All Chapters of Chasing The Boss: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

The first thing I was aware of was a pounding in my head. It felt like a hammer hitting the inside of my skull over and over. The second thing was the buzzing. A constant, annoying vibration against the wood of my nightstand. I groaned and forced my eyes open. The light from the window was too bright. I squinted, my mouth was dry and my body felt heavy.My phone was buzzing endlessly. I reached for it, with my clumsy hand. The screen was filled with notifications. Missed calls from Gregory. Dozens of text messages from investors. Emails with urgent subject lines. My heart started to beat faster, a cold dread pushing through the fog of my hangover. I knew immediately that something was wrong.I sat up slowly, the room was spinning but I held myself up. I looked beside me. The other side of the bed was empty and neatly made. Lexi was not there. The memory from last night flashed in my mind. I had come home drunk. Lexi had helped me out of my clothes and had sat at the edge of the bed t

The world had shrunk to the four walls of my penthouse. Days blurred into nights, and I lost all track of time. The electronic blinds remained shut, casting the spacious apartment in a perpetual, gloomy twilight. The only light came from the television screens, which I kept on mute, the silent images of news reports flashing like ghosts.I did not answer the door. I did not answer the phone. The buzzing of my cell phone was like a constant, angry insect I ignored. I could hear them sometimes, on the other side of the door. Gregory’s calm, reasoned voice. The building manager’s concerned tones. Once, I even heard the sharp, worried voice of my head of security, Marcus. But I did not respond.My mind was a prison, and the warden was a five-year-old boy.The nightmares were the worst. They were not dreams, they were me reliving the most horrible moment of my life. One I had spent years of therapy to erase. But now it's back. I would find myself back in that grand, echoing ballroom of my

The apartment was dark. It had been dark for days now. Or was it weeks? I had lost count. Time had no meaning anymore when every moment felt the same. I would wake up. Stare at the ceiling. Remember my past. Sleep. And repeat.The nightmares came every time I closed my eyes. The same scenes. The same terror. The same helplessness. I was five years old again, trapped in that room with the shadow looming over me. I would wake up gasping, my sheets soaked with sweat, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.I stopped trying to sleep at night. Instead, I would lie on the couch and drift in and out of consciousness during the day, when the sunlight behind the closed blinds made the nightmares slightly less intense.The television was still on, still muted. I watched the silent images of news anchors moving their mouths, talking about me. About my trauma. About my childhood. About the secret that was no longer secret.My phone has been silent for two days now. I h

I lay on the couch, staring at nothing. The rough fabric of the cushions scratched against my skin. I had not moved for hours. Maybe longer. Time did not mean anything anymore.The silent television casted blue and gray shadows across the room. It was like watching ghosts dance on the walls. A puppet show for an audience of one. Me. Alone.A sharp, electronic buzz cut through the silence.My body tensed. It was not the knocking on the door. I had long learned to ignore that sound. This was different. This was the landline phone. The old corded thing that was mounted on the kitchen wall. I had kept it only because it came with the building. I thought I had unplugged it weeks ago.The sound felt like an intrusion. Like someone breaking into the small, dark world I had built for myself.It buzzed again. Insistently. I pulled the blanket over my head like a child hiding from monsters. But it was useless. The sound was like a drill boring into my skull. Each ring felt louder than the las

The morning light crept through the gaps in the curtains. I had not opened them in weeks. The light felt wrong. It felt too bright.I was lying on the floor of my living room. I could not remember falling asleep there. My body ached badly. My head throbbed. An empty whiskey bottle lay on its side near my hand.I stared at the ceiling. The white paint had small cracks running through it. I had never noticed them before. Now they were all I could see. Like fractures in my life. Breaking everything apart.My phone buzzed. It had been buzzing all morning. I had ignored it like I ignored everything else. But the buzzing would not stop. Over and over. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.Finally I dragged myself up in frustration. My movements were slow and heavy. Like moving through water. I found my phone on the kitchen counter. The cracked screen made it hard to see. But I could make out the notifications. Hundreds of them.News alerts. Text messages. Missed calls. All saying the same thing.I tapped on on