𝘾𝙀𝙊. - 𝘾𝙀𝙊 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

19.

━━━

My heart pounds.

Rapidly. 

with the interaction that tensely occurred between me and Mr Jelton, and my own boss, Mr Dosteovsky, I find myself in an overwhelming place of anxiety. 

I don't know how to correctly approach this situation. Because I have never been in this situation. 

So the fear of the unknown is ultimately the most daunting glare against me. 

What am I to do?

I am left pondering, a mind empty of assumptions.

I could care less for what Mr Jelton had said; his blatant belittlement and arrogance do not phase me as far as he assumes it did, but I do however, care for how Mr Dosteovsky will perceive this. 

I care for Mr Dosteovsky's view. 

I care, professionally. 

And past that. 

Yet, I would never speak of that past tongue. 

I have learnt to awaken within the freshly washed linen of this hotel every single day since we flew here. They always ooze with laundry detergent the moment I sink into the material, harbouring me, holding me in the depths of wealth. 

A feeling I am afraid I will never grow accustomed to. How could I? This is not how I was raised, nor what I was surrounded by. This is not normal for me. 

But I remind myself; that this was once not normal to Mr Dosteovsky either. 

He, once, did not own a jet. A business. Countless cars, pressed and steamed suits, his name labelled across the world. 

This was not his at one point in his life. 

And that brings me to the core of him. 

He has had a life before me. Before I began working alongside his looming figure. He has experienced more in his life than I ever have. 

It's odd, it brings a strange, sour tinge to my mouth. Because I am jealous. Jealous of the years so heightened from my reach, running from every step I take. I will never catch up to him, and I will never reach him with the feelings I hold. 

It hurts. 

I wish I had been a part of his life many years ago. 

━━━

The chill-laced air of London, peering through the open windows of this car beckons me further, prickling my skin and leaving a chill across my body. We are said to stay here for roughly one more week, before we are off to fly to France, Italy, then back to New York. 

A part of me wishes to seep into the sheets of my own bed, the familiar comfort and the safe clutches of a space I am used to, yet my heart screams to stay as close to Mr Dosteovsky for as long as humanly possible.

As if I had a chance with him.

The delusion is ignorant bliss, and I have become more than happy to float in that pool I'm well aware I'll soon drown in. 

It will kill me, I know it. 

But, bliss during this moment is far out of reach. 

━━━

"What did he say to you?"

My forearm has begun to ache through the material of my black, blazer dress, the tight, pinching cold of the air brushing my skin by the open balcony door.