Chapter 2 #2
“Aoi, tell me about this autobiography.” He wiggles his brows, stroking his thin beard. “What will it entail? Do you already have special requests for the cover?”
Everyone turns to me and eagerly awaits my answer. Among them, envious glares shoot through my skull.
Can’t I just jump out of the window?
Their gazes focus so intensely on my face that it riles up my anxiety. This is the part of the job that I despise the most because I’d always rather spend time by myself, away from prying ears and judging eyes.
“Well, it’s an autobiography, sir. I will talk about my life, my childhood, and what I went through. I’ll also write about my time as an author and my accomplishments.” I avert my gaze, avoiding my colleagues’ questioning stares. “I haven’t decided on anything yet, but I do have ideas.”
That’s a lie. I have been working on this book for months. Everything is basically ready except for the ending.
Their stares turn critical, and some start muttering among themselves. I don’t want to hear what they have to say, and yet I catch shards of their unfiltered comments.
Mr. Williams strokes his chin and leans back in his seat, looking pensive. I notice one specific set of eyes staring daggers at me. He’s probably the only one who dares to show his contempt for me so openly.
Derek Cullenreese.
As he clearly wants to beat me down, Mr. Cullenreese raises his hand, and with his usual condescending tone, he inquires, “With all due respect, aren’t you too young to publish an autobiography?
” He raises a brow, pushing his glasses further up his nose.
“Don’t you intend to wait a few more years until you experience more in your life? ”
Oh, shut the fuck up, you old dog.
I have every right to speak about my grief and feelings in my own freaking book. My age shouldn’t have an influence on whether I can or can’t write an autobiography. I’m thirty-three, for fuck’s sake, not twelve.
“Thank you for this excellent question, Mr. Cullenreese, but you don’t need to worry about the content of the book because I can assure you it won’t disappoint.
And if it were to, I’d take responsibility.
” I turn to my superior, smiling confidently at him.
“If Mr. Williams decides he doesn’t want to publish this autobiography, I’ll find a publisher who will. ”
And we all know not a single publisher would pass on the opportunity to work with me.
His cheeks redden with shame, and he sinks into his chair, not daring to say more as Mr. Williams laughs loudly. “Always so feisty. That’s something I admire about you, son. You’re very determined to publish this book, hmm?”
I nod and clench my fists under the table, feeling the blood rush through my veins and my heart hammering in my chest. I hate the feeling of being observed and having to speak up when they’re just waiting for me to mess up.
It’s as though I have to prove myself even after writing fifteen bestsellers.
I’m not some amateur, and despite my young age, they should take me more seriously, as Mr. Williams does.
Although all he wants is to get me into bed with him, so technically speaking, his opinion has no value either.
“Very well. I will make sure you get what you want.” He turns to face the rest of the people around the long desk. “We should now discuss the press conference we must organize.”
I stop listening the moment one of them brings up doing a photo shoot because they claim my face would be advantageous for sales.
“I suppose my job here is done,” I say. “I have some more work to tend to, if you don’t mind.”
“Absolutely. Thank you for your hard work.” He claps his hands, smiling brightly and fiddling with his mustache. “Take the day off. You deserve it.”
“Thank you, sir, but that’s not necessary.”
He squeezes my shoulder, and I almost flinch. “Nonsense. Take the day off. It’s an order.”
“Thank you, sir,” I give in and force a polite smile. “I’ll take my leave then.”
Dixon follows me out toward the company cafeteria, where I buy a sandwich. The place is almost empty since lunchtime has ended and everyone has returned to their offices.
“I can’t for the life of me understand why Derek has to be such a jerk,” he groans, slurping his noodles.
I shrug. “He hates me because he wants to be me.”
“Man, you’re so full of yourself.”
“But am I wrong?”
He snorts. “Nah. You’re too successful for me to contradict you. Anyone would wanna be you.” He points his chopsticks at me and grins. “Multi-millionaire, international best-selling author with good looks and a great personality. Though you’re an ass sometimes. No offense.”
“None taken.” I laugh. “He can envy me as much as he wants to as long as it doesn’t get in the way of my work. This project is important to me, and his meddling because he thinks I’m too young–or whatever–is just going to make things difficult.”
“Mr. Williams isn’t gonna let anyone influence him,” he says. “You’ve got the boss wrapped around your finger.”
“Don’t say that. I’m getting goosebumps.”
“But why are you always addressing Derek so politely?” he asks. “He sure as hell doesn’t bother with formalities. You can’t imagine how many times I’ve told him to mind his words.”
My shoulders sag. “He’s well respected in the field, and I don’t see the point in going out of my way to be rude. Sure, he’s a jerk, but in the end, see where he’s standing?”
“No, where?”
“Behind me,” I smirk. “No one has ever seen him talk shit to my face, after all. He can dislike me as much as he wants to, but as long as I excel at my job, he cannot complain about me.”
Dixon bursts out laughing, and I join him as he hits his chest to force his noodles down. “You’re so right, dude.”
Biting into my sandwich, I almost choke when he asks, “So what’s up with you and Jason? Why’s he so prickly lately? He’s been clingy, too.”
I swallow hard and smack my torso to make it go down faster. Wow, that stuff actually works. “He’s an asshole, and he better start minding his business before I shove my fist into his face.”
Dixon leans back, raising a brow. “Did y’all argue again?”
“The fuck you mean ‘again’? It’s not like we argue all the time.” I frown. “You make it sound like it’s a common occurrence. Sure, he gets on my nerves like no one else, but come on, more often than not, we’re fine.”
He shrugs. “If you say so.”
“Don’t act smart with me, you pineapple head.”
Stroking his perfect afro, he flips me off. “Leave my divine hair out of this.”
“You and your fabulous hair.”
He grins proudly. “You can’t deny that it’s majestic.”
I roll my eyes and laugh at how meticulously he caresses his hair. I must admit that it is incredible. With the insane amount of time he spends caring for it, I’d be surprised if it weren’t perfect.
***
New York City is bustling at night, and the lights shine brighter than the stars, completely engulfing any sight of them.
I’m exhausted from such a short day that I just want to bury myself under the blankets and sleep for an eternity. No one will miss me during the few hours I’m out of reach.
A rhythmic beat pulsates through my temple, making me frown. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch, nor drank any water, to be honest. I don’t bother wondering what could possibly cause my headache, as if it weren’t obvious.
The pills must’ve worn off by now, so I reach for another set I hid in the drawer. I can’t count how many pills I take on a daily basis. Probably more than I should, but my head is always killing me.
If it isn’t my head, it’s my heart.
I hate and love silence because I can hear my heartbeat louder than the fan on the ceiling. It’s peaceful despite reminding me I’m alive.
I lay my palm over my chest and feel how my ribcage rises with every breath and vibrates with every pulse under my fingers. I stare at the ceiling and the turning fan. The dim ember light gives the room an appeasing yet lonely atmosphere.
Despite being bored out of my mind, I don’t necessarily want to meet or talk to anyone, but I don’t want to be alone either. It’s not solitude that I fear; it’s the sensation of my body’s weight doubling, and the knowledge that if I allow my thoughts to wander, I won’t recover.
Loneliness seeps through the cracks of my carefully crafted facade of confidence and joy, reminding me that unless I’m useful, I’m worthless.
If my existence doesn’t contribute to someone’s comfort and happiness, I should just bury myself in a meadow for eternity.
Maybe I should let the soil root itself into my flesh and cleanse the rotten parts that have controlled my life for as long as I can remember.
Have I ever done anything for myself? Have I ever wanted something enough to push through?
A sharp sting in my head makes me wince, and I bury my face in my pillow. Don’t try to remember. Memories only hurt. Even if there was once joy among the pain, it’s now long forgotten.
The soft buzzing of my phone on the navy covers rips me out of my daze. Without a second thought, I reach for it and answer. “Yes?”
“Aoi, my man!” Sally’s enthusiastic voice roars.
“Hey, what’s up?” I smile despite myself.
She giggles, and I can tell she’s walking away from the loud noise of a street behind her. “The girls and I are going out tonight, wanna join?”
It’s tempting, but I have no reason to go. She’s probably only asking to be polite, and even if she actually wants me there, she’ll be fine if I stay behind.
I stare at the emptiness, fingers gliding over the fabric of the blanket. “I don’t know.”
“Aw, come on! We haven’t met up in ages! I miss you.” Her voice softens on the last part, and a sharp sting in my chest makes me wince, forcing me to sit upright on the edge of the bed.
Truthfully, I don’t hate the idea as much as I’m pretending to.
Meeting up with them again is an opportunity to hang out with people I love and who make me feel accepted.
She and I have always been especially close in college, and even though I tried to keep my distance, she always clung to me.
As if she knew I would drift away once she let go.
“Alright, I’ll come.”
“Perfect! Meet us at the Red Sparks downtown. We’ll be waiting at a table for you.” She hangs up, and I stare at my lock screen. A picture of the girls and me back in uni.
Sally is a breath of fresh air, but too much oxygen is bound to make you dizzy.
I push myself off the bed and head toward the half-empty closet. I haven’t yet unpacked all of my clothes. After all, this hotel room is only temporary. Everything is, me included.
Either way, it doesn’t matter where I reside. It’s all the same in the end–four walls and a roof don’t make a home.
I pull out a simple V-neck, black sweater, and a pair of black slacks.
There’s no need to get dressed up for a simple evening in a bar.
It’s a bit chilly at night but not nearly enough to need a coat.
My hair is still slightly damp, but there’s no way I’m blow-drying it in late spring.
I slide on some socks and a pair of black Converse.
As they say, less is more.
Once I’m fully dressed, I rush out of the hotel and inhale sharply, my lungs expanding, and the tension in my temple easing. My thoughts drift with the breeze caressing my skin, transporting me back to that vague feeling of not constantly wondering what life is all about.
When did I start drowning my soul in existential questions?
I miss those days when I was younger and carefree, when nothing could bring me down.
It now feels like a hundred years ago.