Desolation
Page 4
“I’m kind of glad I’m not an old lady,” I say with a low laugh.
His eyes twinkle. “Me too, because I wouldn’t be happy about it.”
“You wouldn’t?” I squeak.
“No,” he grunts. “I wouldn’t.”
He doesn’t elaborate. What do his words even mean? Confusion swells in my chest.
“Well,” I say, shifting. “I should go.”
He reaches up and cups my jaw, titling my head back. “Don’t be a stranger to me, little one. You hear me?”
“I hear you, Tyke.”
He flashes me a smile, and then kisses my head again before stepping back. “Call me, yeah?”
“You got it.”
I climb into my car, smiling.
I might not have Tyke in the way I want him, but having him in my life is the most precious gift I’ve ever been given.
~*~*~*~
“Pippa!”
I flinch at the sound of my boss, George’s, voice. I turn slowly, letting my fingers uncurl from my cleaning cart. I was just about to enter room 204 to give it a clean before the next guests arrive tomorrow, when he called out to me.
I don’t see George a lot, mostly because I work nights when everything is quiet, but tonight he came in to do his usual weekly check.
I keep my head partially lowered as he strides closer. George is about thirty years old, and is quite a handsome man. He’s got dark red hair, pale skin and light blue eyes. It works for him—he has that Scottish look. He has a slight accent, too, which tells me he probably hasn’t been here his entire life.
“Ah, good evening, George,” I say timidly.
I still don’t lift my head and stare him fully in the eyes. This is something that bothers a lot of people, but I struggle to do it. My submissive personality has my face turned down more than it’s turned up. Tyke often takes hold of my chin and forces our eyes to meet.
“You didn’t do as I asked, Pippa,” he barks.
Did I mention George is also an awful boss?
He is. I assume a good deal of bosses are like this, or so I’ve figured from hearing people around me talk, so I don’t question it—I just keep to myself.
“Ah . . .” My voice shakes. “I thought—”
“You thought?” he barks. “You thought what? I said you are to clean all the visitor toilets before starting your duties.”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts,” he roars, stepping closer. “If you can’t do your job, then you can find another one.”
My bottom lip trembles and my chest clenches. Sofie, the other girl I’m on with tonight, told me she would do the toilets if I would take the rooms. We often switch jobs. I don’t know where she’s gone, but she obviously didn’t do it or George wouldn’t be here getting in my face and screaming at me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, staring at the carpet.
“Are you daft or something?”
I flinch, but don’t lift my eyes. I also don’t answer.
“Look at me, Pippa.”
I raise my eyes, even though I don’t want to. He’s glaring at me with his hands on his hips. “Well?” he barks. “Are you daft?”
Daft? I’m unsure what that word means.
“I, ah, no,” I say.
“Then stop acting like I’m going to flog you every time I speak. Jesus, it’s like you’re a scared wounded puppy. When someone speaks to you, Pippa, look them in the eye. You’re acting like you have half a brain! Now, do as I asked. If I have to ask again, I’ll fire you.”
With that, he spins and storms off.
I turn to face my cart with shaky legs. No one has spoken so harshly to me since . . . since Artreau. I feel stupid and pathetic. I feel as though he’s just proving to me, and the rest of the world, just how much I don’t fit in. I swallow the lump forming in my throat and push my cart towards the first set of toilets. Just as I open the door, Sofie comes rushing in.
“I’m so sorry, Pippa!” she says, her face flushed. “I was ill.”
My face scrunches and I grow concerned. Poor Sofie. That explains her delay.
“Are you okay?” I say, my voice full of concern.
She nods. “I think I ate something bad. I heard George yelling at you; I’m so sorry. I’ll go and tell him what happened.”
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s okay. Just let it be.”
She gives me a sympathetic look. Sofie is a really nice girl. Each time I speak to her, she’s friendly and welcoming. She’s a lot like me in a sense. She’s a tiny blond girl, only her eyes are a bright hazel, instead of brown like mine.
My hair has a more white-blond effect, where as hers is sunny blond, but aside from that, we’re a similar height and weight. It’s nice to know I’m not the only midget in the world. I have often wondered if I was always going to look different to every other woman I encountered.
Sofie changed that thought process for me.
“Let me help you out with these; it’ll only take me a little bit to do the rooms. I don’t want you to get into any more trouble. He really was an asshole to you.”
I nod, feeling the shame rise up in my chest again. The way he spoke to me tugged deep—it stirred emotions I’ve managed to live without for the past few years. He filled me with shame and made me feel as if I was worth nothing. I don’t like that feeling. I don’t like it at all.
His eyes twinkle. “Me too, because I wouldn’t be happy about it.”
“You wouldn’t?” I squeak.
“No,” he grunts. “I wouldn’t.”
He doesn’t elaborate. What do his words even mean? Confusion swells in my chest.
“Well,” I say, shifting. “I should go.”
He reaches up and cups my jaw, titling my head back. “Don’t be a stranger to me, little one. You hear me?”
“I hear you, Tyke.”
He flashes me a smile, and then kisses my head again before stepping back. “Call me, yeah?”
“You got it.”
I climb into my car, smiling.
I might not have Tyke in the way I want him, but having him in my life is the most precious gift I’ve ever been given.
~*~*~*~
“Pippa!”
I flinch at the sound of my boss, George’s, voice. I turn slowly, letting my fingers uncurl from my cleaning cart. I was just about to enter room 204 to give it a clean before the next guests arrive tomorrow, when he called out to me.
I don’t see George a lot, mostly because I work nights when everything is quiet, but tonight he came in to do his usual weekly check.
I keep my head partially lowered as he strides closer. George is about thirty years old, and is quite a handsome man. He’s got dark red hair, pale skin and light blue eyes. It works for him—he has that Scottish look. He has a slight accent, too, which tells me he probably hasn’t been here his entire life.
“Ah, good evening, George,” I say timidly.
I still don’t lift my head and stare him fully in the eyes. This is something that bothers a lot of people, but I struggle to do it. My submissive personality has my face turned down more than it’s turned up. Tyke often takes hold of my chin and forces our eyes to meet.
“You didn’t do as I asked, Pippa,” he barks.
Did I mention George is also an awful boss?
He is. I assume a good deal of bosses are like this, or so I’ve figured from hearing people around me talk, so I don’t question it—I just keep to myself.
“Ah . . .” My voice shakes. “I thought—”
“You thought?” he barks. “You thought what? I said you are to clean all the visitor toilets before starting your duties.”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts,” he roars, stepping closer. “If you can’t do your job, then you can find another one.”
My bottom lip trembles and my chest clenches. Sofie, the other girl I’m on with tonight, told me she would do the toilets if I would take the rooms. We often switch jobs. I don’t know where she’s gone, but she obviously didn’t do it or George wouldn’t be here getting in my face and screaming at me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, staring at the carpet.
“Are you daft or something?”
I flinch, but don’t lift my eyes. I also don’t answer.
“Look at me, Pippa.”
I raise my eyes, even though I don’t want to. He’s glaring at me with his hands on his hips. “Well?” he barks. “Are you daft?”
Daft? I’m unsure what that word means.
“I, ah, no,” I say.
“Then stop acting like I’m going to flog you every time I speak. Jesus, it’s like you’re a scared wounded puppy. When someone speaks to you, Pippa, look them in the eye. You’re acting like you have half a brain! Now, do as I asked. If I have to ask again, I’ll fire you.”
With that, he spins and storms off.
I turn to face my cart with shaky legs. No one has spoken so harshly to me since . . . since Artreau. I feel stupid and pathetic. I feel as though he’s just proving to me, and the rest of the world, just how much I don’t fit in. I swallow the lump forming in my throat and push my cart towards the first set of toilets. Just as I open the door, Sofie comes rushing in.
“I’m so sorry, Pippa!” she says, her face flushed. “I was ill.”
My face scrunches and I grow concerned. Poor Sofie. That explains her delay.
“Are you okay?” I say, my voice full of concern.
She nods. “I think I ate something bad. I heard George yelling at you; I’m so sorry. I’ll go and tell him what happened.”
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s okay. Just let it be.”
She gives me a sympathetic look. Sofie is a really nice girl. Each time I speak to her, she’s friendly and welcoming. She’s a lot like me in a sense. She’s a tiny blond girl, only her eyes are a bright hazel, instead of brown like mine.
My hair has a more white-blond effect, where as hers is sunny blond, but aside from that, we’re a similar height and weight. It’s nice to know I’m not the only midget in the world. I have often wondered if I was always going to look different to every other woman I encountered.
Sofie changed that thought process for me.
“Let me help you out with these; it’ll only take me a little bit to do the rooms. I don’t want you to get into any more trouble. He really was an asshole to you.”
I nod, feeling the shame rise up in my chest again. The way he spoke to me tugged deep—it stirred emotions I’ve managed to live without for the past few years. He filled me with shame and made me feel as if I was worth nothing. I don’t like that feeling. I don’t like it at all.
