Flightless Bird

High Hopes

The day passed quickly. Watson assured me all day long that this was the way to go, before placing a 'Help Wanted' sign in the window of the coffee shop.

I guess he has faith in me, but I'm not sure if I even have faith in myself.

That evening I practically ran home, anxious to make Samuel's dinner and tell him the news. If only there was a way to break it easily...

"Hey where's my dinner you filthy little slut?!" I'm broken out of my thoughts by the appearance of the devil himself. I quickly served him his meal of steak and potato, hearty and his favorite, before rushing back to the kitchen to clean up. I was not to linger.

When he finished stuffing his greasy face with the rich meat, I cleared his plate from where he sat on the couch, but before I left the room I decided to ask.

"S-Samuel?" He grunted in response.

"I-I w-was thinking about g-getting a new job...we are struggling enough a-as it i-is and this would p-pay better..." I trailed off, stuttering all the way.

"What's wrong with the cafe? You've got plenty of hours there. You will not get a new job, because I said so. You're already gone too much anyways." He goes off, working himself up as he speaks.

"P-please! We need the m-money!"

"You bitch! You think you can just talk back to me like that?!" He forcefully grabbed the plate from my hand, taking the knife as well before throwing the plate at my retreating body. It shattered across my head before I could react, and my vision blurred as my knees buckled from beneath me. I forced my eyes open just in time to see his leg before it connected with my torso, and I lost all air in my body.

His kicking wasn't enough, though, and once he got bored he turned the knife to me.

"You disgusting whore! You think you can go to some fancy office and leave me here alone all day! You're mine!" He dug the blade into my skin, carving into my flesh with ease as he slashed my stomach and thigh.

"You know what? Go to that interview. Get out of my sight you bitch. I don't care, so long as my little fuck comes back at night," he smirked.

With one last kick to my stomach he walked out of the door, probably to drink away his fury as I lose consciousness and bleed out.

——————————————-

I woke up the next morning in a groggy state, lying on the floor in a puddle of my own dried blood. Images of last night's beating danced around my head as I forced myself to the shower.

Samuel never came home last night, probably too drunk and wrapped up in another woman's bed.

As I limped slowly to the bathroom I remembered the interview today and struggled to quicken my pace.

It was nearly seven, and I had to be there by 8!

I hurriedly showered, scrubbing thoroughly before selecting my nicest skirt and blouse. It feels strange to wear such different attire, but I can't stop to think about this now. I hastily grab my black heels and my purse with my resume, before rushing swiftly to the subway out of Brooklyn and into Manhattan and the downtown area.

As soon as my butt hit the hard, plastic chairs of the train, my head flopped back onto the window and I let out an audible sigh, my newly bandaged cuts tingling in pain as a reminder of the real world.

A while later I was off the subway and walking the last block to my future. The shiny Knightly Industries sign caught my attention and I glanced at my watch to check that I was on time. Thankfully all my rushing got home here with 7 minutes to spare, and I continued through the sleek, glass doors of the building.

My eyes took in everything, from the lavish decor of the lobby to the young, attractive receptionist at the counter, it all appeared to be clean and very professional.

I don't fit in here.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I'm here for an interview with a Mr. Knightly at eight o'clock?"

"Ah yes, you'll have to use the elevator. The interview is in his office on the 94th floor. Thalia will be there to assist you," she calmly replied. I thanked her quickly before moving towards the shiny silver elevators and pressing the call button.

Am I ready for this?