Underground

03

"We're all in the same game;
just different levels.
dealing with the same hell;
just different devils."

(A little imagery for this chapter)

April 22, 2022

You know the girls in the movies you watch or the books you read, living their lives to the fullest, envying theme of there free spirit as they leave the comfort of their house every night or day to enjoy the world as they see it.

Yeah me too, because the thought of going out feels like listening to nails against a chalkboard.

So, as I lay on my bed with music playing in the background trying to find any sort of way to get out of tonight I can't conjure up one excuse.

I have a perfect dress for the event, it is a reason to get out, and not think about today. It is the trouble of getting up and doing everything before hand. My hair, make up, preparing myself for seeing those Petrifyingly dark green eyes.

It is 5:00 and I don't even have a thought in my mind of getting up but as my phone vibrates on my dresser I know it's the universe telling me to get my ass up and stop procrastinating.

With no pep to my step I drag my feet to my side dresser, grabbing the device to see a text from a unknown number making my eyebrows furrow. With slow hands I open up my phone, letting myself read the message.

From unknown contact: There will be a vehicle taking you to the event, be ready outside of your house, 6:30 sharp.

I look at the text with confusion, having an idea of who it is but still left with a wrinkle between my furrowed brows.

To unknown contact: who is this?

I place my phone back on the dresser, nearly walking to my bathroom but stopping when the sound of my phone vibrates not even a second later.

A aggravated groan escapes me while my head flips back in annoyance as I swivel my feet swiftly back to my phone, opening my device to see another message from the same number.

I should have known who it was by the demanding tone in the first message.

From Unknown contact: Your boss.

To 'Douchebag': I'll take my own car, thank you.

I put my phone on the dresser again, pacing out of the room in hopes if I get to my bathroom and start getting ready before my phone makes another sound it can be like him receiving my number without any context didn't happen. Like the next message of disliking my response never happens as well.

I want to text him asking him how he has my number but I decide against it. I don't want to be near his presence any more then I need to even if it is through a device, farther away the better.

I know it isn't his fault no matter how much he makes it worse, I am a big girl and I made the decision to sleep with him a year and a half ago but I can't stop the anxiety bubbling in me from any one at work knowing of that information.

If I ever want to work as a publisher no one will want to work with me if they think I am a messy person who sleeps with their boss.

God, I could just see it now.

I turn up my speaker before applying some makeup and curling my hair loosely, letting each strand fall wherever they see fit, hoping for the best as my curtain bangs frame my face. The small frills laying on my forehead that I decided to cut out of boredom not to long ago.