Stained Pages - Part One

If there is a worse way to start the day, today is it. My phone falls between the bed and the wall, muffling the alarm, so I wake up much later than I’m supposed to, and I whirl through brushing my teeth and washing my face. 

I fish out my phone from underneath the bed. One glance at the lockscreen reads 8:15 AM. At least I had had the foresight to pick my outfit the night before. 

So, here I am now, dashing around my tiny bedroom, throwing whatever I may need into my tote bag: chargers, pens and pencils, highlighters, my pink spiral notebook. Can’t forget my laptop. 8:27 AM. I go through the mental checklist, placing my finger on each item to ensure that it’s in my bag. Everything is in there, but I can’t stop myself from repeating my checklist.

“Stop it, Poppy,” I mutter, forcing my thoughts to a grinding halt. “You have all your stuff. You’ll make yourself sick.” It makes me feel slightly calmer, but my stomach is still churning with anxiety. 8:30 AM.

Then, I go into my closet and pull out my outfit that I picked out last night. Thank goodness I had the foresight to do that at least. 

I look…well, not professional, but not a total mess either, as I stand in front of the mirror. A white shirt, blue blazer, and grey dress pants. I smooth down wrinkles, even the ones I don’t see and stare at my reflection. The woman looks back at me; her hazel eyes are uncertain, and her short blonde hair is pulled back into a low ponytail. 

I can do this, I think. I take a deep breath. My phone lights up. Heavy traffic downtown, it reads. 

“Shit,” I mutter, fumbling around for my bag. “Shit, shit, shit!”

I run through my equally tiny and cramped apartment and find my shoes near the front door. I jam my feet into them and swipe my car keys and wallet off the coffee table. 

It’s 8:40 AM when I finally get in my car and pull onto the road.

I trudge through the doors into the main office, keeping my eyes down from the stares I know I’m getting. There’s a few murmurs that I also ignore as I collapse into my seat at my desk. My skin feels hot and sticky, and everything in my body is burning from running up all the stairs. 

I slide my bag off my shoulders, tuck it under my desk, and pull out my laptop and mini notebook. When I move to drop them onto the desk, I notice a post-it note covered by the laptop’s shadow. My heart sinks as I read it:

Poppy, please see Harriet in her office immediately.

“Goody,” I mutter, as I get up and cross the room towards my boss’ office, fixing both my outfit and my hair into something presentable. I knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Harriet’s voice sounds neutral. I’m not sure if that’s a good sign. But into the dragon’s den I go.

My boss, and the editor-in-chief, is sitting at her desk when I enter. The bluelight from the screen casts a ghoulish look over her pale, wrinkled face. 

“Good morning, Harriet,” I say. I press my hands against my pants.

“Is it a good morning, Poppy?” She pronounces my name, putting a harsh emphasis on the ‘p’. “Poppy. That’s an interesting name. Very carefree.” A pause between the last two words.

“It’s a nickname.” I lick my lips. “Short for Penelope, but we also had poppy flowers growing at our house.”

  “Really?” She cocks her head, and I suddenly feel like I’m a mouse despite the fact that I’m a head taller than her. “I would’ve thought you had flowers in your apartment, considering you’re almost fifteen minutes late. You missed our staff meeting.”

My cheeks burn scarlet. 

“I am so, so sorry, Harriet, really. I don’t know what came over me. Must’ve woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.” I laugh weakly. She doesn’t smile. 

“I had to give your assignment to Daniella. It needed to be done right away, and since she was here when she was supposed to be, she’s working on it now.”

I hide my grimace behind a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll be sure to thank her,” I say. “And, Harriet, this will never happen again, I swear.”

“Let’s make that a habit, hmm. You are my assistant, dear. And my assistant starts the day when I start the day.”

I nod, sullen.

“I’m sending you a romance manuscript that needs revising.” She waves her hand toward the door. “Clock’s ticking.” 

As harsh as the dismissal is, I welcome the opportunity to leave her suffocating space, but the moment I close the door behind me, frustrated tears bubble to the surface. I blink rapidly and stare at the ceiling. When it doesn’t feel like I’m going to start sobbing, I take furtive glances around the office. But most of them are too engrossed in their own work to notice my almost mini breakdown. It makes me feel slightly better until I catch Daniella watching me from her own desk.

Daniella Sinclair, Harriet’s other editorial assistant, has only been here six months before I started at the publishing house, yet she possesses a cutthroat attitude that would put any politician to shame. Her dark eyes appraises mine, then she picks up a stack of paper and puts them neatly together. Her mouth curls up slightly in a smirk.

Incensed, I whip around, fully intending to march back to my desk and show her what for. Instead, I slam into something grey and stumble back. Hands catch my elbows and steadies me. My eyes focus in on a grey blazer, and I tilt my head up to see a diamond-shaped face and…the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. I blink. They look so soft and round like I could cozy up in them with a good book. I blink again; with a jolt, I realize that he’s talking to me. 

“What?” I ask dumbly. 

He gives me a crooked smile, and I have to force myself from leaving reality again over it.

“I asked if you were alright,” he says. “We kind of hit each other pretty hard.” He gestures to the floor. I look down and see papers and pens strewn around our feet. 

Everyone else watches us, except Daniella, who only rolls her eyes and returns to her work.

My embarrassment rushes back to the forefront. I kneel.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say, and I begin sweeping up the papers. “Oh, shit, I shouldn’t have sworn. Sorry. God, I’m such a klutz.”

He kneels down and grabs some of his things too. 

“It’s cool,” he says. “I should have said something, being right behind you and all.” 

“I usually make a habit of looking where I’m going,” I say. I neatly stack the papers and give it back to him, and we stand up.

“Usually?” He quirks a bushy eyebrow, but his tone is teasing. 

“I didn’t have a great morning, and then—” I motion to Harriet’s door with my head.

He chuckles. “She has that nasty way of making any day worse. You’re the new hire, right?”

“Yes, I’m Poppy, one of the editorial assistants,” I say. I stick my hand out, but I retract it just as quickly when he fumbles the stuff in his arms to do the same. “Sorry again for this.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it.” He laughs. “I’m Michael. I work in marketing. My desk is on the other side of the office, by the window.”

Before I can say anything, Harriet steps out of her office, mug in hand, and she gives me a pointed look. My cheeks flush for the third time, and I swiftly turn on my heel and speedwalk towards my desk. 

“It was nice to meet you, Michael, sorry about bumping into you,” I say over my shoulder. The world blurs around me, and I narrowly miss bumping into another person. “Sorry!”

“You say sorry too much,” Michael calls after me.