Chapter One
I was exhausted when I got up this morning. Yesterday was the most draining day of my life. Work was ridiculous, as usual, because my boss loved to not do his job and instead made me do it since I was his assistant. Whenever he did decide to pick up the slack and at least respond to emails, he signed my name to his unprofessional feedback, which gave me issues with troublesome clients. The pay was amazing, though, seeing how I worked for one of the largest publishing companies in the country. Pop Publishing, where we make you pop and publi-shine! Ugh. Irritating.
Was I irritated with the terrible slogan because it is entirely embarrassing that that’s the best someone could make for a billion-dollar company? Or was I jealous of writers who finally made their mark in the industry? Maybe a little of both. I have tried to work with my boss on my drafts, but he would just say he would “look at it later”. One time when I cleaned his office, I discovered my fantasy novel in the trash bin along with other manuscripts that didn’t make the cut. That was incredibly humbling.
Not only did my boss not see potential, neither did my— well, I didn’t know exactly what to call him. My “boyfriend” didn’t work; we weren’t together. My fling? My boy toy? My “hit and run”? That last one sounded too criminal. But was he really my hook-up guy if we hadn’t seen each other in months or if he rarely got me there? Correction, I saw him whenever he attempted to get back into my bed. Even though we never were official— and never would be— he still tried. He sent flowers to my desk, tried to schedule elaborate dates, and all that kind of stuff despite my protests.
Why don’t I let him take me out? For one, he doesn’t support my dreams as a writer. There was a brief point in our situationship where I was kind of interested in him romantically. I don't know why. I would tell him about my writing projects or rant about my boss. He, of course, never understood. He told me to “take it as a sign” and to put more energy into pursuing a promotion in the company. Not only was he unsupportive emotionally, but he was also unsupportive sexually and financially. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a gold digger. It isn’t a deal breaker if you don’t spoil me with shoes or expensive things all the time. I prefer sentimental gifts most of the time and acts of service, although it is nice to be spoiled that way too. But instead of that, he would occasionally come to me for money. He was very cheap, I guess.
Besides when he decided to spend a little extra on things like flowers to make me consider dating him, he probably would be on Cheapscapes. Okay, that was an exaggeration because a lot of those people are unhygienic and just filthy— and I would never sleep with someone who bathes clothed or doesn’t flush the toilet unless it’s full. I grew up poor and understood that times get tough, but some of those people had money and chose not to spend it. And that was how Mateo was.
He was nice at times. But being occasionally nice could only get you so far. He was cute but had an overly inflated ego. Yes, that is partially my fault for faking it ninety percent of the time in bed. In my defense, I would rather fake it and just get it over with so I could get him out of my place and watch TV instead of arguing with him over his skill issues. Now, I’m not a sex machine. Actually, I had only done it with Mateo. We ran into each other at a bar when my friends tried to get me out after my father died. Yup, I lost my virginity at twenty-two. I know that it is healthy, but when your friends lost theirs in high school? It was embarrassing. The one time I commented how Mateo should change his pace with his fingers or flatten his tongue when eating me out— or find the goddamn clit— he threw a fit.
So yeah. Mateo wasn’t my ideal partner, which I told him. I never lied to him…Okay, except for when it came(not that I ever did) to orgasms, I lied. Either way, I think you get the gist. Don’t be with a man who doesn’t support you in all of the ways, ladies and gents.
I sighed, deciding it was time to get out of bed and get ready for the day. Thankfully, I was off today, which meant I didn’t have to spend twelve hours— yes, twelve— reading all the scripts my boss should have been doing. In the description, I was told I would be helping Mr. Dax with getting his schedules and appointments, getting his coffee, and all the regular assistant stuff. Not making final, big decisions or running meetings in his absence, amongst all the piles on my desk.
Instead of dwelling on my draining job, I decided to get ready for my girls’ night. It was my first time hanging out with my friends in months, besides our quick chats on our lunch breaks. My friends, Georgia and Daphne, were on our social media team. They were responsible for more exciting things like pitching and directing our ads. I was jealous of how they were able to clock out on time. Ugh. I just said I wasn’t going to think about work. See how badly I needed this night out? Work had consumed me.
I had always been that way. I prioritized my academic and professional career so much that I barely had a social life. I couldn’t entirely blame work, though. Sometimes I just didn’t feel like dealing with people. But tonight, I wasn’t going to stay in with my fuzzy blankets, snacks, and the new episode of my favorite show.
Grabbing fresh towels, I placed them on the towel rack in my bathroom before hopping into a hot shower that instantly turned my pale skin into a tomato. The steam instantly filled the room, hiding the reflections of my body. It was as if it knew that if I hadn’t, I would’ve been staring at it for hours. Not because I was mesmerized by my beauty or some shit like that. My body dysmorphia was going strong, driving me insane. I was what people refer to as “midsized”. Too fat to be skinny and too skinny to be fat. My fat was distributed decently, I guessed. I was still a harsh critic of myself.
I wasn’t completely insecure, but still really insecure. I knew I was still pretty regardless of my weight, but I always thought I would look better smaller. My Aunt once said, “Everyone is a little ugly; some people just don’t see it. If you are perfect, you’re an alien.” You could imagine that she told fifteen-year-old Blanche that when she was high as a kite. It still stuck with me, though. Just like how I was the “fat friend” and boys asked me out for jokes. “Blanche has a crush on you,” was what boys would say to their friends to prank them.
Now, men just come to me for hook-ups rather than serious relationships. They can’t see themselves walking down the street with me on their arm, nor could they see themselves introducing me to their families and being told “She is beautiful” or “You made quite the catch” with extreme excitement. Although it still stung a bit despite all the times I’d heard it, I still loved myself and knew I would find my person. And Mateo definitely wasn’t that person. It was bad enough that I gave him my virginity, which I regretted. But I’ll be damned if I get into something serious with him.
Ping. Ping.
I dried my hand off and swiped my phone from the granite countertop. Speak of the devil.
The Hit & Run: u free 2nite?
The Hit & Run: want me to cum over?;)
I groaned, looking at the two new messages in the swarm of his conversation with basically himself. I placed my phone back on the counter, relaxing my whole body underneath the hot sprinkling water.
Yeah, I desperately need this girls’ night. And I need to find another man to be acquainted with. Even the way he texts is annoying, I thought to myself as I scrubbed my scalp with my floral shampoo.
