"Please," I begged him to stop, "I won't let them come here again, I promise."
The man laughed wickedly and got up. He took my chin forcibly and made me look at him. He reeked of alcohol. "You're pathetic, you know that; you are just like your mom-a whore. There is no place on earth where you'll survive. Now repeat, what are you?" He looked at me. This was the routine: after he lost a game, he would beat me up and make me repeat what he had taught me since my mother died.
"Repeat!" he shouted, and he slapped me hard on the cheek again. I sobbed loudly and whispered, "I am a slut, just like mom." He smiled, satisfied, and then abruptly got up and went to the next room. Taking this as an opportunity, I ran up the stairs into my room and locked the door.
-nightmare ends-
Those were hard times. But it's in the past, of course. I miss my mom every day. She told me that I would get a better life; maybe I will, but only when I forget my past. But forgetting is the most difficult thing to do. I still remember the day perfectly. My friends, Lila and Nate, were walking me to the door. but I didn't let them in. It was always like that; I never invited them in when my father, the dreadful man, was there. My father must have seen them. I worked very hard for money, which could get me into a good college, but things didn't turn out well. You see-
My alarm snapped me out of my reverie. It's seven right now. I took a deep breath in and tried convincing myself, "It's the past, Sid. It will never come back." I got out of bed and dragged myself to the shower. Although it's the worst day of the week, Monday, it's like a new start for me. I have an interview today with the head of the HR department at Williams Industries. It's one of the highest-ranking industries in the world.
I let the warm water calm my nerves. Damn! I felt rejuvenated. Quickly, I put on my coat, suit, and heels. I used a little blush on my face and mascara to pop out my eyes. Although I am not Emma Stone or any other Emma, I won't deny that I am beautiful. No girl should ever do that, no matter how many times you are snubbed for being ugly or fat. Beauty always comes from within; my mom taught me that. She died when I was ten years old, leaving me with the monster. After finishing with my eyes, I grabbed my purse, reviewing myself one last time in the mirror.
***
Oh, my God! The building is huge. Sure, I saw many pictures in magazines and all. But they don't do any justice to this beautiful piece of architecture. The insides were so luxurious and elegant. Each and every person in there screamed money. Damn! Would I fit here?
I made my way towards the receptionist. She was taking calls and typing at the same time. I waited for her to finish her call.
"Hi, how can I help you?" she asked, putting the receiver down.
"Hi, I am here to meet Ms. Rachel Mitchell," I replied, but she cut me off.
"The PA interview?" she asked, and I nodded. "You are the final sixth one; here's the card; Lily will lead you." She nodded at the blonde sitting there nervously.
The blonde, who I assume was Lily, got up and told me to follow her. She led me to a waiting room and told me to wait until my name was called. Wow! sixth candidate-that must be tough competition. I looked around me; all four others were impeccably beautiful and well groomed. Not to mention how they didn't fall while walking in those stilettos. The room was white with blue furniture. Nice combination...
The microphone sprang to life, and a voice through it said, "Sydney Parker, you may come in now." I took a deep breath in as another candidate came out. I got up and walked in. The room was full of shelves on which neatly stacked folders rested. In the middle of the room sat an old woman, who must be in her mid-sixties, with a big smile on her face. She had a kind face and had no makeup on. I am starting to like her already.
"Good morning, Sydney; please take your seat," she said in a cheerful voice.
I murmured "good morning and took my seat. She started, "So, I am the head of the HR department, Finley Brooke, and I would be conducting your interview." She must be following some protocol since she is stating the obvious, I thought.
I nodded and waited for her to ask me questions. She asked some normal questions about my age, schooling, and college. I answered them articulately, praying she wouldn't ask me the question of why I started college two years late. Well, she did. Fuck my luck.
"Why did you start college two years later, Sydney?" I was tempted to say, "None of your business," but replied with a tight smile, "Family circumstances." She nodded, and she didn't ask me any further questions. After checking my portfolio one last time, she told me to wait outside.