one ~ revival
SOMETHING HAS SHATTERED within me.
A romantic would tell me it's my heart – but in this moment, I know it's more than that. A religious man might tell me it's my soul - but no one ever mentions that souls can shatter. If anything, it feels as though mine has simply left my body, watching all of this happen to a man who surely isn't me.
My eyes are scanning words but I can't comprehend them. The clock is ticking, but I can't hear it. The ring clutched in my hand is cutting into my palm, but I can't feel it.
She always did say that I would sleep through the apocalypse, and it seems like she was right.
The world has ended, and I wasn't even awake to watch it happen.
I read the letter for one final time before I crumple it in my fist and throw it across the empty room.
All traces of her are gone, and I'm left wondering if she ever existed at all.
If I inhale deeply enough and I shut my eyes tightly enough, it's almost as if I can pick up on the lingering scent of her – the one which tells me she did exist.
So I take a deep breath in. I hold it. And I don't let it go.
○
"Aspen, where the fuck is my coffee?"
My heart seemed to freeze mid-beat.
I slowly looked up, eyes flickering towards Marlowe's desk – where her morning soy caramel macchiato (three shots of espresso, no foam) certainly wasn't. She had reached for her coffee out of habit, only to find that it wasn't there.
Oh no.
Standing up instantly, my legs bumped awkwardly against the wood of my desk; they were shaking too badly for me to pay the pain any heed.
"I'm so, so sorry – I meant to go and get it after typing up these meeting minutes, but they've taken longer to complete than I thought," I managed to stammer out, stumbling over my consonants as they tumbled clumsily from my lips. For one terrifying moment, I thought no words would come out of my mouth, which had turned so dry it was like I had swallowed sand.
I dropped the stack of paper I had been working from for the last hour, resisting the reflexive urge to start wringing my hands as soon as they were empty. My chest tightened in response to the way Marlowe's lips flattened in clear disapproval; she had the uncanny ability to make you feel as though you were a child being scolded.
In order to deal with some of the backlog from the previous day, when I'd had to leave early for a hospital appointment, today I had come in an hour ahead of time, fully intending to run out to the coffee shop across the street in time to have it ready on top of her desk like I did every morning.
"To be perfectly honest with you Aspen, your job isn't particularly difficult," Marlowe said, pinning me with her hazel gaze. "One of the very few things I ask of you is to make sure that there is some coffee sitting on my desk when I come in every morning, while I do the job which effectively ensures your salary is paid. I couldn't care less if it was an honest mistake – there is absolutely no room for mistakes in my office. Do you understand?"
Swallowing, despite the difficulty to do so, I nodded. It felt as though rocks had piled up in my throat.
At the end of the day, however, Marlowe was right – there was zero room for mistakes, because I couldn't risk getting fired. There was nothing special which I brought to my role - which any old idiot could do - and so I was disposable. I needed this job far, far more than it needed me.
