•Dichotomy•
|"A division or contrast between two things that are or are represented as being opposed or entirely different."|
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How many silhouettes can one trap in oneself? How many faces can a mask hide...
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Thump! Thump! Thump!
Her headache thrashed. Everything felt dark and her head was spinning with dizziness.
Thump. Thump.
"Ms. Bridgette!"
Her eyes flew open and she sucked in a gasp, as if it was the first breathe she inhaled ever since she was born. She was covered in sweat despite the chills that was breathed out by the AC in her office. Office . . . she was in her office. In her office. Soft rays of the afternoon sun glowed inside her chambers. From afar, she could hear the very faint rattles of busy crowds and dings of elevators and intercoms blaring.
She stood up slowly, and held out her trembling hands to examine herself. There was no blood, no wound and no horrific evidences of what she had faced last night.
But how . . . . . how much it felt like her brains were being stabbed by a six - inch knife. She couldn't help but silently groan in pain.
"Ms. Bridgette. Are you ignoring me or are you really busy?", The glass door cracked open and Mrs. Heckles poked her head in.
Her exhausted eyes could not seem to focus on her fully. The moment she laid her eyes on her, she gasped in shock and rushed by her side.
"My God! Ms. Bridgette! Did you meet with an accident?", her Southern accent thickening with worry. Her hand pried open her left eye and then she gave a quick examine to her face. Julia's skin felt normally heated. But Alex did not want to have any sort of physical contact with any type of person. She felt exhausted. Moreover, her vision was a bit blurry and it was quite difficult see things clearly.
She was violently, desperately in need of her glasses. But William had made sure to break its lens into pieces when he attacked her last night. It would not be soon that they shall be repaired.
Julia walked her out of the closed office and settled her on the couch in the lounge. Just across the President's office.
"Ms. Bridgette. Please . . . look at me. " Alex tipped her chin up to face her. Her eyes blinked rapidly, forcing her vision to focus, and licked her dry lips. "Well," she sighed, "Seems like we will have to inform Sylvia and get you on a sick leave."
Usually, Alex would have protested. She had worked through exhaustion and sickness before. But today, it felt different. She had been a patient of myopia since she could ever remember. Even a day without her glasses was a bane. It would become impossible to see things and walk to any place without tripping a couple of times. And the headache that blurry vision induced rendered her incapable to focus on anything
It was . . . . impossible. Every muscle in her body ached. Her eyes felt raw. Her throat felt dry. It had been a while since she was beaten up so brutally like last night.
You're weak, Alexandra. So weak. Always whines. Stupid girl. Come to us. Let us make you stronger.
She shook her head let those voices slip away. Julia looked at her and carefully asked, "Did you meet with an accident, Ms. Bridgette? Or is anyone hurting you? Is everything alright? Your face doesn't look good. All cuts and bruises. Your hands too look a little . . . . . grazed."
