Two Goals

"I can't even hate you for it." His hands gripped his hair. "You won't even deny it!" he screamed out in frustration. "Do you love him?" he asked. It sounded more like a plea. He wanted me to deny. I didn't answer him. I just turned and walked away.

The door slid open once more, and the faces turned to look at me.

"I hope that all of you don't mind. I found it rather embarrassing to go in front of the other employees in my attire. I can't quite say that they've caught me in such a state before. I have a reputation to uphold, and my disheveled state will only tarnish my image." They nodded and ushered me in. Some of them smiled, some stared at me critically; there was one face—a critical one that furiously gauged my every move. The chief was judgmental and disgusted by the turn of events. If I ever accomplished what I aspired to, I would be thrown out of the organization on the grounds of being fickle minded.

I didn't have it in me to care.

I had two goals in mind.