Chapter 1
Work's Christmas Party. 8pm. The Blackstone.
The reminder flashes on the screen of my phone, lighting up my face in the darkness of my room.
A reminder I could do without.
It doesn't matter that I don't want to go. It's mandatory.
It's not that I dislike my colleagues, I'd simply rather not spend my Friday night with them, considering I would have spent the day, as well as the week with them.
Throwing my duvet off with a groan, I roll out of bed, stretching my body as I stand and grab my dressing gown from the back of the door. I put it on, pulling it tight around me as I pad my way to the kitchen.
There's a slight chill in my apartment that sends a shiver through me and I mentally curse myself for turning the heating down last night in favour of having the fake fire on to create a cosy atmosphere while I curled up in the sofa with a book.
The bubbling from the coffee machine is like music to my ears. The aroma of coffee hits my nose, making my mouth water. There's nothing like that first cup in the morning.
With my favourite mug nestled between my palms with fingers wrapped around being warmed up, I lean back against the counter and inhale before taking a sip. Feeling the burn as the coffee makes its way down my throat has me releasing a contented sigh.
With coffee now pumping through my veins, I mentally compile a to do list for the day:
• Work
• Lunch with Brandon
• Work
• Pick up my new book
• Christmas party
It's not an overly demanding day for some, but for a book loving home body, it can be a struggle for me to socialise.
You would think that the parties my parents used to throw would make me a natural, but I was to be seen and not heard. To do as I was told without complaint and with a smile on my face. I always felt like I was constantly being watched. I would feel smothered with so many people around. I was always on edge, and my skin would crawl, like ants were scurrying all over me until I returned to my room.
'Women and girls don't have opinions. They just need to look pretty.'
It's something my father used to say to me whenever I would try to voice one or had messed up my dress by accident. And it was always followed by a quick whip to my back where the bruises wouldn't show. Over the years, the resentment towards him and my mother grew, and I couldn't wait to leave.
Surprisingly, it was my grandfather who gave me the push to do it. It happened on his deathbed as I was saying my final goodbye. We were never close, but in that moment, a sadness had set over me that compelled me to hold his hand. He'd opened his eyes slightly and apologised for my father's behaviour, blaming himself and his parenting, and told me that I should find my own way in the world.
Being ten, I didn't understand. But the older I got, the more it became clear to me what I needed to do, and that was to leave as soon as I was eighteen. It was the most difficult thing I've ever had to do.
Pulling myself from my thoughts, I look around my apartment. It's small and not much, but I'm proud of myself for working hard and saving for the past five years to be able to call this home.
The kitchen has one countertop with a sink, a draining board, and a small space for preparing food. There's an oven to the left of it and a small fridge freezer to the right. The three white painted cupboards above hold the usual things you have in a kitchen, food and saucepans, etc. The cupboard under the sink holds cleaning supplies.
The lounge holds a grey fabric two-seater sofa that's seen better days, a well scraped mdf coffee table that sits in front of it atop a grey threadbare rug. The 5ft Christmas tree with mismatched decorations sits in the corner to the right of the sofa. To the left of the sofa is a narrow hallway that leads to a bathroom halfway down on the left and my bedroom at the end.
With my coffee finished, I walk the hallway to my bedroom. The only things in here are my bed and a closet of clothes.
Running my fingers across the hanging fabrics in front of me, I briefly contemplate updating my options, but that will have to wait unless I need to replace something.
The clothes are different from what I was once expected to wear, and although I'd like more, I have what I need. Outfits for work, outfits for relaxing, outfits for casual socialising, and a few outfits for the occasional night out.
For work I pick the usual. A trusty black knee-length pencil skirt and a plain white shirt. My underwear leaves a lot to be desired, but they do what they're meant to. With everything in hand, I head to the bathroom for a shower.
As the warm water falls over me and I scrub away the last remnants of sleep, my body relaxes, and the tension in my muscles washes away with the water. I stand in the shower longer than usual, watching the water swirl down the plughole and enjoy this moment of peace.
Once dressed for the day, I pull my ashy blonde towel dried hair, which is still slightly damp, into a messy bun followed by applying minimal makeup, foundation, and mascara. With one last quick look in the mirror, satisfied with what I see, I leave the bathroom.
I return to my room and slip into a pair of basic black heels and basic black blazer before quickly making my bed and opening the curtains, causing the room to be cast with light.
Grabbing my bag and throwing my coat on, I double-check I have everything, and with keys in hand I walk out the door.
