Marin

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Talk about a shitty month. No better make that a shitty year.

It had started out with a bang. I was hired as one of the contributing writers for Newsworthy Magazine, one of the best news sources in the country. I couldn’t believe my luck. Mom said it wasn’t luck at all. I’d always been a writer from the time I was a little kid doodling creative notes on paper everywhere. When I graduated with my coveted degree in journalism, she and Dad could not have been any prouder. Even though Dad would rather have seen me go on to law school, it wasn’t in the stars for me. I had no more interest in sitting in a courtroom arguing a divorce case than I had sitting in a dental chair getting a root canal. No thank you. Give me a juicy story to chase. That was what perked me up.

Everything was perfect until the day my news director sent me off on a mission. He wanted me to poke my nose into a possible story on what was happening in a chain of popular daycare centers. Someone leaked a story of potential abuse and neglect. When I returned empty-handed, he threatened to give the story to someone else.

“What story? There is no story,” I said, challenging him. That was the day I learned how things worked at this publication.

“When I say there’s a story, there’s a story.”

One of the things I prided myself on was my investigative abilities. So, I caved and went back to the drawing board. As I sat in my tiny cubby, scratching my head, trying to figure out where to go on this, another colleague approached.

“Who pissed in your coffee?”

“Pete, I’m stumped.”

“What’s up?”

Pete wasn’t my favorite reporter. He did some things that I wasn’t particularly fond of, like stretching the truth a bit. But I needed an ear, so I spilled. He laughed.

“Welcome to real world journalism. Tell me what you’ve got.”

I shared my notes with him. His eyes were on fire. “You have enough here to write the most damning exposé ever.”

“What do you mean?”

He pointed to a quote. “Look. This right here, for instance, where this one caregiver says, ‘At times we watched an extra child, which meant leaving one or two unattended in a play area, for a minute or so.’ Take that out of context saying they were unattended for an undetermined length of time.”

I insisted, “But that’s lying.”

He patted my arm. “That’s journalism, sweetheart.”

“But the play area was penned off with nothing in it but a couple of toys. It was a virtual playpen.”

“Who’s to know the difference?”

I was dumbfounded.

The conversation left a sour taste in my mouth that lingered all day. My conscience could not … would not … accept that. Instead, I returned to the daycare center and went for another interview. After asking them countless probing questions, I determined there was no neglect or abuse going on there. Maybe they didn’t change a diaper immediately after the child soiled it, but who did?

Returning to the office, I told my director once again what I found.

“Either you write an exposé, or else.”

“Or else?” Was he going to fire me?

“There is one other option.” He got up from behind his desk and walked around to where I stood. When he got in front of me, his beady eyes raked my body from head to toe. Was he really asking for sexual favors in exchange for my job?

“What exactly is the other option?” I wanted him to spell it out for me.

“I doubt I need to explain that to you. You’re a relatively bright woman.”

Relatively bright woman? I wanted to punch his smug face. “If you’re suggesting what I think you are, that would be considered sexual harassment.”

In a sickly sweet voice, he hit back with, “Well, Marin, I haven’t suggested anything at all. So that would be difficult to prove, wouldn’t it?”

My jaw sagged open. What a fucking bastard. He was right. It would be his word against mine.

“But getting back to your assignment, I believe you have a job to do. If you feel you’re not up to the task, unfortunately, it looks like we may have to let you go.”

“You know what? I’ll save you the trouble. I quit. You’ll have my resignation on your desk by the end of the day.” I spun on my heel and got the hell out of there. My next stop was that daycare center. They needed to be warned. It was a good thing all my notes had been handwritten and not copied into the computer. Those fucking assholes would’ve ruined that place.

My fingers frantically typed out my resignation letter and I left it with his admin as I walked out of the building, carrying a banker’s box filled with my things. I made sure it was done after I downloaded all my files onto a thumb drive. Then I hurried over to the daycare center to warn them.

They were numb.

“I’m sorry. I was sent to uncover abuse or whatever,” I explained. “When there was none, my director basically told me to manufacture something in not so many words. The reason I’m here is to tell you not to grant a single person an interview.”

The woman I spoke to rubbed her eyes. “This is a total nightmare. We’re being targeted because of one mother who didn’t approve of our standards. When she hired us, we explained the way we did things and she even signed an agreement. But then her child came down with strep. It happens. When one gets it, it sweeps through like wildfire. And that was it. She came after us as though we infected her son with the plague.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you anymore because I quit. I wouldn’t do what they wanted me to. So maybe let it die a slow death. Or have your parents that support you put recommendations on your website. I don’t know, but I need to go. Best of luck to you.”

My heart was heavy knowing what they were dealing with. I was only happy I didn’t add to it with a story filled with lies. Since I resigned, I left work well before quitting time. I arrived home much earlier than usual. My boyfriend, Damien, was home. His car was parked out in front of the duplex we shared. I sure was happy because I needed a shoulder to lean on and a good stiff drink.

When I entered the apartment, I expected to see him in the living room with the TV on, but he wasn’t there. I plunked the banker’s box down on the dining room table then headed to the bathroom. As I turned the corner, I heard a moan. Then another, and then a series of Oh yesss, Damie, just like that. Keep it up.

What the fuck. Damie? He likes to be called Damie? I was with him for over two years and never knew that.

Using the bathroom fled right out of my mind. Seeing who my boyfriend was with and what they were doing, in my bed, took its place. I marched into the bedroom and got the shock of my life. Damien, or Damie, was going down on my best friend and apparently doing quite a fantastic job of it. His head was buried between her thighs and she was meowing like a starving cat. “Yessss, give it to me, right there. Oh, yesssss, Damie. Lick me good. Suck my bean. I love it when you do that little swirl. Yessss, that’s my favorite. You know how to do it. You’re the best pussy eater in the world.”

He mumbled something about how great her pussy was, I think, but it was hard to tell for sure because he said it with his mouth against her. I was superglued to the carpet, rooted there by shock.

The worst thing about this was Damien had only gone down on me once or twice in the whole time we’d been together. He told me he didn’t like to go down on a woman and here he was, the apparent master of it. That little fucker. I finally found my voice and decided to use it.

“Oh yes, Damie, give it to her good. You’re the best pussy eater in the world.” I did my best job of mimicking my friend. I even added a meow at the end.

Damien flew to his feet, naked as the day he was born. It was quite comical at the time, seeing his dick bob up and down. I almost laughed and would have, if I hadn’t been so furious.

“Marin! What the hell are you doing here?”

“I live here. It’s our home. Our bedroom. Our bed. Remember? Or has her pussy suddenly given you amnesia?”

I stood there with my arms crossed, acting brave, but inside I was a quivering mess and everything was beginning to crush into tiny pieces. This was the man who said only the day before —a measly twenty-four hours ago—that he’d love me forever. Who only last night told me I was the Yin to his Yang, the cream to his Oreo. What the hell happened between then and now?

“Uh, yeah, of course I remember.”

“Then why the hell are you eating another woman’s pussy in my bed?”

“It’s not what you think?”

“It’s not what I think? What … do you think I’m blind? You’re naked and so is she. And from all accounts, both of you are having one helluva damn pussy party.” I peeked around him to see if I could look her in the eye. “And Dawn! How could you? Of all people, I would’ve expected better from you. You’re supposed to be my best friend.” Then I aimed my gaze back at Damien. “You’re fucking my best friend.” I balled up my fist and nailed him with an uppercut to his right jaw. His head snapped to the left and he actually groaned. Loud. Dawn screamed. “Shut up you two-timing whore. You’re next.” I stomped over to the side of the bed, ready to lay into her with my fist, only Damien grabbed me from behind.

“Stop it. You can’t punch Dawn.”

“Let me go.” I struggled like a demon-possessed madwoman until he released me. By this time, Dawn had rolled off the bed and I jumped on top of it, chasing her. “You fucking whore, get back here.”

I did a flying leap, tackling her to the ground as she screamed. Then I grabbed her streaked blond hair and yanked it as hard as I could, practically pulling her to her feet. When I got a clear shot, I fired a jab at her cheek.

Damien seized me by the shoulders and dragged me off of her. Dawn screamed at the top of her lungs, “She’s killing me.”

“Shut the hell up, Dawn,” Damien yelled.

I jumped on Damien’s back and knocked him in the head. He shook me off and I fell to the floor, hitting my own head.

“Call the police,” Dawn yelled.

“And say what?” Damien asked.

“She attacked us,” Dawn said.

“You would’ve done the same. She caught us naked in her bed for Christ’s sake.”

I lay on the floor, catching my breath and stared at them. Then I sat up and in a defeated tone said, “You were the two people I trusted most in the world. Damien, just last night you told me how much you loved me. And you”—I pointed at Dawn—“you told me just the other day you thought Damien was going to propose soon.” Tears rolled down my cheeks, uninhibited. “Were you two planning the wedding together and then figuring out a way you could still fuck around behind my back?” Suddenly, I was sick to my stomach at the idea of this. I stood up on wobbly legs. I stared them down with cold eyes and spewed, “You two deserve each other. I’ll be back later for my things.” Then I pointed to the bed and spat, “That you can keep.”

I felt physically ill. Leaving the room, I only stopped to grab the banker’s box on the dining table. Then I heard, “Marin, wait. Don’t go.”

Seriously? A million dollars wouldn’t have made me stop. The idea of his hands on me after what I just witnessed was as disgusting as those of my former employer. But at least my former employer was sort of upfront about it. Damien had been lying and running around behind my back and how long had that been going on?

I drove until I pulled into my parents’ driveway. Mom was shocked to see me. But one look told her more than she needed to know. When I broke down in her arms, she hugged me. I couldn’t tell her for days what happened. It came out in pieces when I finally did.

Dad, being the lawyer he was, wanted to sue the magazine.

“How? There was no evidence or proof of harassment.”

“I wish you had called.”

“Dad, I couldn’t work there anyway. They were unscrupulous. I don’t want to work for a publication like that.” He understood.

Then I told them about Damien and Dawn. Mom was hurt too because she really loved Dawn. We met right after college and were roommates until Damien and I moved in together. Dawn was the one who urged me to date him. I tried to piece in my mind when they could’ve gotten together, but it was a blank. I stopped thinking about it because every time I did, it upset me too much.

A month later, my parents’ frustration with me grew. I’d given up finding a job as a journalist. My attitude went to hell over the profession after my experience and though my gut told me I was wrong, my jaded belief had every news publication lumped in with Newsworthy Magazine. I no longer trusted any media source and gave up on the whole idea of working in journalism period.

I ended up bartending, coming home right before the sun rose, and sleeping until I had to be at work the next day. I dyed my hair the colors of the rainbow in an attempt the bring some cheer into my life. It didn’t work. Mom and Dad flipped out.

“How will you ever find a respectable job now? I can see tinting your hair but that … that is downright shocking, Marin.” Mom’s eyes held a bucketful of disappointment. The daughter she’d been so proud of only a few years before was now letting her down. But I didn’t have the energy to change. I lived in the lower level of their home, hiding from friends, and the only activity I had other than work, was riding my skateboard. It was something I’d enjoyed in my college years and hadn’t done since I’d met Damien. I’d abandoned everything I did with him, ridding myself of the hurt he’d inflicted.

“You look like one of those skater kids I see at the park on weekends.”

“Maybe I want to look like that,” I said.

“But why?” Mom asked. Dad stared in mute shock.

I shrugged a shoulder and played with one of my new earrings. I’d had my ears pierced several more times, along with an eyebrow and my nose.

“Maybe I like that look,” I said with defiance.

By now, Mom stood in front of me, inspecting me. “You never used to. Are you on drugs?”

“What?”

“Drugs? Are you taking them?”

Throwing my arms in the air, I yelled, “No. Just because my hair is colorful does not mean I’m on drugs. You guys are really something.”

Dad stepped forward. “Young lady, do not use that tone with your mother. You have to agree with us on some things. There has been a drastic change in your looks and behavior. You don’t socialize, you don’t do anything but work in that bar, and skateboard. We’re worried about you.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine.” I didn’t need any reminders of what was wrong in my life. I was fully aware of everything. It was why I was a damn hermit. My intestines twisted in pain every time I thought of how I ended up in this place.

Mom tapped my arm. “Honey, you’re not fine. Why don’t you talk to someone?”

“Who?”

Mom and Dad glanced at each other before she answered. “How about a therapist to help get you through this?”

I held out my hand, palm facing them. “Oh, no you don’t. You keep them the hell away from me. I’ll figure this out. Just give me a little more time. Okay?”

Five months later, after I’d lost my job as a bartender for being consistently late and had nothing to do in over a month, Mom and Dad came into my room one morning and made an announcement.

Dad began, “This is it. We’re done. You can’t continue like this.”

Mom stepped in. “Honey, we love you to the stars and back, and then some, but you’re wasting your life away. So, we’ve made some new arrangements for you.”

“Arrangements?”

“Yes, arrangements,” Mom said. “A friend of mine has a son. His wife tragically died in a plane crash and he is in need of a live-in nanny. You’re hired. You leave today. You’ll move in with him and take care of his two children.”

“What? No. I can’t. Nope. Kids and I are like oil and water.”

“You don’t have a choice, Marin. It’s either that or the streets,” Dad said. He was serious as hell.

“Dad, please.” I used my best begging voice.

“Nope. I can’t watch you live like this another day.”

My stomach crashed to the floor. What the fuck was I going to do? I was an only child. I never even so much as babysat. I voiced those concerns.

“You’ll figure it out,” Mom said, sounding all chipper. “You’re pretty resourceful and bright if I do say so myself.”

Dad opened the blinds and added, “Take a shower and start packing. You need to be there by one.”

“How old?”

“What?” Mom asked.

“How old? The kids.” I figured I should know that going in.

“Oh, yes.” She chuckled. “I guess that would be helpful. The daughter, Kinsley is six, or maybe she just turned seven, and the son, Aaron is ten months.”

I was so fucking fucked. I’d never even changed a diaper and here I was getting ready to be a nanny for a ten-month-old. What the hell was I going to do?