Chapter 16
Her
The small kitchen table in my parents’ old flat feels familiar as I stare at the laptop screen, double-checking my job application one last time.
It has been three days since that hazy incident at Ryan's place, and the confusion about what was real and what might have been a dream still nags at me every now and then.
I try to push those thoughts aside because focusing on something productive feels like the only way to regain some control over my life.
The job posting I found online seems like a perfect opportunity for someone in my position. They are looking for a part-time content writer in their newspaper's crime department, and the ad emphasizes urgent hiring due to a sudden vacancy.
I tell myself that this could be a good way to make use of my time since I cannot attend uni classes for the foreseeable future. Writing has always been my escape, and turning it into paid work might help me feel less adrift.
I attach all the required documents, including my academic transcripts, identification proofs, and a writing sample from an excerpt I crafted last year about a mysterious unsolved murder case.
My fingers hover over the submit button for a moment as nervousness bubbles up inside me, but I click it anyway. I really hope this works out because the idea of having a steady routine again fills me with a small spark of hope amidst all the uncertainty.
After an hour or so my phone suddenly rings on the table beside me, and the unexpected sound makes me jump in my seat, my heart skipping a beat with a flash of fear that I cannot quite shake off.
I glance at the screen and see an unknown number calling me. I hesitate for a second, my mind racing with worries about who it could be, but I pick it up anyway because ignoring it feels worse. "Hello? This is Iris Whitlock speaking."
A professional yet friendly voice responds on the other end of the line. "Hi, Iris. My name is Hazel, and I’m calling from The Daily Chronicle regarding your application for the part-time position."
I feel a rush of surprise mixed with excitement as her words sink in. "Oh, hello, Hazel. I wasn’t expecting to hear back so quickly. Thank you for calling me."
Hazel chuckles softly, her tone warm and reassuring.
"We’re indeed moving fast on this one because it’s an urgent hiring need.
I’ve to tell you that we’re quite impressed with your writing sample.
The excerpt you attached shows a strong ability to handle sensitive topics with depth and clarity.
We’d like to offer you the position right away. "
Overjoy surges through me, and I cannot help but smile widely even though she cannot see it. "Really? That’s wonderful news. Thank you so much for this opportunity. I’m truly grateful."
"You’re very welcome." Hazel replies with enthusiasm. "We believe you’ll be a great addition to the team. Now, when would you be available to start working with us?"
I think quickly about my current situation and decide there is no reason to delay. "I can start as soon as possible. What timeline works best for you and the team?"
Hazel sounds pleased with my response. "That is perfect. How about you come in the day after tomorrow? That should give you enough time to prepare. I’ll send over your official offer letter via email shortly, which will include all the details such as your starting salary, work hours, and the office address. "
I thank her again, my voice filled with sincere appreciation. "Thank you Hazel. I’m looking forward to receiving the email."
We exchange a few more polite words before she ends the call, and I sit there for a moment, staring at my phone in disbelief as happiness washes over me.
This feels like a turning point after so many dark days, and the relief of having something positive to focus on makes my chest feel lighter.
I immediately dial Maddie's number, my excitement too much to contain. She answers after a couple of rings, her voice curious. "Ree? Hey, what's going on?"
I cannot hold back my enthusiasm. "Mads, I got the job! The newspaper just called me."
Maddie's reaction is instant and joyful. "Oh my God, Ree! That’s fantastic! I’m so happy for you. Congratulations!"
I laugh, feeling the warmth of her support. "Thanks, Mads. It feels surreal. They said they liked my writing sample, and I start the day after tomorrow."
Al's voice suddenly joins the conversation, muffled at first but clear soon after. "Is that Iris? Maddie, put it on speaker so I can hear properly."
Maddie does as he asks, and Al's congratulations come through loud and clear. "That is awesome news, Ree. A content writer gig? You’re going to nail it. What exactly will you be doing there?"
I explain with growing confidence. "I’ll be writing articles on crime incidents. It’s part-time, so it fits perfectly while I sort out the time off from uni."
Maddie chimes in with more excitement. "See? All that creative writing is paying off. I knew something good would come your way. How are you feeling about starting so soon?"
I pause for a second, honesty slipping in. "A little nervous, but mostly excited. It gives me something to focus on instead of dwelling on all the bad stuff."
Al agrees wholeheartedly. "That makes sense. A fresh routine will help. If you ever need ideas for your articles, bounce them off me. I can even draw some sketches if you need visuals for inspiration."
We all share a laugh at that, and Maddie adds her own encouragement. "Seriously, Ree. This is a big win. We should celebrate. Come over tonight? I can order pizza, and Al can bring dessert."
I consider it, warmth filling me from their invitation. "That sounds tempting, but I think I need to prepare a bit. Maybe this weekend? I promise I’ll fill you in on my first day."
Maddie pretends to pout. "Fine, but hold me to that pizza. And Ree? I’m really proud of you. You've been through hell, and you're still pushing forward."
Al echoes her sentiment. "Yeah, what she said. You're tougher than you give yourself credit for."
Their words touch me deeply, easing some of the lingering anxiety. "Thanks, guys. You two are the best. Talk to you soon."
We hang up, and I spend the next couple of hours reviewing the offer letter and mentally preparing for my new role. The excitement builds steadily, overshadowing the doubts from that hazy night.
~
On my first day, I arrive at The Daily Chronicle’s office a few minutes early, my stomach fluttering with a mix of anticipation and nerves.
As I stand and look up at the brick building, a strange realization hits me. This is the same neighborhood as Dr. Nathaniel’s office. Just two streets over.
For a moment I just stand there, surprised at the coincidence. Out of all the places in the city, the newspaper office and my therapist’s clinic ended up practically next door to each other.
I shake the thought off and push through the doors.
Inside, Hazel spots me immediately, waving me over with a welcoming smile.
"Iris! You made it." Hazel says, extending her hand for a shake. "I’m so glad to see you. Let me show you around and get you settled at your desk."
I shake her hand firmly, relief washing over me at her friendly demeanor. "Thanks, Hazel. I’m excited to be here."
She leads me through the newsroom, pointing out various areas as we go. "This is where the editors sit, and over there is the break room. Your desk is right here in the corner, with a nice view of the street."
I set my bag down, taking in the space. "It looks great. Thank you."
Hazel chuckles as she hands me a stack of files.
"This used to be Rowan's desk. He decided to abandon us for a romantic honeymoon vacation with his wife.
Can you imagine? Left us scrambling, hence the urgent hiring.
But we read your work, and we were genuinely impressed.
Your style fits perfectly for crime reporting. "
I feel a flush of pride at her words. "I appreciate that. I’ll do my best not to let you down."
Hazel nods approvingly. "I know you will. For today, since it’s your first day, take some time to get to know everyone. Then start on these two files. Make them engaging but factual."
She opens the first file for me. "This one is about a pickpocket who targeted a busy market last week. He stole wallets from several shoppers using quick distractions. The police used CCTV footage to track him down and arrest him at his home."
I scan the details, noting the victims' statements. "Got it. I can work with that."
Hazel points to the second file. "And this is a domestic violence case.
The husband assaulted his wife after an argument over finances.
Neighbors heard the screams and called the police.
He has a prior record of similar incidents, but this time she is pressing charges.
Include the resources for victims in the article. "
Sadness tugs at me as I read the wife's account. "This is heartbreaking. I’ll handle it carefully."
Hazel smiles. "Good attitude. Now, go introduce yourself. Lunch is whenever you want."
I start by approaching the desk next to mine, where a guy in his late-thirties is typing away. "Hi! I’m Iris, the new content writer."
He looks up and grins. "Samuel here. Sports desk. Welcome aboard. If you need coffee tips, I’m your expert."
I laugh, feeling some nervousness ease. "Thanks, Samuel. I might take you up on that."
Next, I meet a women in late twenties from the features section. "Hi. I’m Iris. New here in crime."
She shakes my hand warmly. "Nice to meet you. I’m Sarah. Any questions, ask away."
I nod gratefully. "Will do. How long have you been here?"
Sarah leans back. "Five years. It’s a good team. You’ll fit in fine."
Throughout the morning, I chat with more colleagues. Mike from editing shares deadline horror stories. "Miss one, and the boss roars." He says.
I share a laugh. "Noted. I’ll stay on top of them."
By lunch, I feel more connected, their welcomes boosting my confidence. Emotions shift from anxiety to a quiet sense of belonging.
In the afternoon, I dive into the files. The pickpocket article comes together smoothly, detailing the thefts and the clever use of CCTV.
For the domestic violence piece, sorrow weighs on me as I write about the wife's injuries and her brave decision to seek justice. It stirs my own memories of Ryan, making my chest tight with empathy.
As the shift winds down, chairs scrape softly against the floor. Bags are slung over shoulders.
Samuel gives me a small wave. “Good job today, Iris. See you tomorrow.”
Hazel stops by my desk last. “Solid first day.” She says. “Keep it up.”
I thank them, the sense of accomplishment warm but fragile, like it could shatter if I look at it too closely.
The bus ride home is quieter than usual. Streetlights blink on one by one as the sky darkens, and my thoughts drift. Back to the files, back to the hazy incident I still can’t explain.
By the time I get off at my stop, unease has settled deep in my bones. It’s the kind that doesn’t come from a thought, just a feeling. Heavy and stubborn.
The alley behind my building looks different at night. Longer. Tighter. The shadows seem thicker, pressing in from both sides. I tuck my bag closer to my body and start walking faster, even though I tell myself there’s no reason to.
My shoes scrape softly against the ground. Then I hear footsteps. Not loud. Not rushing. Just… there. I slow down without meaning to, listening. The footsteps slow too. My chest tightens. Don’t panic, I tell myself. It’s probably nothing. Probably someone else heading home.
But my heartbeat doesn’t listen. It starts to race, thudding hard in my ears.
A man staggers into view, moving unevenly, like the ground won’t stay still beneath him. He smells strongly of alcohol, sharp and sour, and his eyes don’t quite focus when they land on me.
“Hey.” He says, his words thick and sloppy. “Sweet thing.”
My stomach drops. I shift to the side, trying to pass him without making a scene. My shoulder brushes the wall as I move.
His hand shoots out and clamps around my arm. The world narrows instantly. Heat floods my chest. My breath catches, sharp and painful.
“Let go of me.” I say, my voice thin and shaking as I pull back, my skin crawling where he’s touching me.
He laughs crudely, yanking me closer despite my struggles. "Nah. You look fun."
His hand clamps over my breast, squeezing painfully, while his other fist twists harshly in my hair, pulling my head back. Panic surges through me as he shoves me to the ground, his weight pinning me down.
"You're mine now." He growls, fumbling with my clothes.
Terror chokes me, tears streaming down my face. "Stop! Get off me!"
I struggle wildly, my body acting before my thoughts can catch up. My hands scrape against the ground, against the wall, against anything within reach. I’m not thinking clearly. Only that I have to get away.
My fingers hit something solid. A brick. Loose. Rough against my palm. I grip it without stopping to question it. I lift my arm and swing with everything I have left.
The sound it makes when it hits him is dull and heavy. Wrong. He lets out a sharp cry and stumbles backward, one hand flying to his head. His grip loosens. Then it’s gone.
I don’t wait to see what he’ll do next. Instead I scramble to my feet, legs shaking so badly I almost fall again. Fear pushes me forward, carrying me down the alley and onto the street. I run without looking where I’m going, my breath tearing in and out of my chest.
I glance back once. He’s not there. The space behind me is empty. Too empty. The fear doesn’t ease. It twists into something colder, sharper. But I keep running until my building comes into view.
Inside my flat, I slam the door shut and lock it. My knees give out, and I slide down until I’m sitting on the floor, my back pressed hard against the door like it might disappear if I let go.
The sobs come then. Deep, ugly, unstoppable.
I crawl across the floor to the mantel and grab the framed photo of my parents. My hands shake as I pull it close, pressing it against my chest.
“Why did you leave me?” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Why am I alone here in this godforsaken place? Everything hurts. I need you.”
My tears blur their faces. The frame grows slick in my hands, but I don’t loosen my grip. I hold it like it’s the only solid thing left in the room.
Eventually, the crying drains out of me. My body feels heavy, numb. Exhaustion settles in before the fear fully lets go.
I fall asleep right there on the floor, curled around the photo, still holding on.