The rest of the day dragged on like a bad dream, each minute stretching out in a haze of paperwork and mounting dread. After lunch, I drowned myself in files, typing, stamping, and signing with a frantic energy, trying to bury the morning's strange confirmation beneath a mountain of mundane tasks.
Two hours later, I dropped the final folder onto the completed stack and leaned back in my squeaky chair, my shoulders cracking in protest as I released a long, weary breath. "Finally," I muttered to the empty cubicle, a flicker of relief cutting through the exhaustion.
I gathered the reports and made my way to Anna's desk, my footsteps sounding too loud in the quiet office. She was seated with one leg elegantly crossed over the other, her fingers flying across the keyboard with a practiced grace.
The slit in her black pencil skirt had ridden up slightly, offering a fleeting glimpse of pale skin that made my chest tighten unexpectedly. The faint, expensive scent of her perfume reached me before I could speak, a subtle warning to keep my composure.
"Uh… the report's done," I said, thrusting the folder toward her like a shield against her intensity. She looked up, and her sharp assessing eyes locked with mine, seeming to see right through my fragile calm.
"Luke?" she asked, her voice unexpectedly soft. "You look pale. Is something wrong?" My throat constricted, turning my words into a dry stammer.
"N-no, I'm fine. Just… tired." She took the papers from my hand, and the brief brush of her fingers against mine sent a small, electric tingle straight up my arm. For a suspended second, neither of us moved, caught in that silent, charged contact before she blinked, cleared her throat, and turned her attention back to the report.
I retreated to my desk before my brain could short-circuit from the overthinking, collapsing into my chair as the minutes ticked by. Then I heard the sharp click of heels approaching. Anna stopped beside my desk, holding the report like it was a piece of damning evidence.
"Luke," she stated flatly, her voice carrying across the quiet floor. "What is this?" It was loud enough that half the office turned to look, including Mark, who perked up with his usual stupid smirk.
"I.. I'm sorry?" I managed, scrambling to my feet. She jabbed a finger at a section of the page. "This part doesn't match the figures from finance. Did you even check it?" My stomach sank like a stone. "I must've copied the wrong column.." "Copied the wrong column," she repeated, her voice dripping with such disbelief that I felt myself shrink.
All around us, colleagues were staring, and even Hazel's sympathetic glance from across the room only made the humiliation burn deeper. "Fix this before you leave," Anna snapped, then seemed to register the audience and softened her tone just a fraction. "Next time, double check your data, Luke."
With that, she walked away, the steady click of her heels echoing like a countdown to my total breakdown. Mark let out a low chuckle. "Tough day, huh, buddy?" I ignored him, sinking back into my chair, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes burning into my back.
By the time I had corrected the mistake, the office was almost empty, the silence a stark contrast to the earlier scrutiny. I placed the corrected pages on Anna's desk, she flipped through them quickly and gave a curt nod. "Good. You can go." That single word of approval felt less like a compliment and more like a final dismissal.
I grabbed my bag and stepped outside, where the cool evening air hit my face with the shock of sudden freedom. For a long moment, I just stood on the sidewalk, breathing deeply while the city pulsed around me. My mind replayed the humiliation on a loop, Anna's disappointed face, Mark's smug grin, Hazel's pity.
"Great day," I muttered bitterly to myself, watching people rush past, their lives filled with laughter and purpose, while I felt like a ghost drifting unnoticed among them.
By the time I reached my apartment building, the city had settled into a hushed quiet. I pushed the door open, half-expecting to be met with the usual wall of noise and chaos, but instead, I was greeted by an unfamiliar silence.
A wave of relief washed over me. "Finally," I whispered into the stillness, daring to hope for a peaceful night. The apartment smelled of stale beer and old takeout, the floor a testament to Jean's carelessness, littered with clothes, cigarette ash, and crushed bottles. With a sigh, I kicked an empty can aside, thinking that maybe, just for once, I would get a decent night's sleep.
But then I heard it, a faint, rhythmic sound from down the hall. A wet, slapping noise mixed with low, breathy moans and soft laughter. My stomach dropped.
"...oh yeah... mmm..." I froze halfway to my room, and against every sane instinct, my eyes were drawn to the slight gap in Jean's door. Inside, I saw the blur of two women, one moving on top of him, another laughing breathlessly beside the bed. The sight made me feel sick, a knot of anger and envy tightening in my gut.
Jean's head turned lazily, and our eyes met across the messy room. He smirked, that familiar arrogant grin that screamed you'll never be me, and lifted a hand in a mockery of a greeting before kicking the door shut with his foot.
The laughter from behind the door seemed to grow louder, taunting me, as I walked the final steps to my room and closed the door behind me. I sat on the edge of my thin mattress, my fists clenching so tightly that my knuckles turned white.
The sounds didn't stop, they only grew sharper and more rhythmic, each moan and gasp cutting through the thin wall like a blade, slicing straight into whatever was left of my peace. It wasn't just noise, it was a brutal reminder of my own isolation, a spotlight on how small and invisible my life had become. I was nothing here.
I buried my face in my hands, my teeth clenched against the rising tide of frustration. The voice from that blue-lit night whispered again in my memory, soft and cold and calm.
"Every gift has a price. And you shall pay it at the end." But another voice, my own, raw and desperate, rose up to drown it out.
"I need to get out of here," I growled through gritted teeth. "I need my own place. I need… My own women."
I lifted my head, my gaze fixing on the ceiling fan as it spun slowly, its blades casting shifting shadows across my room like thin blades. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled a low warning, and for just a heartbeat, the faintest blue light flickered in the dark corner of my room, gone so fast I could never be sure it was ever really there.