50. A Friday Release

50. A Friday Release
DAY THREE

The city lights blur outside the tinted window as we glide through the late evening traffic. 

“We were set for a Friday release, but we need to push the launch by one day. Just one.” I talk to the owner of the company, while sweating in an air-conditioned car. 

A single word cuts through the silence from other side, “Why?”

“The prototype is functional, but not stable enough.” I reply, steadying my voice. “If we push it now, there is a high chance it might get crashed and that will be worse than delaying.”

I wet my lips, waiting him to speak, but I get silence.

“Our team is working non-stop, and developers will be in the office all night. We just need 24 hours to fix the glitch for a smooth release.”

I hear him inhale sharp and slow, “Dakota, we promised the stakeholders..”

“I know that very well, but then again.. I would rather delay a day than apologize the media and stakeholders for a failed launch. And I take the full responsibility of it.”

There is a pause.

I keep my phone pressed to my ear, waiting for his final answer. My heart is beating hard and fast, as if already regretting this call. 

“One day. No more.” He replies, leaving no further space for debate.

“Thank you.” I say, ending the call.

I immediately text the senior manager to shift the release of D2R by 24 hours and work with the team to fix the prototype.

The phone slides from my hand, landing beside me as I sink into the seat for some relief. But the silence in the car does nothing to ease my stress. It only magnifies the pressure pounding behind my eyes.

I reach for the bottle of Xanax again, for another pill to calm my pulsing skull. I don’t know many tablets it’s been today. Four, five? Fuck it.

I swallow the pill and shut my eyes, craving nothing more than to just get home, sleep for maybe four hours, before I disappear back into the office to fix that damn problem myself.

Can’t wait for this day to end soon!

The car slows down in front of the villa, I step out with slouching shoulders and heavy legs. Every inch of me is screaming for rest as I drag myself inside the house.

“You are funny..”

Giggles and words drift through the hall, and curiously I follow the sound, just to see what circus I am walking into. 

And there she is..

Emara, still wrapped in that ridiculous bed sheet, and chatting with my AI assistance like it is the most natural thing in the world.

“Really? What you like about me?”

Her flirtatious tone doesn’t go unnoticed by me and I roll my eyes, so hard it physically hurts.

“Your humor to laugh at my jokes.” Eve responds.

“Nice.” Emara cooes, “I like you even more now.”

I exhale slowly, realizing I should have stayed inside the car. That’s the only place I could feel peace. 

“I wish you could take me out on a date.” Emara purrs teasingly.

I close my eyes, pressing my thumb and forefinger into my temple. I can already feel the headache coming back as I listen to their robot-not-robot conversation.

“How about you send me a nude picture of yourself and I’ll send you a nude picture of myself?” Emara whispers shamelessly, and my eyes snap open.

“Then we will see each other’s nudes to check who looks like a robot and who doesn’t-”

She got to be fucking kidding me!

Before I know, I am stepping forward and cut in, “Eve, thank you for your assistance.” 

Emara quickly turns around and masks her surprise with a cheerful smile, “Hi, baby! Look who’s home early today.” 

But that ‘baby’ does nothing to cool my boiling blood.

It’s not the flirting that burn through my veins, it’s how casually she said it... Her nudes.

The very thought of her undressing, even as a joke for anyone.. Even for someone like Eve, a soulless algorithmic assistance, makes my chest tighten with something sharp and bitter.

“Here. I made you your favorite shake.” Emara slides the half empty glass with a sweet smile, like sugar dipped in arsenic.

I narrow my gaze suspiciously as her eyes sparkle with some kind of mischief.

What game is she playing now?

I take a sip cautiously and immediately regret it as a strong punch of insulin hits into my system, causing my headache to become headbang.

“Also, I added a bit of sugar because it was too blank for my taste.” She discloses, far too late.

I gulp the remaining left over shake, which tastes like middle fingers dipped in strawberry syrup.

“How about you remove your shirt, pants, and tell me about your day?” Emara purrs playfully while leaning onto the counter, wrapped in that hideous bedsheet.

Ripping that sheet off her body would be a great stress relief for me right now.

Only if it were any other day, I would have gladly played along by throwing her over the countertop, tearing that ridiculous bedsheet and then, tossing my own clothes, like she asked me to. 

But today..

“I can’t do this.” I murmur, turning away and heading upstairs with a white flag. 

My entire body is aching, and my mind is begging for release under the crushing weight of stress.

I lie on the bed, feeling my chest tightening with the pressure of delaying the project that I have poured all my brain, sweat, and years into.

It’s not just a software. It’s my dream project.

I can’t just lay back now. The anxiety is clawing me from inside and I know exactly where to unleash it.

Changing into black shorts, I head to my home gym, for an episode of self-talk and stress-detox.

Thud Thud Thud

The bag swings back and forth as my fists collide with the leather punching bag, echoing off the walls like gunshots.

This shouldn’t feel like a failure. But it sure does.

I hit harder, my knuckles ache, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

One more day.

I smack fiercely. Each strike fuels by a mixture of rage and regret.

If only I had not taken that day off for her..

I grit my teeth, slamming punches after punches into the bag as it jerks violently on the chain.

If I hadn’t taken that damn day off to spend time with Emara, and stayed focused on the project.. Maybe I wouldn’t be dragging a team of engineers through hell to make up for the delay I caused. 

Sweat drips from my temple, down to the curve of my jaw.  

I worked two fucking hard years of my life on that project.

My breath comes out hard and ragged as I punch non-stop.

And now, the most important release of my career is hanging by a thread. All because I couldn’t hold on to the temptation of wanting to be around her.

A sharp pang of regret jabs into my ribs and I pound hard into the sand bag, trying to beat down the tension crawling up my spine.

Fuck! Shit! Fuck!

This used to work. I remember how punching the bag used to help me with relieving stress, but now all I feel is my nerves throbbing inside my head, waiting to burst out. 

Focus! I snap at myself. 

I can’t fuck this up. Not for anyone. Not for her.

Just as I start to settle back into that razor-sharp mindset, I spot Emara approaching the gym with her eyes locked on me.

Great! Her timing perfect as always.