Liberty in chains

Fear. The concept of fear was way too familiar for me given the fact that it was all I knew in my teen years. Being an independent woman of twenty three with a secure job, associate degrees in both technical and creative writing, a place to live, clothes of my own to wear and so on- all of this does nothing to dissipate the fear that still lingers; the fear I carried with me ever since her death. The system failed us, but no surprise there. It often does in a world this big and people too fake. He was a good actor. Referring to him in past tense is the only way I keep my panic at bay because admitting to the fact that he might still be alive somewhere in this very reality seems suffocating- so much so that I have to fight with myself to keep breathing.

Don't you fucking dare breathe till I ask for it, hear that birdie? 

Funny that I had to go against my own primal survival instincts to survive and now I struggle to block the instructions I no longer have to follow. That is what I fear- despite pretending to be my own person I still am under control of someone no longer here. I increase my pace as I walk to work. It feels weird to wear anything that's not as dark as my mood. I feel self-conscious, something I haven't done in a while but the recent nightmares did their fucking job.

I enter the firm clad in a form fitting beige dress and a professional bun with minimal makeup. Were it up to me to choose what to wear to this Monthly Editorial meeting, I would have chosen some shitty black shirt and pants because apparently I have better things to do rather than keeping up pretenses. But Wes stressed on the words enough times for me to get the idea that I couldn't wear black or casual to this meeting nor act indifferent with my blank face. I had to do more than tossing ideas when I felt like it because I wasn't meeting my regular editor to submit some random guide to work a screw-fucking-driver. I still feel like exploding when I remember how he downplayed my work while giving me pointers to attend some hot shot meeting that had literally no connection to me before this Fashion hub bullshit.

"You're early."

I turn to see Carla arranging a few papers near the reception desk. She is beautiful. But beauty is dangerous, something I learnt the hard way. Most use it to hide the hostility they bear deep inside, some use it to hide hurt, some are simply clueless to what they possess. When the silence stretches she looks over to where I stand observing her. I must look like a creep.

"You look nice today. Are you handling your work fine?"

Guilt works in rather riveting ways. Anger stimulates dark behavior leaving scars behind and if you have a conscience, then guilt too. Thus, her demeanor doesn't surprise me, instead I even expected it.

"I am. And I just felt like preparing myself mentally before the meeting; what about you?"

"Oh, I'm just arranging the last minute notes for the meeting. Mr. Parker wanted me to do the initial explaining for your project."

"But it's my work, I thought that one was my taking."

"It was. I guess Mr. Parker just wanted it to go smoothly."

Smoothly my ass. He just wanted me to feel worthless it seems. I don't know what part of my personality spoke verbally impaired that he felt the need to do this. I don't speak much out of context but I am not incompetent to do my damn job. I don't like it when I'm being told how to do something I already am aware about, neither do I appreciate anyone leading me like I'm incapable. I exhale slowly to calm myself before speaking.

"I'm sure I could have managed; speaking is not entirely new to me, Clara."

"Listen Alex, I'm just doing my job. Take it up with him if you have an issue, besides didn't you need help with this project anyway?"

I know she's right and Wes is the one responsible so I just walk briskly to my desk to relax a little before I go to confront him. I try to remember how glad I was when I first joined. I even got a picture of Delaine and me framed for my desk. I look over to it to find the strength to go through this struggle of loosing opportunities meant for me simply because I didn't bend low enough to beg them.

"I'm living on scraps, I don't want that. I have to work for simple moments of peace; I have to act like someone's fucking pet to avoid beating as if it's what I deserve only because I was born to someone so cruel.", I breathe hard as I struggle to explain my pain to her. "Do you know how sick it feels to see the world filled with people that have the simplest things- choices, love, f-family, freedom and all I have is envy, fucking envy for them because of what I am now when I could be so much more."

Her world was too different from mine and albeit she had a place to voice her pain unlike me, she told me often that they made sure she never had her voice for it. I remember Delaine's boyfriend Tommy getting sick of my shit and clearing my high held opinions about the exclusivity of my pain.

"Your struggles increased because of circumstances you never had control over; you got the worst share of childhood because of mistakes or choices you never made at all, so what? Life isn't fucking fair- about damn time you accept that and move the fuck on kid. No one is to be blamed for the life you got thrown into- no one but those who ruined your supposed to be merry days so grow the hell up and stop acting like those whom you hate so much."

I smile at the memories of those countable bonds I formed with people that weren't even my own blood but suddenly remember the work at hand and I head straight for the asshole; no pun intended- swear to god. Wes is typing away on his laptop with concentration so I knock rather loudly making him almost jump in his seat.

*

He groans when he sees Alexsus and no, not in a sexual way. He is already so done with the about-to-happen conversation.

"Is this about- "

"I remember telling you I understood the importance of the project and had things in order despite having a little rough start, Mr. Parker. Then why was someone else asked to lead with the hard work I did simply because you felt like it?"

"This attitude- exactly what made me decide this."

"What has my personality to do with my work? I didn't know only the males had this privilege of following no personality code in a workspace promoting gender equity. I don't remember disrespecting anyone for no reason. I simply speak up when I don't get my fair share."

"I don't have time for this Alexsus. Get back to your desk and wait for others to arrive before entering the conference room. I do not want you to mess this meeting."

Defeat clamps her mouth shut as she tries to keep the oncoming tears at bay. She just wanted her chance. He took it away, like always.

"I wasn't going to mess it.", she says quietly and closes the door behind her.

 'Hypocrite, that's exactly what people are. Pretending to be feminist when they don't understand what it's about anyway. Humans, all of this working world; but to expect that irrespective of the color, gender, caste, creed or any bias is what so many are incapable of.', she thought with distaste.

She makes her way towards her desk still deep in thought. Whispers reach her and she snaps back to present. With wide eyes taking in the handsome face of some blonde 6'2 -Clara was almost sticking to the reception desk much to the receptionist's dismay.

Curious enough, Alexsus slowly walks towards the extremely uncomfortable trio and clears her throat slightly. The blonde turns and schools his pinched expressions into a smile.

"I'm Alexander Lockhart, from Fashion Hub. I am supposed to attend a meeting regarding-"

Clara regains her professionalism and interrupts him by speaking up.

"I'm sorry for my behavior a minute ago, Mr. Lockhart. I mistook you for someone else. I'll lead you to the conference room, here."

Turning to the receptionist to question what just happened Alexsus sighs rather loudly upon remembering she has no idea who the receptionist is. The redhead across the desk must've sensed it possibly because she answers rather sourly that Clara mistook the man for her ex-boyfriend.

Shock comes as a surprise to Alex itself. Or maybe not. Of course people have a love life unlike her, must be a normal thing to mistake people for ex-lovers.

*

Sigh. Enough of this bullshit. This discussion is putting me to sleep ; there's nothing creative or attention worthy about any of this. I would have liked my own editor's scrawny figure and cranky face very much right about now. Wes has glanced at me more than five times and it's getting really hard to keep up my neutral expression and hide my rising annoyance. Blondie has been smiling this whole time and I still am trying to guess why. Apparently either he's a newbie editor or just really blonde and bubbly, fucking Christ- drop the shitty smile you creep fuck. 

"I am sure this would suffice but I would like to make a request of your writer to stay authentic but still appreciative of our products while writing about their appeal", blondie comments while glancing at me. He must be curious about the speaking arrangements.

"I assure you Mr.-", shit what's his name, Locke? Dexter? something like, "Lockhart, that won't be an issue. Your products are interesting enough to inspire appreciativeness. I'm sure I wouldn't even have to try much to write a good piece.", I finish with a smile, he should have applauded me for lying so politely. I mean they sell jokes for fashion.

He smiles wider. Seriously dude, knock it off. Fashion Hub didn't need a self publishing firm to write stuff for them, this deal came Parker Publishing's way only because of the excessive deals bagged by the to-be-fashion giant. Despite Hub's insistence of trifling with the matters of this joint project Wes didn't reject the offer. He has control issues but his ego isn't that big to ruin his professionalism, surely I'm an exception in that matter.

The meeting is finally over. I can ruin the rest of my day in peace and plan when I want to start therapy sessions because these nightmares are taking too much of my sleep and peace. As I walk towards my desk with my folders Wes calls my name. Motherf-

"Yes, Mr. Parker?"

"In my office, five minutes."

I feel drained already and I just want to go home and sleep but that won't be the scene; nightmares of-course. I walk towards Wes's office in disinterest.

"Have a seat, discussion's gonna take some time Mrs. Novak."

I take a seat silently and stare at him in expectation; please just don't bark meaningless stuff.

"I want your complete focus on the work regarding Fashion Hub...."

I tune him out as I sit there pretending to be alert and attentive. I really can't focus on anything except my annoyance for him. He knows just how to work every shade of emotion given that he was pissed at me in the morning, anxious yet calm in the meeting and now authoritative like a boss as if he should be giving instructions before apologizing. 

"..it will be just as easy if it's worked that way, you clear on this?"

When I notice him staring at me expectedly I nod and simply walk out as if I didn't notice his confused expression upon my lack of words. All day I basically try to stay in the present whenever flashes of past dance before my eyes. With the now regular nightmares, I can't really avoid these flashes. Everything reminds me of what I've left behind yet never truly been cured of, I would never be.

The dark's not so friendly these days to me.

*

She chases her shadow as she walks under the unwelcomed brightness of the street lights. Her thoughts stress on how well darkness resonates with her despite her fears and suffocation.

It's been a long day and all she thinks of ,as the cold air nips her bare face and calves, is the freedom she once had in the dense woods of Scots.

Breathin' in the night-air she yearns for those days as she treads timidly to her cage.

Pain awaits in the coldness of her apartment yet again.