Psychological Affairs

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Racially Offensive

   I looked up at him. His face was soft and full of confusion. I look quickly down and wiped some more tears from my face.

“What happened? How come you aren’t at work? Were you crying?” He asked as one hundred questions seemed to slide out of his mouth in a minute.

                I shook my head and kept my face down. I avoided his questioning, thinking about what just happened. I sensed him sitting beside me, scooting closer. My heart started to beat quickly as I felt his hand on my knee. I took my hands from my face and wiped all of my tears with my palms until I felt no more water. I sat up straight and turned to face him.

“W-W-What do you want?” I asked, trembling over my words.

“I wanted to know how you were. You looked upset.” He said, moving a strand of my hair from my face.

                I snatched his hand away from my face and slid to the right.

“I just wanted to know what was wrong.”

“Well, stay out of it. You’ve done enough as it is. Now just leave me alone.”

                He sighed and slid closer to me.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” I rolled my eyes and clenched my fists.

“Why do you care? Wasn’t I just something to fuck? You know, men like you don’t care about women like me.” I said, re-wording Mr. Ross’ sentiments.

                He looked at me for a minute and then his eyes roamed around to see if anyone was beside us, listening to our conversation.

“What? Wait-where-where would you get that idea from?” He asked, examining me closely.

“You’re friend, you know, my boss.” I said sarcastically.

“Wh-wh-why would he say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe he thought I was some easy fuck like you did.”

                He looked at me strangely and then I felt him grip my hands into his.

“Do you wanna talk about this somewhere else—in private?” He asked.

“No, I’m not going anywhere with you.” He nodded as if he understood and stood up.

                He stood in front of me and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You do know that the next bus is coming around, maybe 6 p.m., right?”

“I know.” I nodded.

“So, you’re willing to stay here for the next-“He looked down at his watch to calculate mentally the time.

“The next 5 hours, right?” He continued slowly.

                I frowned at how right he was. In my mind, I was going a mile a minute, thinking of ways to get me out of this situation. I sighed, standing up as a way to agree. He nodded and I followed him into his car. We got inside and sat there—silence taking over the car beside the light sounds of the air conditioning. I watched as he went through roads only to find a secluded parking lot for us to talk.

“So, what happened?” He finally said.

                I chuckled at his perceived naivety.

“Right? As if you didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what? Mike, what are you talking about?” He asked, his face matching his confused tone.