Now, in mismatched fraying underwear and with no trousers that fit I feel nothing like I did that night.
“You shouldn’t wear that, Rosalie, it makes you look frumpy.”
I press the heel of my hands to my eyes and take a steadying breath. I return to my closet and rummage until I find an old summer dress. It’s getting unseasonably cold and I’ve never worn a dress to work before but time is running out. I tug it over my head and with one last cursory glance in the mirror, I go with it.
I’ve pissed about so much I don’t have time for breakfast as I run out the door, hustling alongside my fellow commuters on our way to the station. The tube is overcrowded and busy and I have to stand and sway with the motion, clinging onto the bar and trying not to let the swooping in my empty stomach make me queasy.
When I finally emerge into the fresh air, I immediately bypass the tens of thousands of people clogging the streets in Soho. It’s always so busy around here that it’s impossible to walk in a straight line without being bumped off the road by swinging arms pointing at landmarks or taking selfies.
I try not to let my crappy mood show on my face as I bob and weave through the crowd.
I wave at Richard, the receptionist, as I take the stairs to the office three at a time. Our suite is on the third floor of anold nineteenth century building, its marble stairs and thick walls a literal nightmare when trying to get enough signal to edit online.
I swipe my lanyard and push open the heavy door on our floor. The guys are all swinging in their seats as they chat, their work open on the computers behind them. Unsurprisingly, no one acknowledges my arrival, but I mutter a quiet ‘good morning’ as I scooch past them to my desk.
Kevin, the leader of their little pack and the biggest pain in my ass, follows my trek with his chair.
“Morning Rosie, you look nice today.”
I don’t look up as I power up my computer offering out a “Thanks” in the hopes he’ll leave me alone.
“A dress for easy access?” he leers as his eyes rove down my body. “That will definitely help today’s project evaluation.”
My shoulders stiffen but I don’t turn, sitting heavily in my chair and tugging the material further down my thighs. I hear the boys snicker but I pretend I don’t.
I learned pretty quickly to not rise to their misogynistic jokes. On the days I have to be in the office, I come in, put my headphones in and pretend I’m actually at my desk at home to get through the day.
Once my computer boots up, I open my project. I’m still collating the raw footage from the action scene of the medieval feature our team is working on. Kevin is the lead editor so he’s doing the fun stuff of cutting it together, often having one on ones with the director. As an assembly, my job is to file and organize every single shot filmed, so that Kevin can swoop in afterwards and cut it all together. Unfortunately for me, this director was a bit trigger happy, so Ihave hundreds of hours of content to organize. By the end of the day, I usually emerge into daylight still seeing mud flying and silver swords swinging behind my eyelids.
My stomach turns but I ignore it, taking a sip from my water bottle in the hopes it will settle it.
A few hours pass and I manage to block out the sounds of my coworkers clicking away and chatting about the latest game ‘Baleron X’. I’ve already played it through and thought it was underdeveloped and boring, but I would rather play it every day for the rest of my life than pipe up in this room.
Eventually our boss, Gareth, enters the suite and announces a meeting. “I’m running behind so it will be over lunch.”
My eyes close and I can already predict the next words out of Kevin’s mouth. “Sweet,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Sushi?”
I stifle a groan as the others chorus their agreement. I hate sushi. Just the thought of the stuff makes my stomach roll uneasily. I know it’s no use arguing though. Kevin’s obsession with eating raw fish everyday is something he needs to speak to his doctor about, but I know as soon as I say I don’t like it, I’ll be overruled on purpose.
I stay quiet and return to my battle sequence. By the time lunch rolls around, hunger is already gnawing at my stomach. Thankfully, last time I worked in the office I stored a granola bar in my drawer. We’re not technically allowed to eat at the computers, so I glance around quickly before scarfing it down in two bites.
Instant regret. The granola disintegrates in my mouth into a giant ball of sand that I have to force myself to swallow. Before I can take a swig of my water, Richard arrives with Kevin’s order and the guys all jump up.
Cradling my bottle to my chest, I slowly make my way to the meeting room.
I take a seat at the large table furthest away from the raw fish.
I try to roll my seat away from Kevin when he sits next to me with his food, but there’s only so far I can go.
“Right, lads. Let’s check in, where are we?”
Kevin leans towards me and grabs a small packet of soy sauce. He slathers it over his sushi and takes a bite before speaking with his mouth wide open.
The smell of fish surrounds me on all sides and I glance frantically at the windows but they’re all bolted shut. The scent of the multiple men in this room, more than a few who haven’t discovered deodorant, on top of the smell of uncooked fish is enough to bring up my granola bar.
Horrified, I stand, my chair rolling into the wall at the motion. I clap my hand over my mouth as I frantically round the table and stumble into the hallway, desperate to make it to the bathroom before my nonexistent breakfast makes a reappearance.
I rush down the narrow hallway and stumble into the toilet, barely able to fumble with the lock before I fall to my knees over the toilet.
