6.

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━━━

Within the following weeks, my mind dangles with the thought and presence of Mr Dostoevsky. 

Weeks turn into months, two, particularly. 

And as my regular office surrounds me, my legs crossed over each other, the heel of my shoe lightly clicking against the metal feet of my office chair, the scent of floral air fresheners, disinfectant wipes and coffee lingers in the air. 

It's a mixed palette of stimulating the senses. The bright, fluorescent ceiling lights that overshadow the workers most unpleasantly, the mixed scents that give me major headaches, the sound of erratic typing along our computers, light chatter and laughter, this complete array has become my day-to-day sensory diet. 

Have I gotten used to this? in a sense, yes, but even so, it's not within the most optimistic of environments to sit in for hours and hours each day. 

Nonetheless, the pay is agreeable. 

"Here, I made this, for you..." 

And the sound of a voice which I dread overlaps the sound of my nails darting across my keyboard with a swift movement, and the sound of my calm breathing. 

Now, it's shallow, and as my lungs rise and fall, a wave of uncomfortable rigidness slams against my body to an intrusive presence that invades my office space without hesitation. 

My eyes struggle to break from my computer monitor, yet as I do, my nightmare hasn't left my office.

"Hello, R-Ralph," I force, the sight of a co-worker of mine, a slightly older man named Ralph envelopes my sight, as much as I hate it. 

He's a larger man, on the plump side with what seems to be very greasy, unwashed hair. Yet I know it's just packed with mass amounts of gel and product, slick against the thin, black hairs over the side of his forehead. 

His light-blue button-up strains against his round stomach, the buttons pulling and barely holding together, with his thick, clammy hands with little, black hairs sprouting from his knuckles can be seen holding a cup of freshly made coffee. 

I have absolutely no issues with this man's appearance, I am not one to judge someone solely based off of that, especially when I don't know their story. But I would feel this way if this man wasn't a complete creep.

Throughout the years that I've worked at this company, I have had to report Ralph over three times for different sexual harassment incidents. None of which were taken seriously, and nothing had been done. He only acts like this towards me, very 'sweet' and 'kind', yet with others, he's quite a rude man. Very dismissive and snappy with others.

I know his attempts to communicate with me are with hopes of something romantic with me, yet I have told this man that I have no interest in him countless times. And what scares me is that he cannot take no for an answer.

On multiple accounts, he has taken photos of me without my permission, all in many sexual senses. Photos of any closely intimate areas he can possibly zoom into, and on multiple occasions, he has attempted to grope me in the elevators and whenever he can catch me in private. 

It's quite frustrating, and to have him here in my office, with coffee I never asked for nor wanted, it's a building agitation that I cannot shake off.

"I made you coffee, just as you like it, I know how you like your coffee," His breathy voice mixed with his very nervous demeanour creeps me out in the slightest, causing a light twitch across the side of my face.

"No, thank y-you," I state quite firmly, quietly. The waves of his scent, an unlikable mixture of sweat and over-sprayed deodorant wash across my office as he shifts and moves. 

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