On the table is a cake that has a bunch of tiny little phrases on it, which read, "Bye bitch", "We never liked you anyways," "We hope you fail," "Good luck finding better," "Later, Traitor," "Way to put your needs ahead of the team." The final and smallest one reads, "JK, we will miss you so much!"
I'm in tears from laughing so hard as I read the cake.
"Aww, you guys! I don't know whose ass to kick first!" I joke.
"Don't you fucking love it?" Izzy asks from the side of me, pointing to the cake; then she does a dramatic hair flip, knowing she totally nailed it.
"It's the best!" I choke out through laughter and tears. I wipe at my tears as I look around the room at all the people I've worked side by side with for all these years—people who have become huge parts of my life. I will truly miss them all so much.
"You can just about guess which phrases were Izzy's idea," Jade speaks up with a laugh from the back of the room.
Izzy rolls her eyes as she says, "I'm a genius, and you all know it," the laughter in the room grows even louder.
"Seriously, Via, it isn't too late to change your mind. . ." Janet says as she bats her eyelashes at me, almost pleading.
I chuckle as another tear falls, "I really will miss you guys."
Deciding to leave the facility and quit the career I worked so hard for has been one of the most difficult decisions ever, and I'm scared. Actually, I'm terrified. I can't help but think of allthe what-ifs. I can't help but wonder if this decision will lead me down the path I hope it will or if I'll fail miserably, but I'll never know unless I try.
I am so fucking sick of letting fear cripple me into not trying. I've always lived in fear and made fear-based decisions. I refuse to do that anymore. This ismy life. It's about time that it starts to feel like it. It's about time I start creating it into what I've always wanted it to be.
I start making my way around the breakroom, giving hugs to everyone and thanking them for not only showing up for me for this but always.
I make it about halfway through the room of people, and I'm currently listening to Amber, our secretary, ask me"one last nurse question." She'd always come to me at the most random times and spurt off with a question that she claimed she didn't feel comfortable asking anyone else, yet she'd speak so loud that everyone in the facility could hear. This time is no different, and it's wonderful.
"But, like, vaginal wetness is normal?"
"Amber!" Cassie spits out with a laugh.
"What? It's a valid question! The guy I'm sleeping with said it's not normal to be this wet, and I told him it's not my fault he's only banged dry bitches."
"Sweet Jesus, bless it!" Layla says as she laughs and pulls me away.
I look back to Amber, still being pulled away, holding one hand around the edge of my mouth so that she can hear me. "You being wetter than a river should make him quiver!" I whisper-shout through my laughter.
I get across the room, and I'm drowned in hugs and sweet small talk when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
I turn around to find Clark with his shoulders dropped. He's looking at the ground as he shifts on his feet nervously. He won't meet my gaze.
"Hey. . . Clark."
"Hey Via, you think we can talk for a minute?" Clark's voice is low, and the sadness radiating from him doesn't match the upbeat setting in this claustrophobicly stuffed break room. I hesitate for a minute before responding. The last conversation I had with Clark wasn't necessarily comfortable, in the least bit. If I'm being honest, he makes me pretty uncomfortable in general.
"Um, yeah, sure."
He jerks his chin slightly towards the hall as he turns and walks towards the door. I follow behind him and instantly feel like this is a bad idea. I try to signal over to Izzy or Dessa to tell them I'm stepping out really fast, hoping one of them will save me, but my attempts go unnoticed.
We make it out into the hallway, and Clark is still walking further down, to where the hallway turns off and becomes a dead-end split by the maintenance closet. I'm hesitant, but I follow. I'm sure he's just going over there so we can hear each other better and escape the sounds pouring out of the breakroom.
He turns, leans against the wall, and props up a foot. His arms are by his side, his hands are tapping nervously in his pockets, his shoulders are still slumped forward, and his head is hung. I decide to stand against the wall opposite him, as the space between us seems appropriate. What the fuck is going on right now?
"What's up, Clark?" I make sure to keep my voice kind but also firm.
His head slowly lifts, and his gaze meets mine. He removes his hands from his pockets and crosses his arms over his chest. He is a very handsome man, and he knows it. He thinks this meansevery woman wants him, which is highly unattractive in anyone if you ask me. It's fine to be confident; I find confidence very sexy and attractive. The way Ander is confident turns me on, but Clark, he's arrogant. Even in the way he holds himself. However, this is weird for Clark, and he's hard to read now.
"Are you really. . . giving up your dream career? For a man? I didn't take you for that kind of girl." His tone isn't harsh; it's laced with sadness, but even so. . . . What.What the fuck? Who the hell is this guy to question me, much less assume my dreams, when he barely knows me other than at work?
Fuck that.
