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.That side is obviously delusional.The other, logical side of me knows I can't do that because it's not some crazy mix up.A mix up to me is more akin to ordering a Diet Coke and they bring you a Coke instead.Or, when you get your neighbors mail by mistake.This doesn't qualify in that category at all.This is full on, hot mess, soap opera; I wish I was in a padded room, kind of crazy mix up.The kind that doesn't go away when you close your eyes and try to erase everything by squeezing them so tightly that they hurt.This kind of mix up is the kind that stays with you forever.Always in the back of your mind, no matter how much you wish you could forget about it, even if for only a few minutes of temporary blissful ignorance.I look away from my monitor only for a moment to rummage through my desk to find something to snack on.I haven't eaten anything since.God, I don't even remember.I'm pretty sure copious amounts of White Chocolate Macadamia Nut flavored ice cream doesn't count.Between Julia and me, we polished off the entire half gallon while sitting in my bed after she got home from work yesterday.Only problem with that is that I'm pretty close to starving now but not in the mood to get up and go anywhere to get myself a bite to eat.My hand digs to the back of my file cabinet that I use for useless junk and finds a granola bar.It's just going to have to do for now.As I take my first bite, I open up my personal email account to send off a quick note to my parents, who I'm certain have been trying to reach me but since my phone is off, they've probably started to panic.I efficiently type out a few lines explaining how busy I am with work and then throw in quick blurb about having an issue with Tyler without providing any details before I press send.That should appease them for a day.maybe two, if I'm lucky.Common sense tells me, this will come back to bite me in the ass later.Knowing my mom, as soon as she reads that something is wrong with Tyler, she'll not only call me immediately but she'll send me a care package loaded with God knows what.Oh well, too late now.Probably should have thought out my email better, but under the circumstances, it was the best I could do.At two minutes to five, it's a race against time and I start to gather my belongings so I can drive home and crawl back into my bed.My computer starts to shut down and I snatch my keys from inside my purse when I look up to see Alex standing in the door of my office."It's not like you to leave any earlier than six, you must not be feeling well." He hesitates a second before stepping inside.I'm not feeling well.I'm feeling like total and utter shit right now, thank you very much.I just want to be left alone and contemplate life and what a complete idiot I am.I nervously tuck the loose strands of hair that have fallen out of my chignon behind my ear and put on the best meek smile that I can muster before I answer him."No, I don't."I drop my head and go to walk around my desk which brings me to within inches of where he's standing now.I'm hoping he didn't notice my overt attempt to hide my misery, but seeing as I'm wearing my crushed heart on my sleeve, I doubt it."You look pale and you're shaking.""I'm fine.Just need to get home and get some rest."I tilt my head up so that my eyes meet his.Big mistake."Sabrina, are you crying?""No."I'm totally crying now after I had seen the sympathetic look on his face a second ago."What's wrong?" He asks and goes to put his hands on my upper arms.He stops just shy of doing so when the ugly cry finally makes an appearance.I cover my face with my hands to sob and sink into one of the guest chairs I have in my office.The sound of my office door closing registers and I'm relieved that he's left me and my breakdown alone."Here, take this." Alex's voice is soft and surprisingly close.I peek through my fingers to see him crouched right in front of me holding out a handkerchief.When I don't take it, he inches closer and pulls my hands down slowly, one at a time from my face.The tears have stopped while he starts to wipe my cheeks with the handkerchiefKeeping his eyes on the movement of his own hand, he asks, "Is it because of him?""Yes."Satisfied with the job he's done, he tucks the handkerchief back into the breast pocket of his suit.His jaw flexes when his clear blue eyes lock onto mine while his hand reaches out to cup my jaw and rub his thumb gently over the apple of my cheek."Did he hurt you?""Yes.""Do you want to talk about it?""No [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]