The Tortured Poets Department

Chapter Two - The Tortured Poets Department

I look at him, still at a loss of words. He was everything I wanted, if not more.

"So why did you need me?" I ask, regaining composure. Ethan chuckles. "Not even a hello?" He says. I try to put on a stern face, but it's pretty hard. "I'm not here to play catch-up." I say. "Feisty girl." Ethan says. "Why not take this over some coffee? It'll ease the mind." Ethan says. I was about to protest, but then I realized, it doesn't seem that bad. "Fine." I say. Ethan smirks. "Then follow me, I know a place." He says. I am still hesitant following him, but who else do I have?

                                          -
I walk in to this coffee shop and I am greeted with the aroma of the coffee scent. It smells amazing. Ethan walks up to the barista and asks for two coffee's. He seems to know them well. We sit down with our drinks at our table.

"Gosh, has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?" Ethan says, looking at me with mesemrized eyes. "Cute, now back to my questions." I say, dismissing his comment. "How do you know who I am and why do you need me?" I ask in a demanding tone. Ethan chuckles. "You sure are the feisty one." Ethan says.

He sighs, before taking a sip of his coffee. "I brought you here because someone reccomended me to you." He says. My eyes widen. "Who?" I ask. "Can't say." Ethan says. He puts his coffeee down on the table. "I've been examining you for a while now, a little over two months." He says. Because that totally doesn't sound creepy at all.

"Point being, they reccomended you to a job." Ethan says. "It's for a job as a poet." He continues. A poet? Who would reccomend me for a job as a poet? "Oh, I'm not a poet, I'll pass." I say. Ethan chuckles. "Please, we both know your financial situation is terrible right now, you should take whatever job comes your way." Ethan says. I look at him, puzzled. "I don't fit the criteria for the job, I can't do it." I say. Ethan gets up and slams his hands on the table.

"You will do the job, or I will leak everything you have to everyone!" He yells. He slams down a buisness card, it reads 'The Poets Society'.

My heart raced as Ethan's words echoed in my ears. The coffee shop seemed to fade into the background, and all I could focus on was his intense gaze and the weight of his words. The Poets Society? It sounded like something out of a Gothic novel, not a job offer.

I felt a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Ethan's passion was contagious, but I couldn't shake the feeling that this path wasn't meant for me. The idea of being part of something so unique and mysterious was tempting, but at what cost? Did I have what it took to embrace the poet within me?

As the whispers of other patrons filled the air, I realized that this decision wasn't just about me anymore. It was about embracing a destiny that had been thrust upon me. The weight of their expectations and the allure of the unknown made it hard to resist.

And he would leak everything? It was almost too dangerous not to take the job. "Fine." I mutter. He calms down. "Then follow me." He says, forcefully grabbing my arm. How could something so good be so dangerous?

                                          -
He took me to this building that looked abandoned. I have a weird feeling about this place. He stops right at the entrance and he turns his head around. "Ready?" He asks. I am hesitant, but eventually I cave in and I nod.

He opens the door and it loudly but slowly creaks open. I am greeted to a bunch of people typing, almost like a factory of people on typewriters. He walks over to an empty typewriting desk. "This will be your desk, you work a 9-7 every day of the week, paychecks are rare." Ethan says. This whole job doesn't feel fair, or even legal for that matter, and my heart is racing.

"Uh, I think I'm gonna pass on this job, I mean, this tour was nice but-" I say before Ethan cuts me off. "You think this is an option? Oh no... you will work in here, sit on that chair, and slave your life away for the rest of your damn life!" He yells, his voice booming and echoing around the factory. "You want to make a deal? Earn it." He says before storming away.

As I sit down and I start typing I think to myself: "Man, this is torture..." And then it hits me. This isn't a normal poets department... oh no... this is the tortured poets department.