The Bucketlist

05| DAYDREAMING A NIGHTMARE

A  few headaches later

 After the late lunch with Josh and Amanda, I turtled up in my cubicle.

Dear Mr. Turner,

I am sorry for breaking your vase. I beg for your forgiveness.

Eva :-)

Damn, this won't do. I should try again. I have to try again! Maybe lose the smiley this time.

I had written about fifty apology notes and tossed them in the bin, thinking they weren't good enough. With every second bygone, I awaited my fate. I imagined Will Turner standing in front of my cubicle, dragging me by my collar and calling me out for the act of treason. He will notice my band-aids, and then with a swish second gone my termination letter will appear from thin air. He will slap it on my face as Amanda Richards smiles from a distance with a 'told you so' shrug. The staff at Bexley's will laugh at me, and Josh, with his still charming smile, look at me sympathetically. 

"Are you gonna head out, Eva?"

It's Rachel, the new editor! A bit too thin and a lot paler for someone who has stayed out in Fordshire summer. She was hired as a junior editor only the week before, and from what I heard from Josh, she was the replacement. My replacement, precisely. I know it's supposed to make me insecure, but I felt sorry for her. She worked hard, didn't complain much about the dress code, and was polite to everyone. Even Amanda didn't give her cold shoulder, or the dirty look she often shot me. It was hard to hate Rachel even though she was a potential competition.

"No. I got to wind up some stuff. Have a good day." I said with a smile.

Pity does that to you. It makes you weak when you shouldn't. Will Mr. Turner feel the same for me? Will he forgive me? The question made me shudder. Almost as if I had seen his grey eyes flash in front, I had an answer to the question. He wasn't. Why would he? The vase was a damn gift. That's why he had kept it despite the odd incentives it gave off to his all-white, all-black, shitty, and expensive interiors. A pile of un-touched manuscripts rested in front of me. I was too distracted to get the rest done.

At 8:45 pm, Will Turner did not show up. No one was gossiping about a broken vase. The office was silent when I walked out at nine. Maybe, I was lucky, or the storm was stirring somewhere in the corner office where a grey-eyed man was planning my execution. Regardless, I wanted to go back home.

***

9 pm

The Fordshire streets were as lively as always. The air smelt of beer somewhere around Brian's Bistro, the sweet scent of chocolate cake at Fourth Street, and the nostalgia in summer air swept in as I boarded the bus back to Miss Mason's. If it weren't for the loss of enthusiasm, I would have stopped by Central Park and enjoyed the swing. It's childish, but it was an inseparable part of my 'me' time.  When you sway like a pendulum, all your worries shed off with each swing.  It always worked, and if that didn't seem a good reason, it was way better than a cultitual.

I entered Fifth street when my phone beeped.

You have one new notification from Roms.

I clicked on it.

Roms: Get home soon! We are going out for dinner with a friend of mine ^_^

Me: Okay. I am just outside Miss Mason's.

When I walked to the front yard, I noticed a Bentley parked. It had a metallic grey exterior, and its owner spent a fortune on maintenance. Whoever it was, they are going to get a scolding from Miss Mason, the thought crossed my mind.