Dalene walked into the kitchen, boiled the kettle and went into the lounge. She returned a few minutes later and walked out with a cup in hand. That was the first time in years that she didn’t hand me a cup and discuss her schedule.
The details of her day were trivial to me, and I often wished that she would discuss them with her friends. Now, I desperately craved her company after not saying a word to me the entire morning. I didn’t even get a glance. That was the worst way to deprive me of her love, and she knew it.
I walked into the garage and felt that something was amiss. I checked my briefcase and saw that I had packed all the documents.
In the car, I shifted the stick into reverse and realised that Dalene wasn’t standing beside the car. She smiled and waved every day as I pulled out of the garage.
The drive to work felt meaningless. That’s the best way I can describe it. I got so used to the daily routine that I wasn’t aware it prepared me for the day. Dalene’s daily gestures were absent, and I had only myself to blame.
At lunchtime, Mr Liberman approached my desk.
“Winston, when am I getting the report on the Ackermann account? You said it would be ready by ten.
“I know, sir. I’m busy finalising it. I need a few more hours to tighten the pitch.”
He pursed his lips, frowning, as he walked away.
I raked my fingers through my hair and clutched fists full of it. With eyes closed, I blew out a long breath. I was supposed to dedicate the last three hours to rewriting the slogan, improving the different options to appeal to the target market and adjusting the market research figures. Instead, I spent most of that time thinking about Dalene’s feelings. I should’ve thought of them before I had sex with Antoinette.
I thought she would never find out about her. How could she? I was so careful. Why the hell did I give Dalene my phone to take a stupid picture of me? I should’ve known better. I guess I was too wrapped up in the way I looked in that suit,
At six o’clock, most of my colleagues had left. Mr Lieberman appeared beside me.
“Winston, how’s my report coming along?”
“Just another hour or so, sir. I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”
“It better be. My patience is waning.”
Two hours later, I completed the report and handed it to Mr Lieberman, who glared at me. It wasn’t my best work, but considering my mood, it was better than nothing.
“Hmmm, there’s some improvement, but overall, I think you can do better,” Mr Lieberman said after analysing the report.
He chucked the document at me and lowered his gaze to the papers on his desk. I stared at him, hoping he would allow me to complete it in the morning. But silence loomed as hope drifted away from me. I wanted to sigh loudly, but the only thing that would accomplish is annoying Mr Lieberman further.
At my desk, I considered marching back into Mr Lieberman’s office and telling him that I needed to get home to attend to personal matters. I changed my mind because he wouldn’t care.
At around half past ten, I completed the report, improving it significantly.
Walking to Mr Liberman’s office, I saw that his lights were switched off. I placed the report on his desk and trudged back to my desk. My mouth stretched, and I closed my eyes while growling. I had no desire to go home because I knew that Dalene’s silent treatment would be more agonising than falling asleep with my head on my desk.
If I had brought another shirt, I could’ve changed in the morning after showering in the work’s bathroom. For the first time in my career, I wanted to spend the night at the office after working late.
I loved my job. But I loved Dalene more, and I wanted to go home to her. I feared that my job was all I had left.
On the way home, I passed a pub. The flowing beer, the raucous patrons and sexy waitresses seemed like the perfect distractions from my troubled thoughts. The desire to drown myself in that chaos tugged at my arm, begging me to turn back.
The tires screeched as I made a U-turn.
A tattooed waitress with a lip piercing smiled at me and told me to follow her to a table. She brought me a pint and told me to raise my hand when I wanted another one.
I downed one after the other.
About an hour later, I had drank four pints. The alcohol settled in my empty stomach, and a rush surged to my head, swaying it. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt that light-headed.
A waitress bought me another pint. I couldn’t remember asking for it.
As I stood up, I wobbled to the right and immediately gripped the sides of the table. I bowed my head and closed my eyes, inhaling deep breaths. I wasn’t sure how that would help me to sober up, but it was all I knew to do.
Outside, I stumbled to the left and then crossed my left leg over the right, managing to remain upright.
I slumped into the driver’s seat and looked at my bloodshot eyes in the rear-view mirror. My eyelids had drooped, and my pale skin looked malnourished. I bowed my head and cleared my throat, assuring myself that I had the strength to get home.
On the road, I obeyed the speed limit, although I noticed that I had dipped into the oncoming lane a few times. But I managed to straighten out the car every time.
I broadened my eyes and blinked excessively, hoping to strengthen my vision. That exercise was pointless.
Again, I swerved into the oncoming lane. But my alcohol-induced reflexes prevented me from reacting quickly.
The last thing I remember before passing out is a loud horn sound and excessively bright lights that lit up my entire car, almost blinding me. I held my arm in front of my eyes and then felt a force hit my car so hard that it shook me into unconsciousness.
TO BE CONTINUED…