyes, though I could feel his gaze burning through me. It felt like my hip and back stiffened ten times worse with him in the same room.

I stopped moving the moment I entered the kitchen. It was partially fear and partially uncertainty that had me frozen in my spot.

"Hello, Elsie," he greeted.

Damn, my hands were shaking. "Hi."

His clothes rustled as he shifted. "Aren't you going to look at me?"

With great difficulty I dragged my eyes up to his, flinching at the menacing grey depths flashing back at me.

"Much better." He pushed off the counter and walked toward me. I held my breath as his fingers caressed the side of my face. His touch was cold, rough. Nothing like Sam's.

"You hurt me," I breathed, and it was a small miracle I was able to get that out. It felt like my throat had closed up.

Victor frowned, gripping my chin. "I'm sorry, baby," he apologized, though his tone didn't sound truly apologetic. It was more forced, indifferent. "But I told you before not to take that tone with me. If this relationship is going to work out you have to listen to what I say."