Never knew 'runt' was a word for a human!
I've been working my way up this firm for five years; each day feels the same. Same data to analyse, reports to finish, pop-up meetings to attend that never achieve much, all talk and no action.
The cycle is endless; some get promoted, others stay in this cubicle and work for others to take credit. I have always wondered what I was doing wrong. Maybe I need to work more, take on extra tasks, extra hours, even without pay.
No, I was wrong, all along; with my newfound powers, I now understand what's happening in the hum of their thoughts, the scheming, the illicit transactions. The deals and exchanges during coffee breaks, and how 'runts' like me were used, have been a lever for others to scale and get recognized.
Now I know I was Melissa's 'runt'.
"Melissa, how is your runt doing?" I heard Julia whisper to Melissa in the restroom.
"I think it's time you suck up all the value she has to offer and get her kicked off the team.
She is starting to gain attention, recently…"
"Really?! Why did you say so?" I could hear the concern in Melissa's voice
"Well, the gossip around is that her looks are gaining attention, and one of the senior executives asked for her profile from HR.
If you ask me, I would say find a way to ensure she is kicked off the team before she gets recognized for her work over the years." Julia replied.
"Hmm, I see, she did almost sabotage my work for the coming presentation with her absence from work two days ago.
I was planning on letting her off, but now I need to rethink that and come up with a plan." Melissa stated cruelly.
Julia replying conspiratorially, "Good luck with that. Whatever you do, be quick and precise. I don't want any unnecessary attention on our data unit, such that all of us get exposed."
Melissa didn't speak, but I could hear her thoughts pouring out like water through a sieve.
It doesn't matter if you all get exposed; I have secured my promotion with this new project. The manager assured me that, so far, my presentation has impressed the board.
They both exited the restroom, and I couldn't help inhaling deep breaths just to recover from all I had just heard.
For the past few days, I have gotten used to the side talks and kinky remarks about me in their thoughts. They can't touch or harm me. I'm the dangerous one, and I'm yet to unleash my fury.
I wish I could call Tiffany, though, but she has been out of state since yesterday. Even if I could, what can I tell her? I can hear others' thoughts? Or their scheming intents?
Their smiles are painted on, but each mind tells the truth.
"She thinks she's better than us."
"Probably slept with someone to get her last promotion."
"Useless. Always so quiet. Creepy, even."
I almost smile. I used to believe their words — the spoken ones, the ones dressed in pleasantries. Now, I can hear the rot underneath.
I leave the restroom for my desk, Melissa waves from her cubicle, her thoughts a buzz of irritation.
"Elena, thank God you're here," she says sweetly. "We're due to present the Q4 numbers at two. You've got the spreadsheets, right?"
Her voice is warm. Her mind, however, spits venom.
"Let's see if she even realizes I changed the report to my name. The boss won't question it anyway."
For a moment, I nearly lose my composure. My pulse spikes, my nails press into my palm.
But I school my features into the same polite neutrality I've worn for years.
"Yes, I have the files," I say. "Do you want me to print the latest draft?"
"Oh no, don't worry," she chirps. "I already submitted it."
Of course, she did.
I turn away, my breath steady, but my thoughts darkening like gathering clouds.
Every betrayal I've ever endured seems to form into one truth: 'Beware of people smiling, they just might stab you.'
****
The day crawls. I sit at my desk pretending to focus, while the edges of my mind pulse with a new rhythm — the soft hum of control. I can hear Melissa's mind, yes, but if I focus, I can also press and bend her thoughts.
The outing with Adrian obviously expanded my psychic strength.
It's dangerous. I know it. But curiosity is a dangerous temptation; besides, Melissa needs her comeuppance.
I test the edges of it, a whisper at first, like dipping my fingers into still water, my aim to confuse her.
Her thoughts waver.
"Did I leave the slides in the wrong folder?"
"No, I didn't. I checked twice. I'm fine. I'm fine."
I withdraw, heart pounding. So, it's true, I can bend thoughts, not just hear them.
I sit back, overwhelmed and… exhilarated.
Maybe the universe gave me this gift, this curse, for a reason.
Maybe this is my reckoning.
****
By lunch, the whispers began. The presentation files are missing. The department head is furious. Melissa is pale, her hands shaking as she scrambles through folders.
I sit quietly at the pantry, spooning soup I can't taste, pretending ignorance. It would be so easy to pity her. But pity died in me the night Ellie sold me for money.
Melissa's voice trembles when she rushes to me. "Elena, did you—by any chance—see the original draft? The one with the final budget formulas? I think my folder got corrupted."
Her thoughts, however, betray her panic.
"If she says no, I'm screwed. I can't redo the numbers. I didn't even understand half her formulas."
I let her squirm for a moment before replying, "Maybe check the shared drive again. Sometimes the system delays syncs."
Her relief spills across her face like a flood. "You're a lifesaver."
"Stupid, trusting Elena. Always cleaning up my mess."
I smiled softly, stared into her blue eyes, saying. "Always happy to help."
By two o'clock, the conference room is full. The senior manager sits at the head of the table, eyes sharp. Melissa begins her presentation, all confidence and luster — the perfect employee in her crisp suit, every slide branded with her name.
But she doesn't know what I've done.
Because last night, after hearing her brag in her thoughts, I reached into the shared drive and switched her version with my original draft.
The one she never bothered to understand, the one filled with data markers that, without context, look disastrous.
As she clicks through the slides, I can feel the air change. Confusion ripples through the room.
The numbers didn't align, and her projections collapsed mid-chart. The manager's brows knit tighter with every passing second.
Melissa's voice wavers. "I don't understand. These figures—"
"Are wrong," the manager cuts in sharply. "And not just wrong. Reckless. This is a six-figure miscalculation. Who authorized this report?"
"I—I did, sir," Melissa stammers, her face paling.
The silence that follows is cold and merciless, and I don't need to read the minds here to know — her career just shattered.
"This meeting is postponed. Melissa, see me in my office right now." The manager said tersely.
Everyone dispersed in hushed silence. I step out into the corridor, my hands trembling. I should feel guilty. But I don't. I feel powerful — terrifyingly so.
Melissa finds me not long after, eyes wild, voice barely holding together. "Elena, please—tell them the truth. You made the reports! You know I wouldn't mess up like that!"
Her thoughts are in chaos.
"It can't be. She wouldn't do this to me. Would she?"
I tilt my head, meeting her desperate gaze. "You said you finalized everything yourself, remember? You even told the manager I was just assisting you."
Her breath catches. Her lips tremble.
"She knows. She knows what I did, and she's letting me drown."
The edges of her mind are fraying. I can feel it, like a thread unraveling; somewhere deep inside, something darker in me whispers: Pull.
I don't mean to. I truly don't. But my mind reaches for hers, and suddenly, I'm inside.
Her thoughts were pure chaos — guilt, jealousy, fear. I twist them gently, like a musician tuning string. Just a little pressure. Just enough to make her question herself.
"You failed because you're careless."
"They see what you really are — a fraud."
"You'll never fix this."
Melissa gasps, clutching her temples. "Stop it," she whispers. "Please stop."
I blink, horrified, and pull back. The psychic connection snaps. She sways, dizzy, eyes wide and wet.
But the damage is done.
By evening, the word spreads that Melissa had a breakdown in the restroom, screaming about voices, about people out to destroy her. HR escorts her out quietly. Her desk remains untouched, her files frozen for "review."
No one mentions her name after that.
I stay behind, long after the last worker leaves, the city lights bleeding through the glass windows, and the quiet hum of thoughts fades until only my own remains.
My reflection stares back at me from the window — same face, same eyes. But there's something new behind them: power. And the faintest hint of fear.
Because for the first time, I wonder if I've become what they always said I was.
A curse.
When I finally pack my things, the night outside is heavy with rain. I step into it without an umbrella, letting it wash over me. The cold bites, but I welcome it. It reminds me I'm still human, or I like to think that I still am.
Still tethered.
I think of Ellie, too; she's been avoiding me in the office — her betrayal, her words to me that night, "I didn't have a choice."
I wonder if Melissa's collapse was just the start; if somewhere deep down, I've been waiting for a chance to look my betrayer in the eye and make her feel what I felt. To make her walk a mile in my tight shoes.
The darkness in me whispers, you already did.
And part of me likes it.
I walk home drenched, the streetlights haloing every raindrop, and I whisper to the empty night:
"Everyone's lies are louder than their truth, but mine?" "Mine seek the truth."