Be Alright

Eleven

Eleven: Dizzy

The smell of vanilla filled my nose and I was so thankful for the vanilla latte Jace had brought me this morning. I don't know if I could have managed without it.

Work wasn't busy. It was the opposite, actually. I didn't have anything to do except review some case studies. Instead of getting it done and going home, I resorted to spinning in my desk chair and seeing how long it took me to get dizzy.

I learned that looking up while spinning did more for me than looking down or forward. Keeping my eyes closed delayed the time even more and to keep the speed going, it was better to spin clockwise. Do any of these things correlate to making you dizzier faster? Not really, but for me it did the trick.

Sipping my latte, I could feel the dizziness start to wear off. My head is pounding, but I guess that's the outcome when you're a dumb bitch.

The sound of my phone ringing nearly brought the headache back and I have to quickly hit the answer and speaker button to stop the pressure from building up.

"Octavia Bradley," I answer, hoping to god it wasn't a client or anything. The dizziness was making my voice groggy and I'm sure that would not make my boss happy.

"Bradley." My boss, Thomas Cline, yells into the phone. "You have ten minutes to stop whatever shit you're doing and get to my office."

Just as quick as his voice sounded through the speakers, it ended. The loud beep of the phone call ending made me shutter and I wondered what the hell I did wrong to be yelled at like that. Sure, Tom had never been the nicest. Nobody in the criminal department had ever been nice. He usually refrained from yelling unless something was wrong.

Was I getting fired?

Surely taking a five minute 'spin' break isn't enough to fire somebody. Not only that, but I made sure I was quiet. He had no way of knowing.

I sigh and stand from my chair, my knees feeling wobbly as I tried to walk out of the office. I held onto the walls as I made my way down the hallway and towards the door to the stairs.

As soon as I pull open the doors, my body is grabbed and my back is thrust against the back of the wall. A hand covers my mouth and I know that even if I scream, nobody would be able to hear me. Nobody here takes the stairs.

My only thought was this person was going to hurt me. It isn't a secret that I have targets on my back. Any person who works in the field I do probably had pissed off a lot of angry people.

But how could they get all the way to the third floor without being noticed?

When I finally take in my surroundings, my widened eyes grow soft. I wasn't being murdered.

Or at least I didn't think I was.

"Jace! What the hell is wrong with you?" I shout as soon as I ripped his hand away from my mouth.

Jace isn't startled at all by my yelling. He doesn't look himself. His hair is less, as if he's ran his hands through it numerous times today. His face was pale and he looked almost sickly.

He didn't look like my Jace.

"Listen to me, Octavia. No matter what Tom says to you, you can't agree to what's he's asking," Jace tells me.

His voice was full of worry and urgency that deepened my confusion at what was going on.

What could Tom ask me that's so bad?