Chapter 21
Her
The newsroom comes into view the next afternoon, my steps feeling heavier than usual as the lingering effects of last night's confrontation with him weigh on me. My body still feels strange, like it is carrying echoes of that encounter that I cannot fully shake off.
Fragments of it surface in my mind without warning, not the sharp sting of the cut on my cheek or the terror of seeing him there, but his voice repeating in my head.
The way he said I looked beautiful when I was scared, that low tone that sent a confusing heat through me where there should have only been pure fear.
I keep telling myself it was just shock twisting my reactions in weird ways, or maybe the overwhelming stress from everything that has been happening lately, or even the residual adrenaline pumping through my veins after such a terrifying moment.
I need some explanation, anything to make sense of that unwanted arousal that left me feeling shaken and deeply ashamed of my own body.
As I take my seat at the desk, sliding into the chair that has become so familiar over the past week, I open my laptop automatically, my fingers moving through the login process without much thought because it is all muscle memory at this point.
But even as I pull up my drafts and try to focus on the screen, my mind drifts back to him again.
To how he did not rush at me but walked slowly, letting the fear build inside me deliberately before he even touched the knife to my skin.
The confusion from my body's reaction makes me shift uncomfortably in my chair.
At first, everything in the newsroom seems completely normal, just like it does on any other day. Phones ring with that persistent tone that always seems to demand immediate attention from whoever is closest.
Someone lets out a short laugh near the printers, a burst of amusement that cuts through the steady hum of keyboards clicking away.
A chair scrapes back loudly as a colleague stands up to stretch, and another rolls forward with a soft squeak as someone else settles in for the afternoon shift. The overall rhythm of the place feels steady and almost indifferent, carrying on without any notice of the turmoil swirling inside me.
I start typing on my article, forcing myself to concentrate on the words in front of me. But then something shifts in the air around me, not in a loud or dramatic way, but subtly enough that it makes me question if I am just imagining things due to my heightened nerves.
Conversations nearby dip in volume the moment I pass by on my way to refill my water bottle at the cooler. People subtly turn their bodies away from me, avoiding direct eye contact as if I am carrying something they do not want to catch.
Eyes linger on me for a second too long before sliding off quickly, like I am something indecent that they do not want to acknowledge fully. Confusion starts building inside me slowly, mixed with a growing sense of isolation that tightens my chest and makes it harder to breathe steadily.
I overhear my name mentioned in a hushed tone behind me as I fill my bottle, paired with words that hit me like sharp, unexpected jabs to the gut. "Iris? Yeah, after that video thing at her school." One voice says casually, as if discussing the weather.
Another responds with a bored, almost dismissive tone. "Why would they even hire her?"
The words cut deep into me, stirring up the same wave of humiliation and shame I felt back at university when the video spread like wildfire. It feels like that nightmare is happening all over again, that exposure turning people against me without me having done anything to deserve it.
Fear and shame flood through my entire body, making my hands shake so badly that water spills over the edge of my bottle.
I keep my head down as I hurry back to my desk, pretending I did not hear a single word of their conversation. But the emotions swirl inside me relentlessly, leaving me feeling more exposed and judged than ever before.
I sit there and reread the same paragraph of my article three times in a row, the words on the screen blurring together without me processing even one of them.
Hazel approaches my desk a few minutes later, her expression carefully neutral, the kind people wear when they’re trying to stay professional about something uncomfortable.
She leans slightly against the edge of my desk. “Iris, can I have a word with you for a moment?” She asks quietly. “Maybe in my office?”
My stomach tightens immediately, but I nod and push back from my chair. “Sure.”
I stand, trying to keep my voice casual. “Is there something wrong?” A small, nervous laugh slips out. “Did I mess up an article?”
“No.” Hazel says quickly, already turning toward the hallway. “Nothing like that.”
Then her eyes flick back to my face. She pauses.
“Iris… what happened to your cheek?”
My hand instinctively rises toward the small cut there.
“Oh! This?” I force a light shrug. “It’s nothing. Just caught it on a cabinet door this morning.”
Hazel studies me for a second longer, like she’s deciding whether to push it. But finally she nods and gestures down the hall.
“Alright.” She says. “Come on. Let’s talk in my office.”
I follow her down the short corridor that leads away from the open newsroom. The quiet hum of keyboards and muted conversations fades behind us.
She closes the door gently once we’re inside her office, shutting out the noise of the newsroom. We sit across from each other. For a moment, she studies me carefully.
“Your work has been solid.” She says reassuringly. “I want to make that clear first. I just wanted to check in with you personally. How are you doing?”
“I’m doing okay.” I reply automatically.
Even though the truth sits heavy in my chest like a stone.
Hazel tilts her head slightly. “Have you noticed people talking more than usual today?” She asks. Her gaze remains gentle but direct. “Or… anything else?”
The knot in my stomach tightens immediately. So I wasn’t imagining it.
“Yeah.” I admit quietly. I glance down at my hands. “I’ve noticed. What’s going on?”
My throat tightens. “Did I do something to upset the team?”
Hazel sighs softly and leans forward in her chair. Her expression is openly sympathetic now.
“No.” She says gently. “This isn’t about anything you did.” She folds her hands together. “Someone in the office has been spreading rumors about why we hired you.”
The words land like cold water.
“What kind of rumors?” I ask quietly.
“They’re saying,” Hazel continues carefully, “that you were hired out of sympathy. Or possibly because someone higher up pressured the paper to bring you in.”
She hesitates before finishing. “Some are even suggesting the company wanted to look progressive after… what happened at your university.” The room suddenly feels colder. “That video incident.”
Shock hits first. Then hurt. The tears sting at the corners of my eyes before I can stop them.
“Rumors about me?” I whisper. My voice trembles. “How do they even know about that?” I never told anyone here.
Hazel hesitates for a moment before answering. “It appears the rumors started with Mike from the editing team.” She says. Her tone stays calm but cautious.
“I don’t know exactly why he would say something like that.” She exhales softly. “But once things like this start circulating, they spread quickly.”
Confusion mixes with a deeper sense of betrayal.
“Mike?” I repeat. My mind searches through memories of brief, polite interactions. “I barely even talk to him.”
I shake my head slowly. “We’ve exchanged maybe five sentences since I started. Why would he do this to me? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Hazel sighs quietly. “I understand how upsetting this is. But right now, all I have is second-hand information. No one has formally complained, and no one will confirm exactly what was said.”
She folds her hands on the desk.
“I can’t take disciplinary action based on rumors alone.” She says gently. “If I did that, HR would shut it down immediately.”
Hazel shakes her head sympathetically. “I wish I had a better explanation. Sometimes people latch onto half-information or assumptions. But none of this is official.”
She meets my eyes. “We hired you because of your writing.” A small, reassuring smile appears. “You’re talented, Iris. That’s the reason you’re here. And if these rumors don’t have anything real behind them, they’ll die down eventually.”
I wipe at my eyes quickly, trying to regain control. “But how did he even get that information?” I ask. “That’s not something I talk about here.”
Hazel considers that for a moment. “News like that can travel through strange channels.” She says thoughtfully. “Someone from your school might have mentioned it. Or something surfaced online.”
She shrugs slightly. “It’s hard to trace once gossip starts moving.” Her voice softens again. “Don’t let it consume you. Focus on your work.”
I nod slowly, even though the doubt lingers heavily in my chest. “Okay.” I say quietly. “Thank you for telling me directly, Hazel. I appreciate the honesty.”
We end the conversation on that note, and I return to my desk, the sense of isolation feeling even heavier now that it has been confirmed.
I sit there and dwell on how Mike could have gotten that personal information, my mind racing with dark possibilities that stir up more fear.
Why is he doing this to me? Is it just office politics, or something more sinister?
Paranoia creeps in as I wonder if it is the work of the stalker.
Last night he came to my flat, that deliberate and terrifying demonstration of his presence.
Was it a warning that he will destroy my life further by ruining my reputation and turning people against me?
The thoughts spiral inside me, fear turning into a deep-seated anxiety that makes it hard to focus on anything else.
Back at my desk, I try to dive back into my article, but the emotions overwhelm me completely. I look up then, really looking at the newsroom that I once thought might be a safe haven to rebuild my life.
I realize how quickly a place can turn hostile without anyone even raising their voice, how isolation can be engineered in broad daylight through subtle whispers and avoided glances. Hurt and betrayal flood through me, making it difficult to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over.
I feel like my life has become a living hell with so many things happening all at once. The relentless stalker, the humiliating video that refuses to die, the forced time off from uni, and now these damaging rumors at work.
Despair settles deep in my chest, leaving me questioning if I will ever find a way out of this endless cycle of pain and judgment.
Tom from the desk beside mine glances over after a moment, hesitation written plainly across his face. He doesn’t speak right away, as if weighing whether he should.
“Hey, Iris.” He says finally. “You okay?”
A tight smile settles on my lips. It feels stiff on my face. “Yeah. Just trying to focus on this article.” I reply. “Deadlines, you know. They get to you.”
He nods, but his gaze doesn’t stay on me. It slips away too quickly, like holding eye contact might say more than either of us wants to acknowledge.
“Yeah.” He says. “I get that. If you need help, or want to bounce ideas around, just let me know.”
The offer sounds polite. Careful. But it doesn’t quite reach me.
“Thanks, Tom. I appreciate it.”
He turns back to his screen, and the space between us feels wider than the few inches separating our desks.
A little later, Sarah passes by. Normally, she would slow down, wave, toss a comment my way about coffee or a headline. This time, she doesn’t. She keeps walking, eyes forward.
Confusion pricks at me sharply. “Sarah?” I call out, keeping my voice light. “Got a minute?”
She stops, but only because she has to. When she turns, her smile is there but it’s strained, thin around the edges. “Oh! Hey, Iris. Kind of a busy day.” She says. “What’s up?”
The distance hits immediately, unmistakable. “Nothing.” I say. “Just… saying hi.”
“Right. Hi.” She replies quickly. “I’ve got a deadline breathing down my neck.”
She’s already moving away before I can respond. The sting settles deep, slow and uncomfortable.
From the break room nearby, voices drift out as people gather for coffee. They’re not trying to whisper quietly enough. My name cuts through the low murmur.
“Did you hear about Iris?” Someone says. “That video from her school. It’s going around.”
Another voice answers, casual, almost bored. “Yeah. Makes you wonder if that’s why she’s here. Sympathy hire, maybe. Good optics.”
Heat rushes to my face, sharp and humiliating. The newsroom blurs for a moment as the past folds itself neatly over the present. Different building. Same feeling.
University, all over again.
I sink back into my chair, shoulders curling inward without me meaning to. Fear settles heavy in my chest, not of confrontation, but of being seen this way, measured and dismissed.
I wish, briefly and uselessly, that I could vanish into the background and leave nothing behind for them to talk about.