71- Gaze locked on mine

cannot believe myself.
I almost made the same damn mistake with him again, and I can’t believe it. What’s worse
is that I don’t even understand how things progressed so rapidly. One minute I was at his throat and in the next, I was fisting his shirt.
All I recall is feeling hurt and somewhat mocked, and then his response translated those feelings to anger. Then it all boiled down to the vehement need to either kill him or fuck him.
A few minutes later, I’m changing back into my corduroy slacks and silk blouse when his message pops up on my phone.
You can take the rest of the day off. I’ll return to the office with Andrew.
I stare at the message and before I can stop it, my eyes burn with tears.
I most definitely have a problem. I look around in despair, not knowing how I’m going to be able to go back to work with him in that office. I know that our crossing the line is not completely my fault but at the same time, he is my boss and I shouldn’t have made any advances whatsoever.
At the ball of anxiety scorching me from the inside, I release a heavy breath and make up my mind then to resign. This decision seems to bring me some element of peace, so I wipe the tears from my eyes and make my way out of the club.
I head straight to Jodie’s diner, since for once I’m not yet ready to face Lee Rang, and secondly I need someone to drink with.
Four Bahama Mama’s later and a long narration of my woes and plight, and all she does is stare at me in confusion. “Um... again, you’re resigning because?”
“Can’t you imagine how awkward it’ll be between us?” I wail. “I don’t even know how I’ll be able to face him tomorrow.”

“But what did you do that was so wrong though? Be attracted to him?” “We’re supposed to be professionals.”
“Oh, I get it now. You’re at fault for coming onto him even after he rejected your advances, several times. I get it. Yeah, you should resign.”
My face is straight as I glare at her.
She’s not moved. Instead, she rolls her eyes and continues, “Do you know what is wrong with your kind of demographic; the goody two-shoes, do everything proper type? You all still feel shame. And shame my dear is a buzzkill. You need to get rid of that shit and do what you fucking want.”
Her words resound inside me but at the same time, it feels so very wrong and almost foolish, so I scoff it off, and drain my cocktail. “How can you live life without feeling shame?”
“Well, that’s how I'm living right now and I’m having a blast. That’s why I didn’t slave away like the rest of you and incur thousands in debt, just to attend some fucking college. “
“No shame Jodie,” I respond. “You know I love you but, we need to talk about your hopping around. From jobs to places to people. Isn’t it exhausting?”
“It isn’t,” she replies. “For now. But when I eventually get tired of it, I would have gathered a lot of insight into just exactly what I want to do with my life. My point is that none of you can do this because you’re still afraid of being judged for being a loser… still afraid of feeling shame, so it stagnates you and keeps you in a box. I say embrace that crippling inner judgement and discomfort and soon that bitch will disappear. Then you can start truly living your life.”
“Really?” I ask dryly. “So how would you handle this situation if you were in my shoes, and missing your shame nerve or bone or whatever.
“I would walk into his office and fuck him. Then put my clothes back on and get back to work.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded. “Wow. I thought that coming here would console me, but now my headache just tripled in size. Thanks a lot Yoda.”
“Anytime,” she beams at me.
I push her face to the side as I rise to my feet and grab my purse.
“Hey! Where are you going?” She calls at my exit. “We’re not done. Blair!” I wave at her without even bothering to turn around, too weak to even speak.

It’s almost midnight when I return home and thankfully, I find that Lee Rang is asleep. After turning off the light in her room, I return to mine and reaffirm my decision to quit. It’s either this or my still very present ability to feel shame will kill me.
The next morning, I’m a little late to the office so I know he has already clocked in.
However, I do not go in for a quick greeting. I do however want to get this whole resignation thing sorted out so the moment I’m done with my letter, I knock on his door. Without waiting for a response that I am certain will not come, I go in and stand in front of the desk.
A moment later, he pulls his eyes away from his screen to regard me. “Do you need something?”
“No, I brought you something,” I reply, and lean forward to place the white envelope on his desk. From my handwriting on it, he can immediately read what it is. I don’t even bother looking at him and instead stare at the panoramic view of the city behind him. “It’s been such a privilege working here and I want to thank you for the opportunity, but I think that it’s best that I move on.”
I wait for a few seconds and when he doesn’t say a word, I meet his gaze and force a tight smile to my lips. Then I turn around to take my leave.
When I got to the door, he eventually spoke, “Is this because of yesterday?”
This question has so many layers and I don’t know which one to peel first so I decide to just leave it untouched. “No it isn’t,” I lie and continue on my way.
“So what’s the problem?” he calls to me.
I turn to face him. “It’s just some personal matters that I need to attend to.” “I wanted to fuck you yesterday,” he says.
My heart stops in my chest.
The door is still closed but it almost feels as though the entire building is listening. My instinct is to hurry away in order to quell the discomfort making my blood curl, but I find myself unable to move.
He continues, “I sent you home because I had reached my limit, and I knew that there was no way I would have gotten through the day without giving in and touching you.”
I’m stunned by his admission because my assumption all along was that he dismissed me because of the advance I made towards him.
As I am trying to process his response, he rises to his feet.

Once again, I want to retreat but my feet remain fixed to the ground as though I have been nailed to the spot.
He arrives at the front of his desk with his hands in the pockets of his slacks, and then takes a seat on the edge of the table. His gaze is locked on mine.
This time around, I refuse to look away. “You shouldn’t say that.”