The Unspoken Truth

Chapter Five [Edited]

CHAPTER FIVE

Annie's POV        

        Monday morning. Crisp air and wind that nearly knocks the natural curls out of my hair. The office smells like stale bread and fresh coffee. I hitch the strap of my messenger back onto my shoulder as I make my way back to the editing room. The whole editing staff looks up at me when I hit the door. "What?" I demand. I walk to Scarlett's desk, "Scarlett?"

        "Mr. Kreysten told us not to talk to you," she whispers. "He thinks you're a bad influence."

        "He what?!"

        "Shh... I can't talk to you," she directs her attention at the papers in front of her. I seem to dissipate into oblivion as the editors go on with their editing, pretending I don't exist.

        "Do you see what he's doing?" I ask them, "He's turning us against each other! We can't let them do this!" People look up at me with wide eyes. "Crystal," I say, walking to her desk. "Do you remember a year ago when you had your baby?" She nods silently. "Where was your husband?"

        "Drunk," she chokes on her words.

        "Who was there for you? Who was in that hospital room?"

        "You," she whispers.

        "Scarlett," I say, "James cheated on you last month. Do you remember?"

        "Yes," she says.

        "Remember how I chased James all the way from your house to fifty fourth street and pounded his face in for hurting you?" Chuckles came from my audience as Scarlett smiled at the memory. I pace along the front of the room. "We can't let them do this to us! We are not against one another! This is a team!" I punch my fist in the air as I say the words. "Kreysten can't control us. We have got to speak the truth!" I look around the room desperately, "Who's with me?!"

        Scarlett stood up with a smile on her face, she gestured to the rest of the room. Everyone is on their feet when the door bangs open. "Miss Morter," Kreysten said bitterly. I motion for everyone to sit down as I follow him out into the hallway.

        "You're leading a campaign against me?" he says through gritted teeth. I opened my mouth to interrupt but he continued. "Miss Morter, I expected better from you. I am your boss for crying out loud. Does that mean nothing to you?"

        "With all do respect, sir, you are being unfair. You are not listening to me, sir. When I tried to tell you yesterday that the stories are being written wrong, you ignored me."

        "I understand you. But it is not my listening skills that is bringing this company to the ground. It is the editing staff, you don't do your job."

        "It is your fault! You manage the company! Remember?!"

        "Miss Morter. I will not be spoken to like that. Bring your tone down, young lady. You're being completely disrespectful. And I will not stand for it!" I stood there and stared at him wide-eyed, wondering if he was going to fire me. He brought his voice down at my expression, "You take the rest of the day off, Miss Morter. I will see you tomorrow." Kreysten turned on his heel and walked down the hallway. I stood there and heaved a relieved breath as he went. I opened the door to the editing room and closed it behind me. Tapping on the tables as I passed them on my way to my desk.

        "Just so you know," I whispered to the staff. "I'm going to be here at seven tomorrow morning." I picked up my bag and strutted out of the room, leaving a crowd of whispering awe-struck staff members behind me. The sky is dusted with a thin layer of clouds making the sidewalk almost glow. Droplets of rain begin to sprinkle the landscape, creating dots on the cement. I pull my hood down over my eyes, shielding my face from the late January rain. I have half a mind to blame Kreysten for all my problems in the company. And I guess I could, it just wouldn't be right. It isn't his fault this anonymous writer documents the stories wrong, or that he thinks it's the editing staff's fault.

        My vision starts to blur as I try to hold back tears. Since I was fifteen, I have worked to be a writer. Spent countless nights reading anything and everything I could get my hands on. Wrote nearly every second of my life. I made myself vulnerable to publishing companies, editors, and agents. I refuse to believe I am not gifted, that I am not meant to be a writer, no matter how much fate isn't agreeing with me. Sometimes, I close my eyes and imagine my life if I hadn't taken the demanding editing position I have now. I wonder if it would be different. I wonder if I wouldn't feel so helpless. I instantly blame Mr. Kreysten for my publishing failures, and for my impatience with writers. But he is not to blame.

I am to blame.

        The world closes in on me during the darkest hours of the night. Taunting me to keep going, keep pushing. But I don't want to. I want to give up and give in to all my darkest thoughts that only brush against me in hours of the night. I feel obligated to keep going to keep trying. Keep sending books off, and receiving rejection letters. Edit article after article of writers who have a better job than me. Writers who think they rule the world. When, in reality, they are all just servants of Kreysten. Servants who are afraid to speak their minds so they pour their hearts out onto lined pages that he sells off as his own.

        "Annie!" a voice called, strangled from the brutal cold. I wait until Cooper has caught up to me before I talk to him.

        "Hey Cooper," I say quietly.

        "That guy is still writing the stories wrong. It's getting out of hand," he says, looking at me.

        "I tried to confront Kreysten about him today but he told me to go home early."

        "I'm sorry he sent you home because of me," Connor says, straightening his tie.

        "It isn't because of you. If someone is writing the stories wrong, it's my problem too."

        "I have to go Annie. See you tomorrow?" he asks, hope in his eyes.

        "Yeah. I will be at the office bright and early," I said smiling. Copper takes off running towards the office. When I get to my house, I unlock the door and walk into the front room. My cat is perched on the entertainment center, staring at me with lively green eyes. "Hey kitty," I say as I walk past her, scratching her head. She purrs at me, jumping down from the entertainment center and rubbing against my legs. I close the curtains and head upstairs to bed. As I lay down that night, I decide not to let my inner demons keep me from sleep like they usually do. I decide that I will believe that everything will work out just fine.