NINTH FLOOR | 18+

II. B L A C K & W H I T E M O V I E S

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V I O L E T T E
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The cold glass from the glistening black car came in contact with my forehead. I rested myself against the car window while the rain poured down heavily in Manhattan. The once blue sky was embedded by various grey colored clouds, making the scene look somewhat like a 1960s black and white movie.

The only sound that echoed throughout the car was the rain coming in contact with the black metal of the car and the slight breeze of air conditioning circulating throughout the interior. I was used to it by now, the silence. For some it was the most precious gift of all times, but for me it had become my worst enemy and also my best friend. By drowning myself in strangling thoughts, it had allowed me to commit suicide in my imagination. All while allowing me the gift of deeper emotions, the ones that seemed to surface to the top easily in the sound of silence.

My father once told me that I felt too much in such a short time, but that was a lie. The truth was so simple yet he couldn't have seen it because he is a man too complex for anyone's understanding. The truth is that I didn't feel enough in the right moment which only led me in feeling too much at the wrong moment. I guess that is one thing I share with him because he's so reserved at all moments that when the time came to express it led to bloody masquerades.

My mother on the other hand is like one of the pages from Emily Dickinson's fine poetry books. The ones you would find on a library shelf, waiting for the right one to come open it's pages that have been touched by many. She wanted to be touched by one who caressed the old poetry paper like it was one of a kind. But, that's what my father did. Yet he could go back to the poem now and read it a thousand times and still come up with a new meaning that was foreign to him before.

She is complex, but once she was simple enough for my father to come read. I mean a man like him could only be with a woman like her. She is his to love and his to hate because Ravenna Rossi only belonged to Rafael Rossi till death does them apart.

As I continued to rest on the glistening car window, I was greeted upon a reflection of my own. Even when the reflection on the glass belonged to me, it felt so foreign much more like a stranger staring at you rather than a familiar face. Violette Rossi sounded something like in a foreign language that you knew nothing of. It was so foreign that even I forgot who I was, almost funny how people that walked in crowds could find their way out when crowded minds of people could allow them to get lost so easily.

The intruders in my mind would have to wait to rob the banks of what was left of me as the car came to a halt along the curbside in front of a freshly rain painted glass building. For the outsiders this architecture must be a sight to sore eyes along with a work of art for those who must have designed such a magnificent glass building.

I gave a small nod of my head to the driver who had thankfully stayed quiet the whole journey here. It wasn't that I minded talking to people, but my lack of communication over the years led me to becoming a silent seeker, something my father admired. He told me that a person's greatest weakness can be his or her thoughts because when shared with the wrong person, they would only result in powerful enemies. Enemies who would rather kill your morals than you.

I smoothed out my thunder gray pencil skirt which very much matched the weather of the day before fixing my white blouse which only complimented the color scheme. My hair was perfectly combed out straight and the nude lipstick coated my rouge lips as if it was its canvas.

The black leather file in my perfectly manicured hand was ready to be handed in. I started to walk towards the entrance of the overlooking building and was instantly greeted with its interior which only further complimented the whole architecture. My eyes scanned the perfectly polished black marble floors along with the modern lighting which brightened the whole building even in the unfortunate conditions.

My white heels clicked against the contrasting black marble surface of the floor. Immediately several eyes shot my way which I knew confined of those who were looking at me as their potential threat and those who merely wanted to solve the mystery of who I was. If there was something that I learned in my life then it was that looks could definitely murder.

The receptionist seated on the long front table waited for me to introduce myself as I came in front of her working space.

"How may I help you today miss?" Time to lock away myself in a jail and release the criminal Violette Rossi who had murdered herself in the process of becoming a well reserved women. A mirror image of perfection is what she is. A women that not only met the goals of the society, but also spoke her mind wisely.

"Good morning, I'm Violette Rossi. The new hired personal assistant of Ruben Efrain. I would love for you to assist me to my needed floor." The women parted her blood red lips before clearing out her throat.

The hate for my last name ran deeper than my blood. It was an identify that felt like a coffin that buried my body alive six feet under with just enough freedom to breathe, but not enough to allow me to live. Those who have it all know what they have lost on the way.

"Very well Ms.Rossi, I would like you to go to the the elevator right down the corner and assist yourself to ninth floor." I gifted the women a smile before wishing her good day and headed down the given direction of hers.

The echo of my heels died as it entered the short alley where their was indeed a glossy black elevator waiting to defy gravity. I clicked the arrow pointing towards the direction of the sky and patiently waited for the assistance of the elevator to come. The doors of the elevator momentarily perched open before revealing its similar exterior of black marble.

I entered the space and that was the last of the noise I heard as silence embedded around me once again. I saw the numbers on the digital screen scroll up as we passed the floors above before the prominent number nine graced the screen.

The doors of the elevator dinged open revealing the famous ninth floor of the Efrains. The floor was indeed a piece of art as it was covered in the glass walls revealing the beauty of Manhattan where along with the luxury were the ones who had killed for this luxury. My heels cried out on the empty floor towards the closed doors plated with the name of Ruben Efrain.

I held the leather file close to me as the tick of my watch was deafened by my raging pulse. Fisting my hand, I brought it up to the auburn doors that reeked of the smell of fresh wood. When my fist came in contact with the surface it was as if I was in a jury trail where my life depended on the decision the judge made. As if it was life or death. I wasn't far off as I knew that I was from now on going to obey my boss.

"Come in." I was going to obey Ruben Efrain.

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