My Place Is Not Here Pt 02

Author's note *****

This story is purely fictional and nothing should be assumed about the characters. I also do not condone the abusive behaviours and actions done in this story.

SCARLETT

I can't let this keep happening. I allege this as I try my utmost best to leave Chris bed without stirring him awake. I spent the night in limbo between wakefulness and sleep. But, an unsated drowsiness tugs at my eyelids as the man next to me snores peacefully.

Each time I was on the urge of getting up, the weight of his arm tightens around my waist, causing me to stay still like a log. His constant embrace reminds me of the scene which had preceded coming to his place; I try to run from him only to be easily trap.

My heart beats raggedly as I slip from his grasp. I stand to my feet and gave him a once over as I pull my dress over my body. A body that's sore and needs a good soak before I can be capable to walk without a limp.

Chris looks so peaceful sleeping; his face shows no sign of discomfort. I hunger to run my hands through his smooth brown hair, and kiss the smug grin on his mouth until he comes back to his senses. I work my lips yearning to run my hands over the expanse of skin left uncovered by the blankets, knowing it would still be warm. Chris always is too warm to bear upon.

I smile thinking of all the sordid things I want to do to him, but I can't and I won't because the sad fact of the matter is—he is not mine to begin with and these stolen moments we share can't hide the fact. I should've been more vigilant. Kept my guard up. Because I'm so insignificant in Chris world and it seems preposterous to think otherwise. Why would he be interested in me? My eyes fill with tears and I swiftly wipe them away. I should have known that this is merely another clandestine hook-up that simply goes to nowhere.

Waving my mind of all sexual thoughts of Chris I finish putting on my last item of clothing which so happen to be my shoes, 6-inch-high heels to be exact, which I now regret putting on. My heart races steadily as I approach the door. My hands grabs hold of the gold knob, I glance one more time to attain sure that Chris is still asleep.

Sighing, I look pass the bed, and glare over the windowsill and let my eyes take in the late-night light. Thorne my ex did warn that Chris is not to be fiddled with. And I didn't heed his admonition, not one fucking bit. If his mother gets a swift of this, I'll lose my job. And at a time like this I cannot yield to lose this lousy job because it helps pays some of my mounting bills.

I take in the midnight blue sky through dark lashes. The vividness of the sky only reinforced how wide open and vulnerable I truly am. It sometimes bothers me on a bass level that something as simple and personal as a colour had affected the way Chris tyrannically behaves towards me. It appears that every time I attempt to distance myself from his life, Chris always finds a way to draw me in closer and the realization that there was no escape eats at my being.

Though I refuse to accept this hold he has over me. If I have to kiss a frog I will, just so that I can get out from this place. I'll find a spot where I can be my own self, choose my own male preferences, and if I have to drag myself from here kicking and screaming I will.

After I move my eyes away from the open space, I again berated myself for being so frail and small minded. Yes, I gave in and let him fuck me raw, while his fiancé was off crying her eyes out because he chooses to leave with me and this was without so much of saying good-bye to her. He was angry, rightfully so as well. He found out that Thorne and I shares a past. I don't know how he found out about what happen years ago between me and Thorne. I sway my head in an attempt to dispel something that I have long ago buried to a place in the back of the head.

I nervously tug at my dark tresses and turn around to open the door. My eyes twitch at the door with longing. Just beyond the closed door is something blooming outside. I can practically feel the moonlight on my skin and smell the rich night breeze of the open sky just thinking about it.

I ache desperately to get out of the Chis room that I had been holding in my bladder for the past five hours. I twisted the knob slowly, careful not to wake him. Chris was determined to keep me locked up in his room forever. My hands shake as I pray that Chris don't hear me leave.

An instant of terrible foreboding passes over me as I turn the door knob, the minute I shake that feeling off and tiptoe closest to the door. I refuse to stay in this room for another moment. I turn the gold thing and walk out, leaving my life behind in that room, oblivious to the fact that I would be coming back.

"Sneaking out before I catch you again fucking my fiancé?" A gruff voice catches my attention before I even manage to close the door properly. Her voice is rasping, yet lace with weariness and half-forming deflation.

"I thought that we're past this by now." My lips curl up in a condescending smirk which makes my stomach flip inside. I really can't deal with yet another confrontation from this woman, she needs to accept any inquiries she has with her fiancé not me. I discreetly close the door finally and sigh. I merely want to get away from here but now my nice awaiting warm bed seemed less and less appealing.

"No, we are not, I told you several times to leave him alone. He is mine, not yours and he'll never choose you no matter how much he lies and tells you otherwise." Megan says, her voice has a vicious tone in it.

I quail at the hard, cold truth. Chris would wake up and notice me gone and there will be hell to pay. I'm lost in her words though, lost in anything relating to relevance. I squint and take in my milieu. Outside has a smooth pavement, with flecks of grass in between, the garage is bare except for the Chris car and the Lincoln Megan drives, shining bright in the cool summer day. Beyond his estate leads away into a thick forestation that surrounds this old but strong built mansion.

"Perhaps you should try convincing yourself rather than saying it to my face," I respond rolling my eyes. I look up in the cold air and notice that clouds start covering the sky, dense and heavy. I shiver on the spur of the moment as it was suddenly too cold—much too cold.

"Don't you dare give me that bull-crap -- you know exactly what you're doing. A whore like you only have one good thing going—a trashy spoiled rotten cunt that any man can get if they come with a big price tag," Megan spits as she lets out an exasperated breath, nearing my face.

"If you don't get out my face bitch you will regret it," I say aggressively, all patience, leaving my body as I make a fist with my hand.

"You don't scare me," she responds with disbelief.

"Are you challenging me?" I asked, with my fingers opening and closing of my palm.

"I'm sick of watching you take what's mine. It's time I show you that I'm not sharing no more," Megan says in a mocking tone, lifting her elegantly arch eyebrows.

I'd roll my eyes. Megan threats are hollow—just like her fake face and paid sculpted body. If she had any intention of fighting for her fiancé, she would have executed it a long time ago. But I'm not assuming any risks underestimating this crazy woman standing in front of me.

No, no and hell no.

"Watcha' you gonna do? Tell Thorne to harass me again?" I ask glaring at her, rage filling my belly, "you can't do nothing to me because we both know that no matter what you say or do Chris will never love you," I say as I push her with such power that she falls on the pavement.

I walk over her slump body, breathing hard like I've just beaten a punching bag. I kneel and pull her chin with my index finger daring her to look me in the eye. I know Megan's weak spots and deepest pains—she's an easy prey. I observe her face change from hurt, anger then fear which serves to bring my fury to a higher boil.

"I tried to warn you—," I sneer as I hook my finger around her chin, she's trembling as fear overpower her wave of confidence. "I told you to never threaten me again! If you had learned how to suck and fuck your man properly none of this would've come about if you had just done your womanly duties!" I say this as I stare her deep in the eye, digging my nail into her soft blemish free skin.

Megan is breathing hard as the flame in my eyes grows faster, I have the sudden need to ball my fist in her face and plummet it. I'm so fucking mad, so infuriated with her, Chris, Thorne the whole goddamn universe.

"I told Chris that you're a psycho, but he didn't listen."

"I'm not a psycho, you dumbass."

"Yes—yes you are," she responds, her voice hardly above a whisper.

"This is where you SHUT The hell up!" I yell. My voice rings like a strike of thunder. My face I'm sure shows that of utter rage. I can do harm right now to this timid woman, bodily damage, one that she surely deserves. "If I'm a crazy person I would use up my knife that's in my purse and stab you to death. I think I should prove you right." I let go of her face and turn to my purse dangling over my arm.

"I'm not afraid of you," she lowers her head, breath, shaking, as the auditory sensations of the night insects distracts my mind.

"I find your statement ridiculously funny. Bitch you should be," I warn as I shove her again.

I abide to my feet, glaring at her with more confidence than before. I adjust my footing and walk away from Megan. I'm not a person of many words, but my actions speak volumes and judging by her lack of movement I assumed that she will take this admonition to heed.

I'd call an Uber earlier and my phone chimes alerting me that the driver is outside. I commence to walk to the awaiting taxi. I turn and look back at Megan; her face visibly perks up as the weight of my hand on her face had ease off. I paid her one last stern warning with my eyes and hope this time she takes me seriously. Its comical the way she hurriedly run towards her car, turns the ignition on and drives off.

I cringe and turn away from the huge home I'll never belong in to the sedan running couple ways ahead. This was another evening of saying one thing and behaving the opposite again. There's no legitimate excuse to this anymore. For the most part I agree with Megan, but I couldn't pass up another opportunity to scare her shitless again, but the accuracy of the matter always remain the same. When the smoke clears the contrasts of class in society always hone in on our differences.

Chris is someone who have everything. People of the province of New York literally bows at the feet. He had no grounds to feel obligation to anyone because Chris is the manifestation of power. His family business has expanded, in a secure way, and now he's wealthy like billionaires such as Warren Buffett or Bill Gates. Even Forbes' magazine had asked him to be on the cover of their latest issue. Why? Because Chris Holmes is a billionaire. A sexy billionaire, too.

I think back to the day we met, it was not a sunny day, but the sun did shed some light through the window of the high rise as I move with cleaning supplies in the office belonging to the CEO of this enormous building.

I was employed as a telephone operator by Evangeline Holmes, Chris mom, after doing three rounds of vigorous interviews. My task was simple, answer all the calls for the employees working in that respect. Transfer calls to the correct extension and if calls were rerouted, I'll convey messages or reroute the caller to an employee extension.

I've been there for seven months, the nameplate on my small wood desk says, Scarlett Jacobs, Receptionist. I am, in that perspective. I manage the calls that Mrs. Holmes personally oversees for special nodes of our financial institution. But I am also much more, I run errands setup appointments, assorts mails and just do my thing, flow along, enjoy the day and stuff finds me. It's weird how things work like that. I'm pleased with most of the staff, the ones in the big suits they don't see me. I'm invisible and a nonentity. But that's ok, I prefer it that way. Although at times it's a stressful job and the salary that comes with it, is pitiful but I won't complain. It's steady and have full benefits.

Sherry the janitor and I are not friends, but we do get along. She is always pleasant towards me and sometimes brings me breakfast. One particular day she was sweeping up her cleaning supplies on my floor, with a look and body language clearly showing that she's not feeling well. She pushes the bucket all over the place, slurring, walking slow to avoid tripping, and panting for breath.

"Sherry," I whisper, "are you ok, you look really sick. Are you feeling ok?" Sherry shakes his head.

"Not really, Scar," Sherry coughs, closing her eyes as she spins the bucket closer to my work station, "I feel like someone place a hot rod on my skin stuck a frog in my throat," she states, somewhat embarrassingly.

"If you weren't feeling well, which obviously you don't, why did you come in today?" I ask, as I jump from my seat and walk towards her.

"Because I don't have any sick days left. If I called in sick one more day my supervisor would fire me," she says, sniffing as I wrapped an arm round her shoulders.

I nod my head yes. Ray, her supervisor is a person that's very unreasonable. He's a man who lives by his own rulebook, but never earned that right as well. He once became angry with Sherry because she answered her cell phone while on the job, which she ain't supposed to do. Ray caught her talking on the phone and fired her. The problem is Sherry is the only one willing to do her job, because no one else is stepping up to the plate in his department. So, Ray has to swallow his pride and call her back. How embarrassing that Sherry had to suffer this humiliation.

"I'm so sorry Sherry," I say, shaking my head, "you really had needed to stay home though."

"You're correct, but," Sherry pauses releasing a sneeze.

"Bless you," I say as I reach across my desk for the tissue holder, "here take this," I shudder and give her three pieces of tissue.

"Thank you," she says, removing the paper, "I... I know you're right, but—," she blew her nose, "It's almost time to leave," she mutters as she glances at the clock, "oh my god," she panics a bit. "Do you think..."

"What?"

Sherry throws the tissue in the waste basket and sets off to pace the room like she was just telling some bad news from a doctor in an Emergency Room.

"Um, you are scaring me," I place another hand on her shoulder, Sherry stiffens, turning away. She groans and I experience a dreadful chill passing through us.

"Sorry Scarlett, only if I don't clean Mr. Holmes office before 5 I'll definitely lose my job and I can't afford to," she cries, her voice crack and fail however, the sound didn't carry beyond my cubicle.

I turn to the look of the clock, it's quarter to five. I then turn to face Sherry. Her expression is blank, but I can see the worry; it's a new look that I'd never witnessed before. The tenderness that usually emits, is now replaced by fear brewing in her deep brown orbs. I recognize that the man she's speaking about is the notorious Christopher Holmes.

He is the CEO of this company who tolerates no one. He's actually the son and heir to the Code Holmes Conglomerate, something everyone knows about. If you want to spend even a single dollar belonging to the company, you'll first have to prepare one of the many forms explaining exactly why you want to spend Holmes hard earned money. He most likely agrees if it's a good enough reason, but you'll absolutely have to do a 'favor' for Mr. Holmes in exchange. These 'favors' are nothing unsavory.

I've heard gossip that he didn't even initially really want to be a CEO, but the expectation of taking over other companies/etc... Was too much to pass up--even more, he's really, really good at it, as well. He has an on-going personal/hostile rivalry with Briss Technology, a company, where my ex Thorne heads.

Mr. Holmes is trying to execute a hostile takeover of that company. Legally, there are claims that Thorne stole some of Code Holmes Conglomerate intellectual property when he worked for Code Holmes, but he was not as successful. Chris Holmes is just a better leader, he's officially, the CEO of the Code Holmes Conglomerate or CHC, and been don the Crimson King. His motto is swim with the fishes and thrive, but if you ever double-cross the big fish, 'The sharks will be lucky to eat you alive before he's done with you'.

"Are you able to even function under your condition?" My voice cuts into Sherry's thoughts quite sharply.

"I hate feeling sick." She murmurs, after a minute of silence. I nod, as Sherry's expression grows serious. "I don't believe I can, I can't move an inch even if I try. I have a headache that's coming at me at full force and my joints ache." She takes a seat across from me and coughs.

"I can do it for you," I clear my throat, glancing at the clock in the room. My shift was over a few minutes go. I've already switched the telephone answering system to the computed answer machine. "I'll help you," I decided after a moment.

"Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrows lifting.

"I don't know. But I can't let you lose your job. So, I'm going to clean Mr. Holmes, you can leave and try to get some rest to recuperate." I say as my stomach churns.

"If you can't do it, I totally understand."

"I'm oh... I positive. I know how to clean an office. It should be easy to since Mr. Holmes is not in his office at the moment. It should be an easy breeze," I respond, blatantly lying.

"Are you sure?"

"It's o.k., I'll help. I don't mind." I smile at Sherry and starts taking her cleaning equipment.

"Well, thank you and I owe you one." Sherry says sincerely.

"I'll clean the Mr. Holmes office and lock up. Please go home immediately and get some much-needed rest," I let her know. She volunteers a small smile again thanking me before leaving me in my own thoughts and worry.

I sigh, it was time for clocking out and most of the employees had begin to leave the office as if the building is on fire. By the time I pull together the courage to start the task at hand the place was empty.

I worked my way down the pristine corridor, the wheels click and clack on the hard floor as I exit my office on the 1st floor past others cubicles on my way to the elevator for the 14th floor, the senior executive level. I swipe the badge Sherry gave me along the side of the floor buttons to permit me access to the 14th floor.

This level is very restricted. Normal, everyday business transactions and decisions don't frequent there. Only the most important and critical matters, decisions, and strategic clients reach into those offices.

Stepping out of the lift, I swipe the special badge me at the double doors immediately ahead of me in a wall of glass separating the high floor occupants from the activities below. That was the singular impression I once had, too. Now, as I step inside, I am again impressed by the weight and power that emanates from these offices. This story contains the Board Room, separate offices for the six board members when they are in the building, offices for the COO and CFO. The personal assistants for each are posted outside their offices, which are separated down the hallway due to the size of each office along the left. On the right is a smaller conference room, a telecommunications room, and the formal Board Room. I move to the furthest office down the vestibule and the largest, Mr. Holmes.

I rap on the door and wait quietly. I peek at his empty personal and very discrete assistant desk. Like everyone I assume have left early for the day. I remain firm on both feet with equal pressure. My spine is straight and shoulders pulled back, which has the effect of pronouncing my breasts in front of me. My attire today is a simple three-quarter lengths shirt that's a perfect shade of light green against my skin. I pair it with a maroon skirt that flirts with propriety for my billet in the Financial Industry. It ends just below my knee, which might be looked at several inches not too short for anyone else. I sigh and enter the Mr. Holmes office like a cold wind had snuck up the rear of my neck, making less noise as possible. The door was a great oak door, that wasn't locked.