The Employee

P r o l o g u e

 - ℕ𝕒𝕠𝕞𝕚 -

    At the age of thirteen, I knew I wouldn't amount much. Somewhere in the back of my head, I hoped that I was wrong. But at the end of the day, not everyone becomes a lawyer or a doctor.

    At the age of thirteen, I acknowledged that the homeless people I walked past on my way to school were once students like me. They too had once said they were going to become an astronaut. But at the end of the day, not everyone has the dedication to realize their dreams, and at thirteen years old, I was self-aware enough to know that dedication was the last thing that I had.

    I was not useless but I did not know how to use my skills for myself. They tell us that sharing is caring but what they don't is that the line between selflessness and having no resolve is as thin as a blade of grass.

    Since my first younger sibling was born, I had forgotten what it was like to be selfish. I knew my parents weren't rich, and I knew that being selfish was for the rich. And while my parents tried to hide it, elementary school students were mean and made sure that I knew my presence reeked of everything that wasn't wealth. For me, being poor meant nothing belonged to me, not even myself.

    Since my first younger sibling was born, nothing was truly mine. And when both my parents died, I understood that everything came to an end, including pain.

When the end is inevitable, why start in the first place?

    At the age of sixteen, I had only one fear which was homelessness. While I understood that suffering was only temporary, I acknowledged that I would still feel it in that moment. There was also pride, my pride would be damaged if I had ever become homeless.

    At the age of sixteen, I decided to dedicate myself to something or someone. The original plan was to join the military. I would never have to make decisions for myself; someone else would recognize my talents and put them to use. I would be a glorified pawn for the queen that is Canada.

    I hadn't even put in my application and I was ready to die for my country. I was ready to cry, fight, lose, and kill for my country. I was seventeen and had one more year to wait before I could apply, that year felt longer than any other.

    And then, five months and fifteen days before my 18th birthday, I met the mother of Vincent Dubois.

    The moment I crossed paths with the powerful family that is the Dubois, my destiny had torn itself apart and began to rebuild. Into what? I'll never know.

What I do know is that the first audible tear was the response to a single word;

"YOU!"