YOU LOOK LIKE AN ANGEL, WALK LIKE AN ANGEL, TALK LIKE AN ANGEL, BUT I GOT WISE...
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_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
Why am I the one doing chores when Holly and Oliver take a day off. I mean, yes they practically lied to take care of the little baby, -who still doesn't have name-, but it is unfair. I should be down at reception doing nothing, as usual. That's my safe place, not-
....not 225.
This number brings my feet to the edge of a cliff, and it will force me down. One day or the other. I just know it. My heart never seems to get used to it. 225. It kills me.
"Is this your first time here?" I ask one of the housekeepers. She holds a dry, balled up rag like it's a baseball. Not to mention, her nails are longer than allowed. "What's wrong?"
I take notice of her eyes widening, and the constant chewing on her bottom lip. She throws the rag into one of the many sections of her messy cleaning trolley, before fixing her hairnet with the click of her tongue.
"Mister Butler," she begins, and I immediately gulp. Jesus, the control he has over me. Even hearing his name makes me fold. "I just wanted to clean his room..." The woman's eyes tear up as she speaks. "But he started yelling, and told me to leave."
My mouth sits agape.
What?
Austin yelled at her? I don't want to believe her, or maybe not the possibility of Austin making a housekeeper cry. I squeeze her shoulder in attempt to comfort her, as far as my abilities go, and tell her to continue with the tenth floor instead.
She nods as she sniffles and pushes her trolley to the elevator, while I take in a deep breath and make my way to 225 with small, and slow steps.
My phone rings, and I pray to god, letting out a breath of relief. Any little distraction to buy me time before I look into Austin's eyes, I'm grateful for.
Across the screen writes 'Holly'.
I pick up in an instant, since I told them to call me if they manage to find the baby's father.
