𝕤𝕒𝕟 𝕗𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠 • 𝕝.𝕙

two

"Will that be okay, Alexis?"

"Uh..." I emitted. "Yes. That will be perfect."

"Amazing," my line manager said, shifting her chair around so she faced me. The look on her face looked stern and demanding. "Can you read through the whole thing, and then e-mail me what you thought about it? It's very important that you do."

"Of course," I nodded. I was always the one getting the shit jobs. I knew that in a minute, I would be getting a fake excuse.

"It's just, we think you're really good at what you do, and your mind is sharp and knows straight away whether things are good are bad... And we like that. That is what we look for."

"For sure," I faked a smile. "Thanks, Joelle."

"Oh, by the way, Alexis?" her voice called out to me as I was standing up to make my way out of her office. I turned around. "Are you feeling better after the other day? You've been calling in sick quite a bit recently. If anything's wrong, please let us know."

"Oh, yeah," I turned to her, still standing in the threshold. "I am fine. I had a weird... Stomach thing. Keeps on leaving and coming back. Maybe it's anxiety or something. I don't know. I'm fine now."

She looked half-convinced.

"Okay, well," she replied. "Let's hope you're well from now on."

By hoping I would be well, she meant I had to be well. I knew it.

I made my way back into the office, looking at the time. God, at last. I was done. The pale beige walls looked sad, and even with all the plants in the open-space, it looked like everything in this room was either dead, or going to die soon.

We were only a handful of people working in this publishing house. It wasn't popular at all... Yet. The manager kept on telling us success was coming our way. That soon, there would be so much work, it wouldn't only be me and my two co-workers, Andy and Mia. I was waiting for that success to come, to get started for real, to get all of those exciting opportunities- but for the past nine months, it'd been the same routine. Having to read through novel drafts. Some good, some horrendous... It had to be done one way or another. I got the shit jobs because I was the youngest. Because I was the small woman in this place. It felt unfair. I couldn't complain, because I knew that moaning could lead me to lose the job.

Then I'd be completely screwed.

"Hey, hey, hey, where are you going?" Andy asked, as he saw me grabbing my bag from my desk chair. "What time is it?"

"Time to go," I said. "It's nearly eight."

"Oh, great," he took his headphones off, sighing. "Any news from Oliver?"

"God, why would you mention him," I grimaced. "No."

"I never liked him."

"You met him once, Andy," I reminded him. "How are you getting home?"

He looked around. "Well, Mia's gone, so I'll uber."

I shook my head. "Let me give you a ride. It's totally fine. It's on my way, anyway. I'll just drop you off."

"Okay," he smiled. He adjusted his thick glasses on his face. "If you say so."

✴

"There we are, my dude," I said, stopping the car in front of Andy's apartment complex.

"Thank you so much, Lex," he answered, opening the passenger door. "See you on Monday. Don't call in sick."

"I won't," I chuckled. "See you... On Monday. I will see you then. That's for sure."

"Have fun reading the draft," he teased, before shutting the door.

I turned the radio up, and carried on the drive to my house.

There were palm trees around, and the smell of summer was all around. I loved it. All year, I waited for summer. It wasn't even because of the warmth- it was California, after all. No, I loved summer because the days were longer, and the skies were always pink at night, and because the trees were particularly green. Everything about San Francisco summers was lovable. I'd never met anybody who didn't love it with all they had.

I heard my phone ringing, and quickly took a look at the screen. Oliver.

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, slowing down my car on the side of the road to pick up.

Talking to him was the last thing I wanted to do right now.

"Hello?" I snapped.

"Hey," he said. He sounded bored. "What are you up to?"

"I'm on my way home from work. What do you want?"

"Can I come over? I need to talk to you about something," he enquired.

"Can we do this over the phone?" I answered. "I don't think you coming to my house again is a very good idea."

"I think it might be. I want to make things right."

"Oli," I took a deep breath. "No."

"Please."

"You can't fucking take no for an answer, can you?" I was losing my patience. "No means no, you fucking idiot. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want anything to do with you now, or in the future. What's done is done, and I'm sick of you not getting the hint and clinging onto me like a fucking parasite. It's over. Over."

"You don't mean that."

"I'm exhausted. I have so many other things to focus on at the moment. I don't need to be overwhelmed by things that used to be."

"Okay," he just said.

"That's all I have to say. That's all that needs to be said," I declared. "Thank you."

And just like that, I hung up the phone.

When I drove home, I had tears in my eyes.