I was the one who had maneuvered him into that corner office, who had built the ladder he climbed rung by rung. And this was how he spoke to me.
A laugh escaped my lips, quiet and razor-edged. "Damian, I could beg for change on a street corner and I still wouldn't take a single dollar from you."
"Besides, you've already lost the right to make me bow."
He stared at me as if I'd told the funniest joke he'd ever heard.
"Who do you think you are, Hilda? You're nothing but a low-level sales rep!"
"Since you don't know what's good for you, you can kiss your entire paycheck goodbye!"
With that, he stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door. The lock clicked shut behind him.
The air in the living room turned suffocating.
Then a wave of dizziness hit me out of nowhere.
I remembered the doctor's warning: my anemia meant I couldn't afford to get worked up.
But it was too late. The room was already spinning. My knees buckled, and I hit the floor hard.
I needed to call 911, but my phone was in the bedroom. I dragged myself to the door and tried the handle.
Locked.
I knocked. Then I pounded.
All I got back was Damian's cold, contemptuous laugh.
"Begging already? Too late for that."
Then silence.