"And who do you think will believe you?" Mom asks. "Who do you think will believe an out of work journalist who is also a petulant child over her mother who is an Editor-In-Chief of the largest newspaper in the country and the mayor of New York City?"
But she forgets.
I have the bullet that Natalie invented.
The one with the recorder. I'm wearing it.
I smile.
I mean, you didn't expect such deviousness from me, did you? Well, when you're playing the stakes that I'm playing for, you gotta up your game. Or something like that.
Mom's eyes travel down my body and she takes a step closer.
"Or do you think I don't know that you're wearing a little bullet in your cooch?" she asks me.
What.
The.
Fuck.
I can't move. Mom flashes a smile.
"You think you're recording this?" she asks me. "You don't know that my computer flashed the moment you walked in a picture that showed where you had a recording device? That I turned on a white noise machine. That all you recorded is garbage noise?"
I'm shaking.
I don't know what to say.
I feel an utter sense of defeat. My last card.
“I knew you'd try something like this ever since you met that bitch Natalie,” Mom continues on.
Oh my God. What is going on here?
Is she following me?
"Ever since you left work here I've had you followed, in case you were wondering," Mom confirms for me. "You think you're clever, girl, you have no idea how out of your league you are."
I'm shaking. She's defeated me. Completely.
"Now go, and get out of my sight before I decide to destroy you as well."
I want to leave, but my knees don't move.
"Go and get the fuck out of my office, daughter," she says with the grating and harsh voice of a monster.
Holding back tears, I get my knees to move and get out.
Magnus
It's like the fucking world is going to Hell and someone gave me a front row ticket to the carnage.
This morning, coming into work for Davion Development, two people stopped to hiss at me. Who the fuck hisses at people anymore? I just kept walking. It wasn't really worth my time to stop and deal with a hisser.
I mean just the thought of someone hissing ... is fucking strange, something that I associate with a snake or some other reptile. Not sure about whether I really equate that with things that humans do.
But then again these New Yorkers on the street probably think I'm some sort of snake at this point considering the kind of press I've been getting.