Do I say no and risk everything that I have, or do I say yes and risk the same? If I say yes, I change the life that I live and those of the handful of people involved and if no; I will lose everything that makes my heart beat. What should I do?

It feels like I have the weight of the world pressing down on my chest. No 24-year-old should have to make a decision like this. No 24-year-old should have this power to change lives with just a simple yes, but the decision is mine to make.

Sleep definitely won’t come easy tonight, if at all. I look at Tobias next to me; he’s in a deep slumber, peaceful and relaxed. How can he sleep after asking me something like this?

His soft lips are slightly parted. His usually hardened jawline is finally relaxed. I notice more lines on his face than the first time that we’ve first met. He has an early graying of his temples and just a slight salt-and-peppering for a man that is just only fifteen years my senior. Are those because of me? Because of us? This?

Is this the face of a man that I can actually trust? If he’s able to do this with me, who’s to say that he can’t do this with someone else. I shake away the thought and turn away from him. Sleep doesn’t come.

The picture on the night stand stares at me. Those eyes from happier times silently judge me. How can you do this? You slut! You whore! The words scream in my head. Slut! Whore!

I try to reason with those happy eyes. It’s not my fault. Things just happened. Don’t I deserve happiness too? Happiness is forever fleeting. Grab on to it while you can and try all that you can to keep it. Happy Eyes didn’t do that. Can I?

I slip out of Tobias’s arms and then out of the bed. I’m not going to sleep tonight, not here. I pick up my clothes and throw them on as I slink out of his room, his place. I’m always slinking out. If I say yes, I wouldn’t have to any more.

* * *

It’s the morning after and I still haven’t come to a decision. I stand in line like a fiend waiting for my turn to re-up on my addiction. I move closer to my fix as transactions for talls, ventis, lattes, soy, skinny, extra whip, macchiatos are made. I laced my usual with something special today; extra shot, extra whip. I deserve it.

I wait among the mob. I look around at my fellow addicts as their names are called one by one. On the surface, they are no different than I am, semi-professionals twenty-some-things just trying to fit in, wandering lost until they just find their way.

That detached look from the things around them as they wait in their own individual space, not bothering anyone, tethered to their devices. They all would rather interact with electronics that only spews 1s and 0s off into the ether than having some human touch right in front of them.

But on the inside, are they like me too? Are they torn in this indecisiveness of what to do? Do they have the power to destroy lives and make new ones? I suspect they are.

I guess in a way we all are. We all want some connection, no matter what kind, and we are all capable of hurting people to get it. We all deserve something better than the circumstance that we are in now and I think I have found my way out. I just have to take it and make it mine. The world is ruthless. Be ruthless or be devoured.

My named is called. I grab my stash and prep it for my hit. Then and there, I taste it and the surge of my addiction runs into my bloodstream. My body pulses with elation, reinforcing the decision that I have made. The world is ruthless, be ruthless or be devoured.

* * *

I stumble into the conference room coming down from my high. I’m a little late, but I’m usually late. Tobias sits at the other end with the other account executives. The project meeting starts and my eyes glaze over.

I would like to say that how Tobias and I started was something that came from the movies; something romantic with all the typical meet-cute moments that make everyone go awww, but life doesn’t even come close. There wasn’t any me noticing him from across the room as the crowd parted or any clumsy bumping into each other and witty banter. No, there wasn’t any of that. Like any other office romance, it just started because it just happened.

After landing my second big client for the company, I became the youngest Account Executive in the company. I started to work closely with Tobias and these clients and I then had another opportunity to bring in another.

It’s just hard not to be drawn to someone who you are in such close proximity with day in and day out. Work became my life and boyfriends came and went with the taxing hours. Tobias was my only constant.

Lunches became drinks became dinners and late night cocktails. We knew everything about each other. There were no secrets between us. Then one night after landing our first client together, things just happened. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the lack of sleep, or maybe it was just because I was horny, but I kissed him and he kissed me back. That was that. Now, here we are, in a conference room and I have a decision to make.

The meeting wraps up and I’m pulled away from my reverie, back to reality. I look at Tobias and he does the same and with a simple nod, it’s done. The decision has been made and he understands. He knows that my answer is yes and he knows what he must now do.

Tonight he’s going to completely destroy Happy Eyes’s life. He’ll pick her up from the airport and tell her that he’s been having an affair with me for the past year. He will tell her that he wants a divorce and be with.

Her floral fragrance takes me by expected surprise. The soft smell of petunias, lavender, roses, and daisies; a bouquet of sweet scents, creeps in and tickles the hairs of my nostrils as I inhale her aroma. It gets me high every time.

I concentrate on the magazine article in front of me. It is from one of the many clone entertainment magazines that clutter the office. Mark Ruffalo’s career started with You Can Count on Me. I knew that already, not from the 30th time I’ve read the sentence since Sunny’s quiet appearance, but from seeing the movie. I think about my distraction as I reread the sentence for the 31st time.

This is my routine every Monday at 5:37 on the dot. I wait for my turn with the shrink to discuss my neurotic insecurities that drive me crazy from the week before. I sit in the waiting area silently counting the seconds till that ambivalent time. 5:37 PM. Tic tock, tic tock, tic tock. I’ll pick up a magazine and flip through the pages, looking at the pictures and skimming the headlines, waiting. Tic tock. I go through four or five magazines before she arrives.

She arrives. Her wavy Sunny mane tied into pigtails. Her fair unmade skin glows with a dark and creamy complexion. Her dainty manicured hands moves with a smooth delicacy as she flips through the magazine. The index finger moves through the pages as she reads with her finger. Her small feet covered in the same worn black canvas Keds. Sunny is lightly decorated with a pair of small silver hoop earrings and a simple wristwatch. Her lips curl ever so slightly at the corner of her mouth as she goes through her pages. I wonder what makes her smile.

I watch her silently over the magazine that I gave up reading by now. I hold it only to hide my true actions. I stare hoping to get a glance into her soul, to make a connection.

We’ve been meeting like this for four months now. I know everything about her but I really know nothing. She’s soft spoken and quiet; even her cell phone doesn’t draw attention to itself. She never notices anyone around her, never looks up, say ‘Hi’, make noise. Sunny is very private. Sunny will talk with her sister about the plans for the weekend and get updates on her runt brother who is ever so six. She would make plans with her friend to go watch a movie or hang at the latest hot spot. Nothing outside of the life she made exists to her.

5:45 PM. The door to the office opens. The familiar sight of the plump waitress drying her beady wet eyes goes through the door followed by Dr. Coxley, an elegant woman of 55. You can tell that she was once pretty long ago. Coxley gives the waitress another assurance and sends her along her insecure ways until the next pep talk a week later.

I sit stealing glances from time to time weaving in and out of the boring conversation that I’ve gotten myself into. What am I talking about? Tanning? Music? I don’t know as my mind wanders over to you and your touch.

Of course you pay me no mind as you go about conversing with those around you. I don’t even exist to you.

I tell myself time and time again to forget about you ‘cause you never seemed to be interested. I’m holding out for a dream that will never come true ‘cause you will never give me the time of day. Sure we have our chit chats, our “how do you dos”, but honestly, how much of that was you being nice? How much of that was just a routine that you go through cause you deal with guys pining over you day in and day out? How much?

I take a sip from my drink, getting drunk with envy about the guy that is in your life. There has to be a guy right? If not, then why aren’t you interested? I’m sure he’s tall, dark, and handsome, like the clichés and cookie cutter jocks that most girls pine for.

I thought you were better than that, but I guess I was wrong. I thought you would be interested in guys who are smart and who are able to challenge you intellectually. Guys that would compliment the life you live. Guys like me. You are too smart for those iron heads, too classy for them muscles, and just too perfect for me.

But it isn’t true. It is all a lie ‘cause if it wasn’t, you would have seen that. We are perfect. You are the yin to my yang.

* * *

I sit taking in the scene. The bar is dark and impersonal. The Famous Fab plays their little set of Beatles songs. John is a little nasally and the Asian George looks as if he is about to go postal. I guess Yoko has already gotten in the mix. Damn her.

Slowly I nurse the beer in front of me. It’s not crowded tonight. I take a quick glance around. No one interesting is in here. Such disappointment. I finished the beer and order another.

Strawberry Fields ends as Let it Be begins. A man walks in. A freak if there is one. He’s a middle-aged white Cliff Huxtable. The sweater he wears is an abomination to the eyes, his pants a bit too tight, his hair a greasy mess, and his sneakers, a gray white of used-ness. The perverted grin makes him certifiable.

Cliff comes to the bar. I casually direct my attention somewhere else so he doesn’t suspect me of giving him the run down. He grabs his drink and heads over to a table in front of the band. Good, he didn’t ask me to dance. Phew.

I start on the beer that I just got. I just take in the scene, tapping my fingers along to Here Comes the Sun.

* * *

I strum my fingers to the beat of Here Comes the Sun, singing along in my head. I notice the girl at the bar. She sits alone. I can tell she’s just taking everything in, not wanting to participate in the games that singles usually play in bars.

Now the guy that just came in, he’s different. He’s dressed for the game, at least in his own mind. But unfortunately he was never invited to play. He’s the kid that was always picked last at recess; a sore thumb in a roomful of fingers. But you got to give him some credit for trying.

We’ve talked before. Maximillian or Axim for short. Quickly approaching 40. An accountant no less, so he knows where he stands in the game, but yet he tries.

Axim usually follows the same routine. He comes in three or four times a week. Tonight a Tuesday and the next time will be Thursday, when The Mandrakes are playing. He’ll get a shot of scotch and a chaser, usually a blonde. This just sets him free. He let things digest, loosening him up, and then he’s game, he’s money.

Let the games begin. As Ringo drums his drums, Axim gets in the groove. A hip shake there, a head bob there, and finally a little boogie shake to throw off any inhibitions that may be left.

He scans the bar. The perverted smile on his face gets bigger. He’s grinning with sleaze. There’s many here tonight, many preys. Axim finally eyes me, a nod of recognition. I raise my glass and offer him a toast of luck. He moves on.

* * *