𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

32 || A Series Of Unfortunate Events

Song: The Weeknd - The Morning (slowed + reverb)

𝔚𝔚𝔚
Josie

For someone who claimed to not belong to anyone, Nico sure loved to treat people like they belonged to him.

I was people.

The man wouldn't leave me alone.

When I was leaving class, he was somehow there telling me to get into his car.

When I refused and began to walk home, he was trailing me in his car, causing a traffic jam.

And when I was at work, he was making me serve him his food in his office. But it didn't stop there, I was to sit and wait in his office until he finished his food and only then was I allowed to go back to work.

And since Nico was the boss of my boss, I was stuck in his office, almost every shift for an entire hour.

It was odd, though. I didn't talk to him, nor did he speak to me. He simply sat and did his work, while I took up a seat across from him.

But I stopped complaining once I realized that I was being paid to sit in a comfy chair and preoccupy myself with whatever I wanted for an hour.

I was still mad at him, yes. But I wasn't dumb enough to bite the hands that was paying me, especially not hands that were capable of much worse.

My white sneakers squeak against the floor as I make my way down the hall, the tiles on the floor fading into dark mahogany wood as I round the corner and move into the private hallway where Nico's office lies.

Cameras line the ceilings, blinking a red flashing light at the sight of my movements. They reminded me of the way the camera blinked that day in The Orgasm room.

A 'knock before entering' sign hangs from the door, but I disregard it as I twist the handle and walk right into the office, knowing that it'd annoy him.

He's seated at the large chair behind his desk when I walk in, leaned back in his signature black dress shirt, twirling a pen between his fingers while his other hand holds up his phone to his ear.

He flickers his gaze up and his eyes follow my movements as I set his lunch down in front of him, but he's preoccupied speaking to the person on the other end in a language I can't understand.

I don't say anything, neither does he. He just watches me as I grab the book I'd left on his desk three days ago when this arrangement had started and take my seat on a chair opposite to him.

I was beginning to think that this was his way of trying to communicating his feelings. Since he clearly lacked the ability to articulate them, I figured he was trying to tell me that he liked having me around. But I ignored it, because, although the sentiment was nice, it wasn't enough.

I open my book, between work and school this hour was the only time I got to myself and I wasn't going to let the feeling of his stare deter me. Even though I knew what he was most likely looking at.

My haircut.

His deep voice carries through the line as he responds absentmindedly and I peek up at him to see his eyes on me and then my hair.