Running away with Mr Wickham was liberating.
I felt happy that I made such a risky and adventurous decision, albeit at the expense of the safe and secure merger. There was shock, horror, anger and so many unanswered questions. They stayed unanswered.
After all, the merger was over.
A part of me really did not want to care about it anymore. This was a new me. Risky, adventurous me.
This new takeover began with snippets of fun and excitement. I could feel the Wickham-esque badassery growing on me. It was unfamiliar, but pretty damn good.
Then came the hostile part.
The fun and excitement, lasted about 90 days.
Then the glorious shitstorm arrived.
Wickham was no longer charming, attentive or committed. He got his prize, displayed it for 90 days, then forgot about it.
Another notch in the belt, another conquest, another giddy girl who stupidly fell into a stupid trap.
When this giddy girl tried to reason and pondered out loud about the initial promises of this new and improved merger, she got shut out, pushed out and welcomed into a whole new world of pain.
‘What do you want from me?’ ‘Stop being so needy.’ ‘YOU chose this. Deal with it.’ ‘You should have known what you were getting into.’ ‘Shape up or ship out, b*tch.’
She meandered through so much shouting, screaming, slaps, scrapped knees and so much vehement crying that she could have drowned in it.
She even cried all the way back to Collins, but Collins could not help. He tried, but Collins had his obligations, his and his family’s reputation and his own heart to mend.
He made his choice.
And I had stupidly made mine.