The Unspoken

"Speak now." The man says, casually sipping his cup of coffee and leaning on his armchair.

I move uncomfortably in my seat and clear my throat. "About what?"

He immediately sits straight and puts his cup of coffee on the glass desk in front of him. "Were you not paying attention to anything I said just a second ago?"

No, I was too busy staring at the painting on the wall behind you.

It was a big and beautiful painting of a wolf. The wolf was grey, with eyes that were blue. Those were the reason why it was so distracting. It practically froze you in your place, hypnotizing you.

I notice how its eyes look similar to the eyes of the man who is sitting in front of me. Thinking of this, I can't help but wonder if that was intentional or coincidental.

No, no, no, no.

I am getting distracted again.

"Very sorry sir," I say, shaking my head. I hear him sigh and take another sip of the coffee.

"Why do you want to work here? What is your motive to work as an author at a book-producing company such as mine?" He asks me, raising an eyebrow. I press my lips together in thought.

What really is my motive?

It takes me a second, but I somehow finally form an answer good enough.

"When I was younger, I had always wanted to write a diary. Whenever I tried, I gave up. There was always this fear inside of me that troubled me. It would say, 'what if someone read this?'

So, I would never truly write down my feelings. At some point, I realized this was a waste of time if I wasn't writing my own feelings, so I started writing about other imaginary characters I would make up. I would make sure that they had the same thoughts and feelings as me.

This led to me writing about random things that never happened to me. I would ask myself, 'what would you do if you were that character?' and write it down. In the end, I would have a story." I cleared my throat and pushed my chin up to meet his blue eyes. "I got interested in writing. That is my motive. To write about me, and act as if I was someone else so no one knew I was writing about me."

Damn.

That hit hard.

I'm not sure I ever admitted that to myself. I thought I had just taken an interest in writing. Guess there was another story behind that interest.

The man-commonly known as the CEO of this famous successful book-producing company, Mr. Arden-seemed shocked by my answer. I really had put some thought into it. He opens the files that are placed on the glass desk in front of him. The files are mine.

I think.

"Well," He starts, taking another sip of coffee, "In that case, you are hired."

My eyes almost bulge out of their sockets when I hear this. He hired me. I blink a couple times, as silence surrounds us. I blink again, checking if this is real or just a dream.

Nope. All real.

After a solid minute, I gather up all my courage and decide to break the silence.

"Thanks. A lot." As soon as I say it, I feel like punching myself in the face.

Thanks?

Really Dion? Really?

I bite my lips awkwardly and ask, "Um, when do I start work?"

When I say that, I mean 'when do I start coming here and writing whatever you tell me to write?'. I am praying that this question makes up for my stupid comment just a second ago.

"Tomorrow, 8 a.m. sharp." He responds. I nod. Just as I'm about to walk away, Mr. Arden stops me.

"Wait." I stop when I hear Mr. Arden. I turn around and let a toothy smile plaster my face. "You forgot your files." He says, pointing to the files which were in his hands.

Great.

What a lovely way to end an interview. With me forgetting something important.

"Sorry," I mutter and rush to grab the files. When I'm done, I walk out of the office, sighing.

That was very, very lucky.

Can't wait for tomorrow.

To be continued...

What will happen? How will the first day of work for Dion go?

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