Flightless Bird

Dissatisfied

I sat on the cool subway seat in the early morning, waiting impatiently for my stop on the busy train as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and yawned behind my hand.

It was Wednesday, and the week was now inching towards the weekend. I felt so exhausted, overworked from the stressful work day and long night on the floor again.

Samuel's beating was not so bad as the days prior, mostly because he knew I had to be able to work in the morning, and that I was almost to my breaking point. That didn't keep him from punching and kicking me, though; it just meant he didn't use tools as he regularly does.

He was brutal, but not completely stupid.

Samuel knows that I need this job, however unhappy he is about it. He will probably let loose on the weekends, I fear, as he was predictable in his ways.

The hand print was still visible, throbbing a now a purplish hue instead of bright scarlet. I found that instead of settling for regular foundation today, color corrector was vital in covering up the marks.

I wish I could just let my skin breathe, but I'm stuck wearing too much too often to hide beneath the surface. I was gifted with naturally clear skin, and besides a small bout of acne in the transition from adolescence to my teen years, I never struggled in that department. I don't know how I'd live with myself if that were the case.

Breaking out of my revery, I noticed that the next stop was mine, and I quickly opened my worn purse to retrieve my tube of lipstick.

The dollar store was a wonderful tool.

Hastily applying it, I checked my reflection in a small, cheap compact, assuring that my split lip was concealed. Satisfied, I stepped calmly off the train as it stopped in the station, crossing my arms to make myself as small as possible in order to avoid contact in the crowd.

I hated crowds...they scared me. Every touch made me flinch, a pathetic response I know. I continued as best as I could out of the station and around the corner towards Knightly Industries, a large smile crossing my face as I took in the beautiful architecture of  the building. From the sleek glass exterior, to the polished metal doors, I was proud to work in this building.

Mr.Knightly, however, seemed so indifferent. He was in a sour mood today, barking orders left and right, and hollering at different employees when things went unfavorably. I was nervous as I brought him his third cup of coffee today, but I did my best to control my trembling hands so as not to spill the burning beverage. I rapped on his door three times, the file he requested with his drink tucked precariously in the crook in my arm.

"Come in!" He exclaimed, a scowl etched into his features. I did not like seeing him so worked up. It ruined his charming looks, to have such an angry composure adorning his features.

"Here's your coffee and those files you requested, sir," I all but squeaked out, my voice betraying my nerves. He frowned at me, moving to grab the file without breaking eye contact, and I dropped it as his finger touched the paper. He wasn't holding it, though, and my motion was too early, causing the file to fall through the air, papers flying everywhere. Mr. Knightly abruptly stood up, slamming his fist so hard on his desk that the fresh coffee shuddered in its cup against the saucer.

"You insolent girl! Pick this up immediately!" He bellowed, eyes raging in fury as I scrambled around picking up the papers that littered the office. "Why can't you do anything right, you gold-digging freak! I pay you to do your job and you give me this! I will not tolerate this!"

I trembled in my place, the file already reorganized and safely on his desk, waiting for him to make the first blow. His words shocked me, though.

"Get out of my sight, you useless woman," he muttered, crossing his arms and glaring at me with a hatred I had never seen in him. I all but ran out of the door and into my office, quickly shutting the door before sinking to the ground in muted sobs.

I could not let them hear me falling apart.

Had I not done everything he requested? Hadn't I been prompt and thorough? It was cruel of him to go off on me, for one measly mistake and slight of hand. I buried my face in my hands, tears falling rapidly as I sat, disappointed in myself for failing so quickly.

After several moments of silently falling apart I regained my composure, resolving to be absolutely impeccable in my work life and to strive to not let his hateful words and discontent get to me.

I will keep this job, if it's the last thing I do.