They Deal in Pieces

Ch. 4

The soft rasping sound of my needle piercing the leather of a new binding soothed my nerves. This was the reason I had opted to apprentice in a place that many people viewed as their own personal hell. The smell of the old books, clean crisp parchment and old leather, wrapped around me like a hug. Combined with the slow work, it created a comforting and relaxing environment that allowed me to forget whatever was on my mind and just enjoy the feeling of being productive. Even the dim glow of the lanterns, which others complained about, made me feel like the only place that mattered in the world was this serene room where no one thought of me as a freak and no one would try and harass me. I had dreamed of spending my life here, caring for the various documents and enjoying the only place in this town that gave me true joy. But that peace was broken. He was in MY space, MY archive. And I hated it.
I threw the binding onto the workbench with a soft thud and muffled my frustrated scream with my hands. My bag was ruined... The only thing I had from my father was ruined...
My shoulders shook as tears overcame me and I collapsed onto the workbench. My chest felt like it was caving in on itself, suffocating me. I hadn't cried in many years and the feeling of the burning in my throat just made me sob harder. I didn't realize that my muffled crying had echoed throughout the archive until a soft hand rested on my shoulder.
"Blythe, dear... " Mr. Gilkens' soft voice floated over me, "I will finish up your work today. Go home and get some rest."
Choking back tears, I looked up into my teacher's sympathetic face and whispered a thank you under my breath. I gathered my belongings haphazardly into my arms and slung the remnants of my bag over my shoulder. Giving one last glance to Mr. Gilkens, I made my way to the Archives exit, head hung low. The cobblestone beneath my feet was my sole focus and I followed the path out from muscle memory alone. The emptiness was sinking in slowly and my entire being had become numb. That was until a sharp jolt rocked through the left side of me and I slammed against a row of bookshelves.
"Two times in one day? Who knew someone could be so disrespectful."
My belongings were strewn across the floor, a mirror image to what had happened less than an hour ago. The ache in my shoulder and hip from my earlier impact flared to a white-hot pain where I hit the bookshelf. His voice made my blood boil and my vision blurred with rage. He had shoved me again. I lunged at him, a blood-curdling scream ripping from my throat as we slammed against another bookshelf.
The aching pain in my shoulder from hitting the shelf prevented me from moving my right arm, but I flailed my left to the best of my ability. The pain from my injuries and my loss blinded me to reason and I just wanted to make him hurt for the damage he had done to me in so short a time. It also blinded me to the fact the the bookshelf we were pressed up against was beginning to tip.
Time seemed to slow as we fell with the bookshelf. I could only watch as a domino effect took hold and shelf after shelf crashed to the floor. Priceless, hundred-year-old documents that had taken ages to collect, preserve, and organize were scattered across the floor amongst shattered bits of the shelves that held them. I had just knocked the entire history of Brightwyn onto the damp cobblestone floor.
"WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!"
The shrill voice of Mr. Gilkens broke the deathly silence that had fallen after the crash and he came barging around the corner. His jowls jiggled almost comically as his round frame stomped towards where we were lying on the floor, but the utter fury in his eyes stopped any mirth in its path. He took in the scene; the floor littered with his life's work and his two apprentices at the center of it all.
"What did you do?"