The day bleeds by. I slug through admin work for Amir for hours, my only reprieve being Ayisha's welcome interruptions for coffee breaks. As soon as the clock ticks five thirty pm, I'm packed up and out of there. At least I can now read the manuscripts from the comfort of my own lounge instead of the sterile arrangement of the office.
I field my way through my apartment building's decrepit lobby, avoiding a loose tile on the floor and a dying cockroach. It looks like someone's half stepped on it, the poor thing strambling to get away from me as it's innards trail behind it.
Putting it out of it's misery, I force the heel of my shoe down on it. Folks, this is what low-income jobs get you. It barely gets better than this. At least I haven't walked into a cobweb yet; the chance is always low but never zero. I've done it before; the dust blinds you and the spider makes you want to rip your skin off as it crawls. Not a great combination.
The receptionist is too busy watching telenovellas to notice me coming through; whatever, it works for me. I already had my fill of awkward small talk this morning when I saw her on my way to work. Oh, Kian, your shirt looks lovely today! Thanks, I've worn it for several weeks straight and you've said it every time you see me. Oh, Kian, I hope you have a fan-tabulous day today! Thanks, you walking greeting card. Remind me to come to you when I need to greet to a distant relative.
Yikes. Why am I so bitter?
As I swing the door of my apartment open, I'm greeted with a cold gust of air. No windows are open; I'm glad to see that the insulation is working well.
I move my leather sidebag onto my kitchen countertop and plonk myself onto a barstool, the rickety nature of it distracting me from my thoughts about the day. As I absentmindedly rock myself on the uneven chair, the thoughts of work, Amir, pressure, and Tate melt away. The only thing that snaps me back to reality is my cat, Hazel, who jumps up onto the counter to give my arm a nudge with her head. She purrs as I pet her back.
Within moments, she's over the affection and tries to bite me. As I pull away, she shoots me a disgusted look before darting off, retreating to her hideaway down the hall into my bedroom. Little bitch. One day, I'll bite her back, and that'll teach her not to fuck around with me. Also, how dare she with that look? The expression was much like Tate's earlier today. Great. Now Tate is back in my head. Stupid sexy Tate.
I sink my head onto the fake marble counter--it's wood with a marble patterened sticker on the top of it--and groan. My eyes catch the folders peeking out of my sidebag that's sitting infront of me. I glance at the clock; christ, already six fifteen. Need to be in bed soon.
Come on. Shower, dinner, then get to work, then bed. You cannot afford to slack off.
I begrudgingly get up. As I walk to the bathroom, I peel off the layers of clothing trapped to me, leaving a trail of clothes behind me before stepping into the shower. The water's temperature is uneven--hot, lukewarm, cold, then finally a steady hot--but I still manage to clean myself. There are dregs of shampoo left; note to self, get more on the way back from work tomorrow.
My eyes spy a long purple sillicon toy hiding behind the bottles. Hm. I should also put that away. Nah, I haven't had guests in ages. Putting it away would just make it more inconvenient when I need it.
No, you don't need it now. You have things to do.
I get out of the shower. Hazel is waiting for me outside the door for some reason, her tail swishing from side to side as she watches me towel off. She spies my underwear on the floor; naturally, she gives it a sniff. Pervert. I snatch the clothing away from her. Go away, go do cat things like judging the passerbys or licking your asshole. This is not something you can sniff.
Pyjamas finally on, I find myself in the loungeroom, spreading the manuscripts out on the coffee table as if I were dealing out playing cards. I light a candle, a gentle smell of sandalwood permeating the air, and turn on the TV, lowering the volume so it's a gentle background chatter. I go to the kitchen; the smell of a warm and savoury pre-made dinner fills the air as my meal for one heats up in the microwave. Lamb shank with potato mash, gravy and peas. Fuckin' yum.
Once it's done, I devour it in a matter of minutes, Hazel shooting me dirty looks from the other side of the coffee table. Anybody that has a cat knows that this is a trap; if you don't give it some, it'll curse you and your bloodline tenfold without lifting a paw. If you feed it and it doesn't eat it, you can just feel the judgement come from the cat as if I've just personally starved a homeless kid by wasting that morsel of food.
If only she wasn't so damn cute. I could do without the added agression in my life.
The sun sets as my eyes pour over the first few chapters of the few manuscripts infront of me. I move toward my bag, bringing over my laptop, taking notes of each piece of work. One is kinda shit, the plot revolving aroud a homophobe that can't deal with the fact that his true match is the same gender as him, while another is quite a nice low-fantasy novel set in Auckland. With every sentence I put down on the Word.doc infront of me, I fight the urge to stop working and instead write another poem. I'm at sixty-five poems now, almost enough for a full length collection. One day, I'll be done, I'll have enough money to finally kickstart the self-publishing process, and publishers will be begging me to publish my collection internationally. I can almost taste the victory.
Just gotta read another seven chapters in two hours to make sure I keep my job.
As night descends, the air in the house gets chillier and my eyes begin to glaze over more and more as the seconds tick by. I'm halfway through a chapter when my phone starts ringing, the shrill sound startling Hazel out of her slumber.
I look at the lockscreen. "Fuck." It's Amir. Why on Earth is he calling me at this hour?
"H-hi, Amir, I hope you're having a great evening," I say, barely containing my nerves. He calls me all the time, being his assistant, but he never calls at night. There's no sound for a few moments. I wrap myself in a throw blanket, one of the corners of it massacred by Hazel's claws, and wait with bated breath for Amir to say something.
Maybe he's butt-dialed me.
I'm about to hang up when he coughs. Unsure of what to do, I look at Hazel. Perhaps not for guidance, but reassurance that this is really weird.
"Kian? Can you hear me?"
"Y-ees! Now I can, sir," I say, arching an eyebrow to myself. He clears his throat.
"Okay. WHAT IN BLAZES DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"
I fly into a panic, moving the phone away from my ear at the sound of his outburst. God, I'm going to end up with tinnitis. "I'm not sure wh-what you mean, sir--"
"You're doing GREAT, that's what you're doing. You're an absolute legend, you know that?"
Now, I'm at a loss for words. " A legend? What for?"
"I ended up reading one of the manuscripts you gave me last week for submissing and HO-LY-SHIT; this is one of the best ones I've read. I don't know what you saw in it, but I'm glad you chose it. I see good things coming up for you."
"Y-you do?" I say, barely containing a grin. I look at Hazel, there's a proudness to her look, perhaps she understood what just happened. "Thanks sir, I'm glad I'm appreciated for my--"
"Yeah yeah, no need for all that," he says, interrupting me. He does that often, hardly listening to what I have to say. "Anyway, the point of this call: meet me in my office tomorrow morning at nine. I've put together a shortlist of candidates for an upcoming position and I think I'd also like to see if you'd like a shot at the spot."
I'm speechless again. The job is within my grasp, at last. "Sir, that would be an honour. Thank you so much for considering me, I've put so much work into this job and--"
"What? Sorry, can't hear you. You're breaking up. My wife just brought me a tray of nigiri sushi. Either way, see me in my office AND DONT BE LATE!"
He hangs up before I can say thank you again.
This calls for celebration. Getting off the couch, I pour myself a glass of wine, swirling the purply-red liquid around. This is it; this is my chance to prove myself, to show him that I am worthy. Once I have the job, I can finally afford to self-publish my book. Oh, it's all coming together now.
I finish the glass. That celebration was far too short lived; I top myself another glass. I barely even remember the stresses of today. The taste of this wine is exquisite; it was a birthday present from Ayisha that she gave me a while ago.
I realise that by the fifth glass, I may have drunk a little too much. The manuscrips are far from my mind; in fact, everything is far away. My head is fuzzy and my stomach is all warm and toasty; I love this feeling. I move back to the couch. Ahh, the plush seat is so comfortable. I move the throw blanket over my body, head resting on a the throw pillows. Before I shut my eyes, I blow out the sandalwood candle. Maybe just a quick nap before I continue reading.
The last thing I see is Hazel looming over me as I doze off.
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Hey gang! Chapter 2 of This Is Inevitable is now up! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. Let me know what you think of it; any and all criticism are welcome. I'll be mulling over these criticisms after ONC2022 is completed.
How is everyone else's ONC project going?
Kind regards,
Jacob x