I sort of hate working for Elias. He's rude and abrasive, and he always looks down on me. Of course, he is taller than me, so I do not think that has been helping at all, but still. He makes nice tea I guess. I just. I have no fucking clue what I am doing. I don't know how to do anything at all, and it is so glaringly obvious to me that I lack every single type of world experience ever. All I did was whatever my mother told me to do, leading people to empty spaces, watching them vanish into nothing. I am not good at anything except for the nothing. I don't know what he thinks of me, and it eats me.
As I sit alone in the bathroom stall, the harsh fluorescent lights casting stark shadows against the tiled walls, I can feel the weight of my frustration bearing down on me. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill over as I struggle to compose myself. I hate that I find myself here so often. At the very least, I can be somewhat alone while I become this mess. The only thing worse than this would be the humiliation of falling apart in front of someone.
I am trying so hard to compose myself, but my fingers are shaking and trembling. I can hardly see through my own stinging tears right now. Fire burns through my veins. I slipped away from my latest session with him for a quick recovery cry in the bathroom.
Are you even paying attention?
Elias's words echo in my mind, a constant reminder of my own inadequacy. His disdain is palpable, his condescension like a heavy weight pressing down on my chest, crushing the fragile semblance of confidence I've managed to muster.
I think I already surpassed the socially acceptable amount of time in the bathroom. Fuck, get it together, Helen.
I try to take deep breaths, to calm the raging storm of emotions swirling within me, but it's no use. The frustration, the anger, the self-doubt—they all bubble up to the surface, threatening to consume me whole.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to stem the tide of tears threatening to spill over. It's so stupid, I tell myself. I shouldn't let him get to me like this. But the truth is, I don't know how to stop it.
"I'm sorry," I whisper silently to myself, the words a desperate plea for forgiveness, for understanding, for a way out of this suffocating darkness. But deep down, I know that the only way out is to face it head-on, to confront my own insecurities and fears, no matter how daunting they may seem.
I am not some stupid inexperienced victim. I am not like them. I have vanished so many people. I can handle one old man. I think. I shouldn't stay here much longer. I need to return to work.
God, Elias. My hands shake when I write, and I hate when he watches me, but he makes me take notes. Says I will learn and remember better that way. He's right, but my handwriting haunts me. He signs off on my work, and his signature is a gaudy embellishment over my low-budget script. It's torture to see the disparity between me and everything. I don't have a place here.
The weight of uncertainty bears down on me like a suffocating blanket as I sit across from his desk, pen trembling in my hand, words scrawled across the page in a messy jumble. Elias stands nearby, his presence a looming shadow over my every move. I hate the way he watches me, scrutinizing every stroke of my pen as if it holds the key to some profound revelation.
He is watching me as I write. Fuck, don't you have anything better to do. I thought you were busy. Aren't I supposed to be like in storage? Is this even right? He has me running back and forth between his office and there. I have been spending a lot of time in his office while he watches, and it drives me crazy. He is talking me through research and observation, and he pulls questions from me like tearing nails. I get that I am learning, but honestly, I cry a lot on my breaks. I suppose not any more or less than I did before all this.
His voice cuts through the heavy silence, jolting me out of my spiraling thoughts. "It's fine," he says, his tone casual, but there's an edge to it that sends goosebumps skittering over my skin.
I bristle at his words, frustration bubbling up within me. "Stop doing that!" I snap, my voice sharper than intended.
"Doing what?" Elias's expression remains infuriatingly neutral, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes me squirm uncomfortably in my seat.
"You-you're so–I didn't even ask," I stammer, my words stumbling over each other in my haste to articulate my frustration.
"You could definitely ask more than you do, but you haven't been," Elias replies, his tone calm and measured. "I'm practically holding your hand through this, Helen. You have to do some of the work too."
"Well, I just don't understand what you want from me!" I blurt out, unable to contain the torrent of emotion that surges within me. "I don't understand what purpose this has. Are you just giving me things to do so you can insult me? I don't want to just come in here every single day and have you make me feel like shit."
My heart pounds in my chest as I unleash my pent-up frustration, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. I feel exposed, vulnerable, laid bare before Elias's piercing gaze.
"You want to know what I really want to ask?" I continue, my voice trembling with emotion. "Why me? Why am I here? Why does it matter so much that I note down all these stupid details? Why does my opinion seemingly matter?"
The questions hang heavy in the air, the silence that follows deafening in its intensity. I wait, my pulse pounding in my ears, for Elias's response, uncertain of what I'll hear but desperate for some semblance of clarity in the midst of my confusion.
"It seemed to me like you didn't want to be alone. Apologies. I will try to be less abrasive," Elias says, his tone earnest, devoid of the usual haughtiness that often accompanies his speech. Maybe I am fooling myself into believing him, but it did seem a little bit nicer than usual. We do have a tendency to dance around each other at times. I truly do wonder, but I don't know how to say what I want.
Elias's response catches me off guard, his words softening the sharp edges of my frustration. I hadn't expected such a straightforward answer, nor his unexpected apology. The tension in the room eases slightly, replaced by a tentative sense of relief.
I blink in surprise, absorbing his words with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude. It's the first time I've seen this side of him, the first glimmer of empathy beneath the layers of his stoic demeanor.
"Thank you," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. The weight of his apology hangs between us.
Elias nods, a faint hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I understand that this may not be what you expected when you first came here. But I believe you have potential, Helen. Despite what you may think, your presence here matters."
His words linger in the air, a gentle reassurance that offers a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty of my newfound role at the Magnus Institute. I may not have all the answers, but for the first time, I feel a flicker of confidence stirring within me.
The weight of his gaze crawls over me, "As for your handwriting, you can type up your final reports in the future." He taps my shoulder for a moment, but then stalks out of the room. I can hear Rosie greeting him as the door shuts with a click. A quiet settles over me. Why is he being so accommodating? I thought you were supposed to be a bitch.
Perhaps, with time, I'll find my own place within these walls. I could see it happening. Despite the tentative glimmer of hope that flickers within me, I can't shake the heavy dislike I have been feeling for Elias. His polished exterior, his calm demeanor—it all feels like a facade, a mask hiding something darker beneath the surface.
As I sit alone in the office, the weight of his presence still lingering in the air, I can't help but feel a simmering resentment brewing within me. How easily he seems to navigate the intricacies of this place, how effortlessly he commands respect from those around him. It's infuriating, maddening even, to see him so well put together while I struggle to find my footing. I have gotten lost more times than I can count making my way to his office in the last two weeks. I have been down in storage a handful of times, and I am pretty sure my coworkers hate me.
But as much as I despise him, I can't deny the undeniable pull of his words, the faint glimmer of possibility they offer. Perhaps, with time, I'll learn to navigate these treacherous waters, to carve out a place for myself amidst the shadows and secrets of the Magnus Institute.
For now, I'll bide my time, steeling myself against the challenges that lie ahead, determined to prove myself in spite of Elias's disdain. And who knows? Maybe, just maybe, I'll find my own way to thrive within these walls, forging my own path in a world that seems determined to keep me under.