Running Into Figure Six

It should not have been hard for me to pull through, but, my first day was a total trigger. Maybe it was true that I could never do something properly, like be a secretary in a big company, or live alone.

As soon as I arrived work, and my boss-Wills Taylor himself directed me to the sixth floor, I had already begun growing apprehensive.

I wish he had put me on the eighth floor or the fifth or third, anything but the sixth. I knew the day couldn’t get any worse when i realized that the sixth floor had six rooms in total, just six.

Thankfully, my office was the first one. That was cold comfort however, because, I had to close work by 6pm every fucking day.

Six fucking pm.

When he showed me my office, I tucked my non-existent tummy in, and breathed out twice, the way I did when something started to get to me, and neither Gerald nor Jessie were there to calm me.

I might just stay in until 6. 30 solely to avoid my curse plaguing me, or should I ask to do night shifts with the others? Anything but six 0′ clock. I had nothing but loneliness to look up to, back in my room anyways.

“Are you okay, Clarissa Bean?” Wills jerked me out of my reverie by tapping his pudgy fingers in the air. He had unfortunately noticed my shaky fingers drumming lazily on the desk, and of course, my deflecting eyes.

“Err… Yes, I am. I love this place. Thank you for the opportunity, sir”

I said, dismissing him with a strange look plastered on my face.

Only my boyfriend knew that it could only take me two minutes to hold tears back after that look.

“It’s Wills here. You can be professional in our meetings and outside here” he deadpanned.

“Understood, sir.. ahem.. Wills, rather”

“Do ring me if you need anything, Clarissa Bean. My assistant will respond if I’m not available”

His accent, especially his pronunciation of my name sounded, more like tasted like bile. I could literally taste my name on his lips, and honestly nothing could sound worse, I think. It didn’t help that he was good to look at- I wish he would just call me, “Secretary A” .

Okay, he’s only my manager, maybe our CEO would sound more appealing or it’d be a hellhole having to hear this middle-aged, balding, ubiquitous man call my name every single day with his stupid, slurry accent.

I shouldn’t push this, but Fuck, my nosy stalker-neigbour’s company is a lot better.

Although he’s also very annoying, always throwing me “good evenings” from a safe distance every time I got back to the quarters, and ever since i got this apartment in NY, I’d choose his presence any day, anytime to Wills Taylor’s.

Sometimes, being just nice or good-looking is not enough. You should sound nice too, ugh. That’s why Gerald Hennessey is the love of my fucking life. Talk about a walking picture of perfection

I had to release a breath after Wills Taylor finally walked out my door.

“You can do this, Clarissa” I assured myself, making a mental note to remind myself that working on the sixth floor of a huge company in NY did not mean I would grow tumors in my brain or lungs soon enough, although it meant that my panic attacks might quadruple.

Just saying.

You see, I’ve not always hated the figure 6. It began after my dad’s death in June, 2006.

His doctor said that he had had six huge tumors, and since then, I’d never even thought to write ‘six’ in my diary or ledger for taking notes or wherever. I’d intentionally skip the figure while taking notes in our meetings.

If we had to order six boxes of chocolates or cupcakes, I’d secretly add one more or one less.

I never realized I was doing it until someone called my attention to it- that’s Jessie of course, and I disagreed with her until I had to agree, when my own actions stared me in the face one of those times, but what could i do about it?

‘Six’ must be so unlucky to have cornered someone like me -grieving and crazy.

Surprisingly, I did not break down under my desk on my first day.

I did not even break down when at 6pm, I was catching a bus back home, and six schoolgirls pleaded that I go sit in the back, so they can be together in the front where I had chosen.

I did not break down when the sleeping man who sat beside me in the back, had a book lying lazily on his thigh, and it was on page 6.

Not even when my stalker-neighbour yelled, “You look like hell, sissy” instead of “Good evening ” over his window sill.

I did not break down until I unlocked my bedroom door and into the comfort of my duvet, my tears went.

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