This Is Inevitable | #ONC2022

Chapter 3 | This Is Bad

Hazel drags her tongue over my cheek, startling me awake. She darts away as I groan, sunlight hitting my face like a brick slung into the air. 

It's a miracle I didn't punch her. I've been known to wake up with a start, the physical action being completely unpredictable and Hazel was very close to seeing it first hand.

My head aches, like someone's smacked it with a frying pain, and my throat is dryer than Ben Shapiro's wife on a date night. As I sit up, my joints are stiff, cracking as I move myself into a sitting position. Wait. I'm not in my room. This isn't my bed. This is the couch. I'm in the loungeroom. 

It all starts coming back to me. Shit. The manuscripts infront of me are a dead giveaway. The empty wine bottle sits at the edge of the coffeetable, the accompanying glass devoid of any lingering wine. Fuck, I drank the entire bottle and passed out last night on the couch. Shit shit shit. 

Oh no. The phonecall comes back to me, and all I can picture is Amir's angry face as I look for my phone. What time is it? Fucking hell, it better not be nine.

Finding it buried underneath a few throw pillows, I click my lockscreen on. My heart sinks. I have fifteen minutes to get to work to get to the meeting on time. Fuck! FUCK!

Running to the bathroom, I brush my teeth blindingly fast, nearly tripping over Hazel as I power walk to my room to get a fresh set of clothes. Fuck, where the hell is my necktie?! I dig through my dresser, putting on my emergency one. Spraying on enough deodorant to make actual garbage smell delightful, I then burst out of my room, shoving and kicking my feet into my shoes as I gather the manuscripts into my work bag. If I'm late, this meeting won't be about a promotion; it'll be a termination. 

The last thing I see as I rush out the door is Hazel sitting on the couch, watching me. I slam it shut, locking it.

#

Sweat dripping down my brow, I cross through the lobby, stopping to quickly check the time. I pull out my phone. Five minutes till the meeting. Thank god, I may just be able to make it. Ten straight minutes of power walking and running at the right moment worked out in it's favour. All those days of rugby have served my physical fitness well. One final hurdle to go.

I look towards the stairwell. No way in hell am I going to be able to climb that many flights of stairs to get to the top floor and reach the meeting in time. I guess my only option is the elevator. 

Sliding my phone into my pocket, I take a step forward. As I go to move again, a security guard grabs my arm, startling me as he basically forces eye contact.

This guy is new. Roughly my age but half my muscle mass, the mixed-raced man looks at me with slight fear and maximum determination. 

"Hello sir," he calmly says, his Jamacian accent throwing me off for a moment. He slightly relaxes his grip. "Do you work here?"

"Yes, sorry" I say, hurrridley pulling out my lanyard from my bag, putting it over my neck and showing him my ID. "Why?"

He shakes his head. "Sorry, it's my first day. I shouldn't have grabbed you either; sorry. The receptionist thought you were homeless or something. Apologies for this. She insisted that you were told to relax and calm down, as she was dealing with a VIP author when you arrived and was horribly distracted by your appearance. I'll let her know that there is nothing to worry about."

Relaxing his grip, he lets me go. I turn towards the front desk, and lock eyes with her. The queen asshat herself, Moira, stands behind the counter watching the whole scene unfold. She's been a straight up bitch to me since my very first interaction with her. I walked in on my first day with Ayisha, and Tate was following closeby behind us. As we went up to reception, Tate introduced himself to us and cracked a few lame jokes about the place, none of which were amusing but I laughed to be polite. Moira was cold to say the least, practically throwing my lanyard and badge at me once we reached the front desk.