The deconstruction of Eliz

Chapter 6 : Alan

—Are you an idiot? — The scream shakes me more than the blow I just received. It turns out that, in the middle of my mental troubles and reflections, I got off the sidewalk without seeing; it is not a very busy street, nor fast, thank God! Otherwise, the story would be different. While the car was driving past, I disembarked, and it collided with me using its bumper. It was moving at a slow pace, following the speed bump.

At this moment, said driver is shouting at me:

—Do not think I am going to take you to the hospital. You are careless, and this is your responsibility!

While he screams, I touch my head, and everything is fine there. I look at my knee; it is a little scraped. Getting up, I wobble and try to put my weight on that leg — ouch! — Sensitive, but nothing to write home about.

—I can see that you made it out without any harm, you moron! — While saying this, he spits at me but misses and falls on the sidewalk, turns around, gets into his vehicle, and leaves.

I do not react, but inside feel horror, anger, helplessness, and fear. I want to scream at him! But my brain will not let the words come out. My face reflects absolutely nothing to those who observe from afar without intervening. I limp to the stop.

Nevertheless, the series of unfortunate events does not end there. When I get home, my mother has the music blaring, plastic on the floor, and paint everywhere. She is in what she calls an «artistic trance. ». Translation for me, painting under the effects of «something. ». Without asking me anything, she notices my limp, scans me from head to toe, and continues what she is doing. The thought from earlier comes back to me: Yes. It would be nice to have someone to talk to.

The morning after, I am petting Sky, who requires cuddles. I think he is still comforting me. Everything has come back to me several times; I repeat the scene in my head incessantly, imagining having reacted differently and having defended myself. My mom went to a water aerobics class, the freedom of being a freelancer. My mother paints and makes sculptures. Occasionally, she receives an invitation to teach at the community college, which brings her joy. I envy her freedom and the ease of having bliss and ignoring everyone around her. I could not talk to her and heard more about Hera's perfect man. But, hey! I know that story is not over.

Today is one of those days that I drag myself to the bathroom and trick my mind into listening to music to get dressed and leave the house. After yesterday, I have resistance to go to the office. Soundtrack: Imagine Dragons - Whatever It Takes. On the plus side, I miraculously no longer limp.

When I arrived at the office, hardly anyone had arrived yet. Cleaning the desk is my first task before heading to the living room and making coffee. I do not even drink coffee, yes; I am one of those people who get up and exist just like that, another extraterrestrial characteristic of mine. Also, add the other drinks for adult sorrows.

I turn on my computer. I feel her even before she speaks.

It must be that the «bad» vibe speaks before she does: — Eliz, can you print the March and April reports for today's meeting —. Estefany, despite her senior position, cannot even say «good morning » to me.

As I turn around, the exaggerated scent of her perfume hits me. I notice her perfectly groomed eyebrows, flawless makeup, well-pressed clothes, and of course, elegant high-heeled shoes. Estefany is a junior executive of the company. She is my age, but not a good person. I think she is just watching to see when someone fails to point it out. I do not even look into her eyes when I say — Good morning, already did it—. She looks me up and down, I guess, criticizing.

Suddenly, she snaps her fingers between my eyes, saying — pay attention to me! I know someone like you cannot understand the importance of a day like today and is not even interested. But for you, I won't give less. Look at you; you do not even appear as if you are interested in the job.