The Poppy Field

Chapter 5

My confidence faded away the second I came face to face with my boss. He started shouting at me before I'd even had a chance to lay his coffee down on the desk. What he lacked in height he sure made up for in anger. I was rarely late to work, however much he liked to complain about it, and when I was it was nearly always because he'd asked me to do an extra task on the way to work for him. But that didn't matter one bit, it could never be his fault that I was late.

The look on his face told me that this was the last straw. First, I was inconsiderate enough to get hit by a car and taken to hospital. Then, I missed almost one month of work, because of said accident. Finally, I was late to work on my first day back, through no fault of my own. Although I decided it would be best not to mention that fact.

'Poppy, do I need to remind you that you have already missed a month's' worth of work. Let's not waste any more time here.' He snarled, barely looking up from his desk. He'd made a habit of this recently, to the point where I couldn't remember the colour of his eyes, not that it really mattered.

'Sorry, Sir,' I muttered. I turned to head out of the door suddenly stopping in my tracks. I didn't have anything to apologise for. I hadn't done anything wrong and I needed him to know that. The confidence from before beginning to rise up again, wanting to explain myself to him. I'd already committed to it before I realised how much of a bad idea this was. 'I don't think it's fair of you to always blame me.' I replied, standing up straight and pulling myself up to my full height, my arms at my sides, although they were beginning to shake.

'What?' He said, finally looking up, clearly not used to having anyone, let alone his personal assistant, talk back to him after he'd given an order.

'I just mean,' I carried on, my words slightly faltering. 'That it wasn't my fault that I was involved in the accident or that I missed time off work. Just as much as it wasn't my fault that the bus was incredibly late or that the queue in the coffee shop, where I was waiting for your coffee, was incredibly long.' My voice began to weaken, each word wavering as I wished I'd kept my mouth shut.

'What did you say to me?' He asked, standing up. He seemed to tower over me as he walked towards me, making me feel as if I was just an inch tall. His eyes were red and bloodshot and his breath reeked as he stood opposite me, his face uncomfortably close to mine. I tried to take a step back but my feet seemed rooted to the spot.

His expensive suit didn't seem to fit him quite right and looked as if it was a tiny bit too long on the sleeves; I decided it wouldn't be a good idea to point this out. I thought that if I left now then maybe everything would be alright, but it was too late. As I went to leave he grabbed my arm and spun me around. He shoved me towards the wall and pinned me up against it, one hand gripped tightly around my arm, the other extremely close to my neck. I couldn't breathe properly and my heart rate increased to at least double its normal rate. He moved his face even closer to mine so I could see every little hair that was growing out of his face. I forced myself to look away from him.

He rarely did anything like this. Sure he shouted at me every day and made me feel like absolute crap, but he had only physically touched me once before.

My body stiffened and I found myself unable to move, my muscles forgetting how to respond. There was no chance that I'd be able to get myself out of that office, no matter how much I wanted to. I couldn't remember a time when I'd felt more scared than I did in that moment. My heart beating so loudly in my chest that I felt the beats pulse through my body.

'It's not my fault that you're an incompetent woman who can't seem to do anything right,' he snarled his mouth pressed right up against my ear so I could hear every precise syllable. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, the rancid smell that flooded through my body and made me want to be sick. I wondered how long he'd been drinking, it was barely ten o'clock in the morning.

'I....I....' I began to stutter.

'That's what I thought,' he snarled his hand moving down to the top of my thigh, his fingers slowly rising and beginning to push up my skirt, his hand stroking up and down my thigh. I gasped and felt myself instantly push back. His overbearing strength kept me pushed against the wall but he seemed happy enough with himself as he stepped away from me, a crude smile on his face that sickened me. I pulled my skirt down as fast as I possibly could and turned away from him, practically running out of the door and firmly closing it behind me.

Tears that I didn't realise I had been holding back, began flooding down my face. I tried to hide it as best I could as I ran towards the toilets, purposefully choosing the ones on the floor above that I knew would be empty. My heart was still beating about four times its usual pace and I didn't know if it would ever go back to normal. I stared at myself in the mirror, my shaking hands either side of the sink. Once I'd wiped away the tears it scared me how normal I looked. There was nothing to show that I'd been attacked. Because that was what it was in simple terms. By looking at me you wouldn't be able to tell that anything was wrong.

I didn't want to have to go back into that office and I knew deep down that now would have been a better time than any to quit this awful job that I already despised. But there was something about giving him the satisfaction of knowing he'd beaten me that gave me an ounce of strength, just enough to carry on for a little bit longer until I could leave on my own terms. These days would be unbearable but part of me knew that if I left it would be much worse and if he somehow managed to track me down... I couldn't allow myself to think of what he might do. It was all too much.

There had only been on either time that something like this had happened. It had been a couple of years ago, after I'd been working here for six months. He'd brought me into his office one day, in a particular rage, and had started to scream at me. He'd been a lot thinner at the time, and had a lot more hair for that matter. I guess the confidence had gotten the best of him. He had pulled me towards him in a way that could have been romantic, if either of us had cared at all for each other and if it had been consensual. It wasn't. It was forced and aggressive and made me want to cry. He didn't get any further than that, but it was more than enough to scare me. It had done the job. I'd spent the past two years making a conscious effort to never do anything that would give him the chance to be angry at me again, until now. I'd let my guard down for just a few seconds.

The fear I felt now was exactly the same as I'd felt then but I couldn't risk what might happen if I quit. He had the power to black ball me in this industry. He had the power to make every second a living hell. I knew I couldn't take that risk. What was a bit of fear when the outcome was still achieving your dream? I knew how pathetic it sounded, but in my mind it made sense. Staying here still seemed like the slightly better option.

Lunch couldn't come quickly enough and the second the clock struck twelve, I ran out of my office and all the way back to the coffee shop where I'd been earlier that morning. When I'd found even the tiniest shred of happiness. I didn't realise that I was still wearing my broken shoes until I finished my coffee. In any normal situation I would've laughed. But today wasn't a normal situation and there was nothing to laugh about.

I bought some new shoes and a battery for my watch and by the time I headed back to the office I'd decided that the best thing to do was to pretend it had never happened and try my hardest to do my job, while avoiding him at any cost.

I filed paperwork and I arranged meetings and did everything that I usually did. Everything that I was paid to do. Except now I jumped every time there was a knock at my door or my phone rang and when I finally got home, I curled up in a ball under my duvet and cried myself to sleep. The same way I would've done over some boy, some pathetic heartbreak, when I was sixteen years old. This couldn't have been any more different.

I didn't relax until reaching the office the next morning, remembering that he wouldn't be in for the next few days; he had a meeting with a client at the other end of the country. I knew that because I'd arranged it all for him. The week flew by and by Friday I was able to complete my work without jumping at every sound but then he walked back through the door. Foolishly, I'd allowed myself to believe that by the time he returned I'd be fine. I'd be stronger. I'd created a false sense of bravery in my mind that shattered the second he walked through my office door demanding a coffee. My heart instantly began to race and I could feel my body tense.

I hoped that at some point all of this would get easier or I would at least be able to deal with it better than I had done so far, but I feared that if that day ever came that it would be my way of giving in and accepting defeat and that just wouldn't do.