That night I was laying in my bed, sleepless. I had been tossing and turning for hours. My earlier interaction had practically strangled me. My new resolve to better manage my emotions was working, but it definitely wasn't easy.
Cece had pulled me deeper and deeper into her plan, and I was now fully entrenched. I had started to hide bags and boxes deep in the storerooms of my vet clinic. Among bags of litter and medical supplies for two, four, and even three-legged creatures, there were a few inconspicuous cardboard boxes that contained carefully measured dime bags of snowy powder and large bags of budding green. I had been storing it and measuring it for her, in dark nights briefly illuminated by white-blue fluorescence and surrounded by the soft rustling of the animals in the next room. However, we'd both agreed that Cece would do most of the face-to-face interactions. She didn't know about my new resolve to be stronger and braver, so she still thought that I would break down when encountering negative situations. It's not like I wanted to carry out the transactions, so I let her keep thinking that I wasn't ready.
Yet, today I had had to sell to one woman. Cece wasn't able to make the appointment, and the woman was going to buy a lot of our wares for a lot of money, so we couldn't miss the transaction. Cece had practically ordered me to go to this woman, but had assured me that I would only have to speak a few sentences to the buyer at most.
The apartment complex that I drove to was much worse than Pointe Place. The raggedy buildings huddled close, tied together by telephone wires and the dripping graffiti that mirrored itself across the weedy sidewalk. As usual, my sixth sense for despair kicked in right away. My shoulders hunched as I forced myself to walk into the front door and up to the second story, to a room where a bony woman was putting makeup on her thin face. The effort that I was making to hold back sobs was choking me, along with the thick air in the room. The sadness there was pervasive, clogging my throat and my nose. Yet I was determined not to cry. So, when the thin woman complained of how her son wouldn't even call, I choked back my emotions.
But now, as I lay thinking of her, I wished that she'd received a call from her son instead of a bag from her plug. Hopefully she'd find that that would heal her more.
Cece had pulled me deeper and deeper into her plan, and I was now fully entrenched. I had started to hide bags and boxes deep in the storerooms of my vet clinic. Among bags of litter and medical supplies for two, four, and even three-legged creatures, there were a few inconspicuous cardboard boxes that contained carefully measured dime bags of snowy powder and large bags of budding green. I had been storing it and measuring it for her, in dark nights briefly illuminated by white-blue fluorescence and surrounded by the soft rustling of the animals in the next room. However, we'd both agreed that Cece would do most of the face-to-face interactions. She didn't know about my new resolve to be stronger and braver, so she still thought that I would break down when encountering negative situations. It's not like I wanted to carry out the transactions, so I let her keep thinking that I wasn't ready.
Yet, today I had had to sell to one woman. Cece wasn't able to make the appointment, and the woman was going to buy a lot of our wares for a lot of money, so we couldn't miss the transaction. Cece had practically ordered me to go to this woman, but had assured me that I would only have to speak a few sentences to the buyer at most.
The apartment complex that I drove to was much worse than Pointe Place. The raggedy buildings huddled close, tied together by telephone wires and the dripping graffiti that mirrored itself across the weedy sidewalk. As usual, my sixth sense for despair kicked in right away. My shoulders hunched as I forced myself to walk into the front door and up to the second story, to a room where a bony woman was putting makeup on her thin face. The effort that I was making to hold back sobs was choking me, along with the thick air in the room. The sadness there was pervasive, clogging my throat and my nose. Yet I was determined not to cry. So, when the thin woman complained of how her son wouldn't even call, I choked back my emotions.
But now, as I lay thinking of her, I wished that she'd received a call from her son instead of a bag from her plug. Hopefully she'd find that that would heal her more.
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