There's No Time Like The Present To Get The Hell Out Of Here
Day 156 of The Andie Chronicles
Technology, the so-called great leap for society, where we could reach anyone at any given time and feel a continued connection to the people we love. The dream, huh?
And then there are our little portable walkie-talkies. They weren’t only so we could hear other voices, they were there to transport life-saving information in an instant.
I’m sure when the tech creators of the world came up with email, text messages, and the like, they didn’t imagine the calamities that would soon follow.
Did they predict the moment when you’re sitting on the toilet at work, scrolling through your phone, and you find an email trail you’re not meant to see? Did they realise the heartache which would ensue from an email landing in the wrong hands?
It was Sophia who had CC’d me on the email trail.
By accident?
I wasn't game to ask. As I scrolled through the chain, I noticed the first communication had begun months earlier.
I couldn’t read everything; the sheer volume would have taken me hours. There were over a hundred emails, back and forth between people I know and love, detailing what to do about me. Their problem. Their predicament. Something to handle, to endure, to survive.
I skimmed the contents, noting their dismay, before typing my response. In the quiet of the bathroom stall, I contemplated what to say.
At first, I wasn’t sure whether I should say anything. But as I kept re-reading the responses, the plans they made without me, their self-interest before any regard for me and what I was going through, there was no way I could hold my tongue.
They had broken my heart, more than Douglas ever could, and they needed to know it.
I stared into the bathroom mirror and splashed my face with cold water. It did very little to calm me down, instead soaking my blazer with undignified water stains.
Another reason for them to doubt me, I sobbed.
Straightening myself, I returned to my office, gathered up my handbag and various essentials I had scattered across the desk, and bolted for the lift.
Darting past James’ office, I noticed he wasn’t there. Thank god. But when I reached the lift in the foyer of the offices, Douglas’ main secretary, Angela, sat alert behind her desk.
“Andie, are you heading somewhere?”
It was only half past ten in the morning. Valid question, I contemplated.
“Yes, I need a fabric sample from the boutique on Queens Street. I will be fifteen minutes.” The lie rolled off my tongue. A defence mechanism.
Angela smiled. “Wonderful dear.”
Lying to her felt like lying to my mother, but I couldn’t tell her I was going home to pack my bags and flee for the first available flight leaving Tullamarine. Which is what I did, by the way.
Throwing everything I could think of into my only suitcase bag, I knew I had to leave. Get away. Before anyone figured out where I was.
The last thing I needed was anyone following me, trying to stop me, or issuing some faux apology for talking about me behind my back.
Call it running away all you like. It's what I did.
You’re reading The Andie Chronicles, the 2023 romance-fiction series from the 1 Lovelock Drive (1LD) universe.
By the way, this all started when Andie turned thirty-five, and her then-boyfriend didn’t call her.
Or the day after that.
Or the day after that, too.
Everything started to unravel when her BFFs got into bed with her ex, too… ⬇️ ⬇️ ⬇️
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A little lost on what’s happening at 1 Lovelock Drive?
Well, you see, Andie’s break-up started back in February and so much has happened since then. These stories will help you catch right up! xx
