Sex And Writing|| 18+ [{Completed}]

20

"You didn't need the feather to fly. You had it in you the whole time, Dumbo."

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Two weeks had passed, and I was still alone. Miserably and utterly alone. Left to wallow in my cruel thoughts of what if or what could have been? Where had my sanity gone?

In the two weeks, I spent locked in my apartment like a recluse, finishing my work. Still, without a word from Cam, I learned a lot about myself. I mean a lot. I learned I loved the work I did. I loved editing and tearing stories apart until they were perfect and made sense. I loved getting lost in the worlds he had created. But staying at a company because it was a good opportunity was dumb on my part. I liked the deadlines, despite being stressful. I loved working with Reese, despite her being--- well her. But working in the same place and constantly seeing an ex I couldn't stand the sight of was stupid. It was like tearing a sticky band-aid off over and over, again over the same wound. As it pulled at the tiny hairs of my arm, causing more and more pain with each pull. It was downright torture for me to walk past him every day knowing what he had done. Knowing what kind of picture he had of me and Cam. How he had invaded my privacy that night and I couldn't stand it any longer.

I also learned that I didn't love myself. And I mean truly didn't. The people in my life had made it their mission to bring me down and tear me apart. Surrounding myself with these kinds of people did nothing for my self-esteem. Going down the lonely road of isolation led me to the greatest realization of my life. I needed to love myself before I could continue to love someone else. Or love Cam. And eventually, move on from him.

I always waited for everyone else's approval. For their love to give me validation, but being alone like this, secluded from the world's activities. It made me realize the lessons I needed to learn and with those lessons under my belt. I took it to another level to heal myself. With the help of therapy, I began to learn how to heal myself from my mother's mental torture. How to repair the damage Neil had inflicted on me, and I got insight and encouragement to make my next move.

My biggest move yet.

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I craned my neck upwards. Peering up at the large tower with 'Collins Publishing' plastered on it in big letters. I clutched the thick stack of papers in my arms, holding them tight to my chest. This was it. This was the end of my deadlines. The end of walking into Reese's office every Friday at 5:00 pm. It was the end of this whole fucked up situation I had gotten myself into.

"You can do this," I whispered to myself, trying to give myself a tiny pep talk. I made my way towards the elevators off the main lobby. Still clutching the pages I owed tight like they'd scurry off before I could turn them in.

People packed the elevator the moment I stepped on. The smell of onions permeated the air in a pungent, gag-worthy odor. The writers aboard had obviously been working way too much and showered way too little. I scooted back towards the back of the crowd as we ascended floor after floor trying to make it to mine. I scooted over again, bumping elbows with a man. The last man I thought I'd ever see again in such close quarters. I politely smiled up at him, giving him that "hey I see you, please don't talk to me nod," but it didn't pan out for me.

Nothing ever did.

"I'm sorry," he said for the first time in his life. His eyes glued to his hands folded in front of him. I looked up at him dumbfounded and examined the douche canoe in front of me.