A Man's World - Alfie Solomons one shots.

2 - Vegetables And Blankets

WARNING - multiple mentions of domestic abuse.

Your desk sat in the corner of the dusty distillery, the warm haze of the gas light made the otherwise cold workspace seem slightly more bearable. Taking a quick bite of your sandwich you buried myself in more work. Recently it was translating letters and invoices from Spanish, all for Solomon's "bakery",  who had just started importing whiskey into Mexico due to the prohibition. All your time was spent negotiating, always wanting it cheaper, the number of times you had to explain illegal goods cost more you will never know.

One of the last workers bid you a cheerful, but tired goodbye as they slunk out of the large door, the moment you heard the familiar boom of the wooden door closing echo through the empty work floor you pulled a large blanket from under your desk, wrapping it round your body as you crossed your legs on the chair. It was deadly quiet as you turned up the gas lamp on your desk. You thought about going home many times, thought about seeing your dog again, but all hope was cut off by the thought of your father. you winced as you traced your fingers across your skin, bruises and cuts became a normality in that house. Only now were they starting to fade, yet the memories were a fresh wound that stung if you went near it. Rubbing your eyes with the butt of your hands to wake yourself up you flipped over the papers. Paper clipping translations with originals and putting them in appropriate folders. After 2 hours you packed and organised your work and leant back into your chair, acting as a cradle as you curled up and nodded off.

Another day. You woke up early, grabbed your coat and walked out, grabbing your purse you checked the clock as you slipped out of the door, the sun was just rising as you made it out the alley, it was Wednesday so the market was just finishing setting up, you grabbed some food so you could make it through the day, mostly fruit and vegetables since meat wasn't a love of yours.

When you made it back to the distillery it was almost half full, men nodded and said good morning, walking over to your desk you swung your bag of fruits and vegetables down so it propped against your blanket. You spotted Ollie in the corner of your eye and quickly threw your hat down, exchanging it for some papers from your desk.

"Ollie!" you called, he stopped just before entering Mr. Solomon's office. The door was open as he stopped to look at you.

"Everything alright, precious?" you scowled at his remark,

"Anselmo from la voz angél, the bar?  He still wants less for the whiskey, I need you to tell me what to do with him." You paused debating on whether to call him out, "Also don't call me precious" you snapped, pushing the papers into his chest, causing him to stumble backwards. The door slammed behind him, clearly not amused by being pushed by a woman in front of his boss and the majority of the work force.

You sat down at your desk once again, it seemed your entire life revolved around it, day in day out. 'how mundane' you thought, resting your chin on your hand as you pulled an apple from your bag, taking a bite you flipped through your schedule for the day, you had to call isábel Ortega, the wife of a bar owner. Grabbing a phone, you dialled the number. Half-way through the call Ollie came to your desk, his brows furrowed as he waited for you to look at him.

"Un memento senorita Ortega, por favour" you covered the speaking part of the phone, "What do you want" the words were unintentionally bitter when they left your mouth but you didn't go back on them.

"Mr. Solomons wants to see you." he replied with a smirk, he seemed to look down at you, you repeated the words in your head as your brain went into panic mode.

 is he firing me? Did I go too far? Fuck fuck fuck fuck...

 you tried to keep calm as you nodded and turned back to the phone