Voices

I don't let myself overthink the hug after the interview. How it lasted too long. How it was a little too tight. How he walked me to the front door; out of view from his business partners, his wife.

I willfully ignore the drop in my stomach, the quickening of my heartbeat. How conceited, in fact. Not every man you meet wants to get with you, Megan. Stop playing the victim.

When he calls for a follow-up meeting, I let myself feel optimistic about my chances. Maybe I'll get the job. The raise I'm desperately in need of. Health insurance. But then I walk into the office. To find it will be just the two of us. He offers me a glass of whiskey. I decline as he pours one for himself.

My eyes dart around the enclosed space. No one to witness crimes in the after hours. And I, a caged animal. Frantic. Desperate. Yet assiduously dedicated to the role of the professional. Don't let him see you sweat. Push down the fear. It's nothing. Nothing.

A familiar taste fills my mouth. I've been in a room like this one before. Defenseless and furious for escape. I try hard to block out the ending. The embrace that lasted too long; the one that wouldn't let me go. The hand that caressed each rib, all the way down to my hips. The silent screams.

This is not the same, Megan. Snap back to reality. Finish the interview. Drive home safe. See? Nothing to worry about. Nothing happened. This man loves his wife. But then, isn't that the same lie the last man sold me?

I decline the job. Not the right offer, I convince myself. Not the right timing.

Days pass and he won't stop texting. Wants to meet again. Promises he can work something out. An offer you couldn't refuse. He can pay you more. He can make you happier than the other job. He'll do whatever it takes. False promises ringing a little too familiar.

My ego inflates momentarily, but the dread in the pit of my stomach won't relent. I can't go back to that room again. What if he doesn't let me leave this time? Let it go, Megan. Not everyone is going to hurt you. Stop making this unprofessional. Stop believing the worst in everyone.

Weeks, month go by. But then I hear it: He found someone else for the job. Someone my age. Someone beautiful. Someone who didn't say no. Maybe she didn't know how to.

He's divorced now. He had the affair you suspect he was always in search of.

My gut is the first to scream. Too distracted was I heeding the voices. Obeying logic and reason. Playing the part. Abandoning myself.

My intuition stomped out by social conditioning. She tried so hard to send me signals. I ignored them; swallowed them whole like a good girl. Trained from the cradle not to trust my body.

After all, isn't she the problem?