You're My Boss.

𝖂𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕭𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗

ᏒᎥᏋᏝ

I throw myself in the uniform and press my hands over the creases of countless long shifts and endless days. The jacket faded and worn at the edges, fails to conceal the wariness in my eyes.

A threadbare shirt, yellow with age and stained with marks of spilled and forgotten tears clings to my form. The once-shiny buttons, now tarnished and dull, serve as a somber reminder that I hadn't yet made enough money to leave this hell of a place.

Shoes, scuffed and worn from years of endless pacing and weary footsteps, echo the hollow sound of the promise I made to myself.

"You'll be out of here in a year," I remember the promise I had made to my naive eighteen-year-old self. It has been three years since and I am still here.

"Here," the guest tips me a measly one dollar.

"Thank you," I smiled though I didn't think a single dollar was enough after I had to make two trips to carry her luggage alone.

I slip the bill in my pocket, if nothing it would raise the ninety-nine dollars I had in savings to a hundred.

Just as get in the break room to pour myself some coffee, I hear the door close and someone sneaks behind me to whisper in my ear, "I finally got you alone."

"Oscar," I huff, annoyed.

I try to spin to confront my assailant - who just happens to be my pervert of a boss who delighted in harassing me daily - before I can get my bearings, he wraps his cold, clammy arms around me.

"Get off me," I push him away with a firm elbow to the chest.

"Touchy," he says, mockingly. "You nowadays twinks think you're better than the men that actually want you."

I scoff at his words. Of course, the man hiding the fact he likes boys from his wife and two kids could think like that.

"Yes," I tell him."I am better than the degenerate who gropes unsuspecting boys in break rooms while his wife is right next door." I hiss, walking out of the room.

Oscar's wife is only a room away from us. Her family owned the hotel, the only reason her husband runs the place is because of good old-fashioned misogyny.

I sigh and go back to help guests with their luggage. It made no sense to file a complaint against Oscar. No one in this narrow-minded town would believe my words against a family man like Oscar's. They would just brand me as the little fag that likes destroying the reputation of God-fearing men.

Soon my day ends and I change out of my work clothes to leave. I am just about to leave work for the day when Sandra, Oscar's wife approaches me.

"I want to talk to you," she voices in a deadpan manner. She walks off and I follow her.

I step into her office."Yes?"

Sandra's eyes narrow at me, as she throws me a nasty scowl."I want you to leave my husband alone."

"Excuse you," I scoff. "You should tell your perverted husband to leave me alone. Frankly, you should leave him, he doesn't respect you."

"Oh hush up," she screams."I am not ending twenty-five years of marriage because of you. I know husband, he isn't gay. He just needs you to stop confusing him."

"Hah," I laugh loudly at the delusion in her words."We both know Oscar isn't confused. I suggest you ship him off to conversion therapy and let me do my job in peace."

I turn my back on leaving, I am not paid enough to deal with Sandra and her husband yet I can't afford to have them fire me.

Outside the hotel, I wait for Da'vante, the guy I am in a situationship with to pick me up so he can drop me at my second job in New Haven.