Getting Chased

Chapter 1

I swore loudly and pushed a hand through my hair, growling at my computer and wishing witchcraft was real. Miriam knocks on my door in her tiny triplee-tap rap. I can also tell it's her from the silhouette under five feet tall shadowing the frosted glass door.

I pat my hair down and paste a professional smile on my face. "Come on in." Only one word through my sentence, and Miriam is opening the door, heels clicking as she maneuvers to my desk. She slams a manilla folder on my polished wooden desk, and I resist the urge to scowl.

"What is this, Ava? You're better than this." Her voice is laced with concern, but nothing outdoes her fury.

I delicately flip it open, and it reveals the article I wrote on how happy couples get divorced quicker when they marry than comfortable couples. One of my best pieces, if I'm being honest.

"That's my article, ma'am." I fold my hands together and rest them on the tabletop, careful to keep my elbows off. I know I look the picture of perfection, sitting across from this livid mess of a woman. I'm terribly aware of the way my carefully curled hair rests on my back, my manicured fingers twined together, my ankles crossed. It's all a practiced routine by now.

Fingers shaking, she pokes at the paper with an accusatory smile. "You are to write happy stories to make people happy. Not these... these... depressing tales of sadness." She looks at the papers like they directly insulted her, which they probably did.

I pretend to be confused. "But, ma'am, you told me to divulge in my artistic talents and allow myself to really exert my passion on the subject of my choosing."

I word my speech carefully so she leans back and wonders, did I really say that?

I go in for the kill this time. "In addition, I was never hired under the pretense of only writing happy fake articles for newlyweds. I was hired with the anticipation of representing Zapp Magazine with true stories about love, straight from my very own heart." I place my hand on my chest for extra effect, and Miriam mimicks my movement, entranced. "Thank you for your concerns, Miriam. It means so much to me."

She nods her head and gathers the papers into the portfolio. Stopping at the door, she reminds me of the catchphrase my fanbase had made for me three years ago: "Keep up the perfection."

I attempt a grin at her words, but I feel more like wincing. I'm going to need a drink when I get home.

Proceeding to watch the clock inch it's way to five o'clock, my knee starts jiggling up and down in anticipation. Just from the habit, I gather my things and wait to leave until the minute hand touches the 10 minute mark in hopes of luck.

I greet all my coworkers with a farewell, pulling my red blazer over my silk blouse. Stepping into the cold October air, a shiver runs down my spine, covering my exposed limbs with goosebumps.

When I arrive in the subway station, I sit to wait for my ride, trying to ignore how filthy the bench beneath the thin material of my skirt. My mind wanders off to the cupboards filled with alcohol, my fridge of beers and champagnes. My mouth turns dry at the thought of a drink without being able to have it immediately. My pulse jumps frantically, and I start gulping down air to fix my body's malfunction.

My coworker, Syndie, sits across from me on the cold metal bench, eyeing me cautiously.

She pretends to observe the signs around us in the station, then faces me. Her hands involuntarily twiddle with her skirt hem, and she looks like a kid who was dared to do something embarrassing. My knee twitches with the urge to move in impatience when she still isn't speaking. Finally, she asks,"You wanna go out for some Italian with me and Kate? We could use company."