Control

Chapter 5.

      I clamped my teeth down on my pen and gnawed at the black plastic; it was a bad habit I had adopted in the past few months which had only increased with my recent increase of stress. The vile masquerade ball was looming—only two days to go and I was close to shooting someone already. Sinking down in my chair, I glared at the mocking bright white blank page lit up on the monitor.

      Not a single word had been written and my article had to be published the next morning. I dunked my head in my hands and sighed.

     Valerie D'Voire. When I envisioned my alias, I saw an illustrious woman oozing elegance and lustful presence. If my only my devoted readers could see me now—the person they took their romantic and sexual advice from was not only a fraud, but a complete failure in everything I was lecturing them on.

     The familiar sting of a restless night clawed at my eyelids and I decided to turn away from the screen to face Avery. She was typing away ferociously, the fiery willpower in her puffed out cheeks almost matching the colour of her hair. I found myself jealous of her obvious progress. My mood had been erratic all morning and I was finding it difficult to keep the lid on my frame of mind.

     "You and John having a rough time again?" she asked, smacking her lips as her desk chair creaked when she swung around to face me.

     "A masquerade." I scoffed to myself, grinding my teeth with revulsion and squeezing the pen in my palm. "Who does he think he is? He knows me? Crazy narcissistic bastard."

     "Frankie?" A finger jabbed my shoulder, and I snapped my head in Avery's direction. She gave me a strange look and it took me a few seconds to clock the girl stood in front of our desks.

     She had a brown knitted jumper pulled over a cream shirt that hung in all the wrong places and a black pleated skirt that hung lifelessly down to her knees with some knee high brown boots. Her hair was a black bombshell—curls in every direction possible and not in a flattering manner, it was barely tamed by bobby pin holding a section of the wild strands back, allowing me to see her face, which seemed to have a supple caramel tan and big golden eyes.

     "Hello?" Avery said, the silence between the three of us becoming awkward.

     "I—" the girl began, her voice small and timid, as she was. The air seemed to have changed, an amiable atmosphere warming the room. "I was supposed to give this to you," She said as she gestured to the thin wooden box in her hand before hastily placing it on my desk.

     "What is it?" I wondered out loud, my curious gaze fixed on the box that was now sat right in front of me.

     "You should know—it is yours after all," The girl let out a light laugh, until she seemed to shock herself into remembering something and the humour in her eyes died as soon as it had appeared. "I have to go."

     I touched the smooth wood of the box, my fingertips brushing along the worn edges. It looked old; older than anything I had ever owned in my life. A frown creased my brow. "This isn't mine," I declared shortly but when I had looked up, the girl was gone.

     Avery mirrored my perplexed expression. "Who was she?"

     "I don't know."

     My fiery friend spun her chair around, sitting on it backwards and rested her chin on the back as she looked at me. "Well, are you going to open it or not?"

     "I haven't even finished my article," I said.

     "That's what overtime is for." She laughed, her lips spreading into a devilish grin. If I were to have a physical entity of the naughty, procrastinating side of my conscience, Avery would have won the role. Hands down. "Come on, when was the last time you got a free gift at work?"