No Rest for the Weary
Ayira
The next morning, sitting in Mr Kael's office still working, I felt like my body had been run over by a truck.
Every muscle ached, the kind of deep, bone-weary ache that caffeine and adrenaline couldn't touch.
My eyes burned, heavy with exhaustion, as if they'd been sandpapered overnight. Yet, there was no time to slow down. Not today. Not when my mom's livelihood and our home depended on me.
The keyboard called to me, the glow of the screen reflecting in my blurry vision. My fingers hovered over it, tapping without thought at first, almost on autopilot. Words formed, but my mind wasn't truly present. It kept drifting back to him, Mr. Kael.
His intensity, the way he carried himself with cold precision, the unnerving ability to make me feel like I was under a microscope at all times,it was exhausting in itself. Even now, sitting with him in the office, I could feel the echo of his gaze lingering, sharp and invasive.
It was the kind of gaze that made your stomach knot, your heart skip, and every mistake feel magnified a thousand times over. How long could I survive working under such scrutiny?
Quitting wasn't an option. I had promised myself that I would keep going. For my mother, for our home, and for the fragile thread of independence I clung to in this city that demanded everything but gave little.
The thought of failure made my chest tighten, yet I forced my fingers to move. Each word typed was an act of defiance, proof that I could still push forward, even when every ounce of me screamed to collapse.
The office was quiet, almost unnaturally so. The hum of the air conditioning filled the silence, a steady metronome against my ragged breathing. I tried to focus, but the silence seemed to amplify every small sound, the distant click of a printer, the soft shuffle of papers, even the faintest creak of the floorboards beneath someone else's steps in the hallway.
Then, the phone rang. Sharp, insistent, cutting through the quiet like a whip. I froze, my heart instantly tightening. Every muscle in my body seemed to tense, waiting.
Mr Kael's entire demeanor shifted.when he looked into the phone.
He wasn't angry, no, that would have been easy to predict. He was tense, controlled, a predator calculating its next move. The slight clenching of his jaw, the subtle narrowing of his eyes, I recognized it immediately.
This was serious.
I couldn't help myself. My ears strained for fragments of the conversation, hoping to glean some understanding of what had him so tense. I caught enough to make my stomach drop. His father. It had to be Roderic Thorne.
"Elara will be back by tomorrow. Be ready to fulfill your obligations."
My pulse quickened. I didn't mean to eavesdrop on his call, but the voice was so loud.
I didn't know who Elara was, but the tone in Mr Roderic's voice was enough to tell me this wasn't trivial. The words were clipped, precise, commanding, leaving no room for argument. And somehow, I had a sudden, unsettling awareness that whatever Elara's return meant, it was dangerous, or at least, consequential.
He ended the call abruptly, the click of the phone echoing in the stillness.
Then, he looked at me. And just like that, the office shrank.
The air seemed heavier, the space tighter. His gaze pinned me in place, dissecting, weighing, judging, and somehow seeing right through me. It wasn't just observation. It was analysis, evaluation, and an intensity I wasn't sure I could bear.
"And what the hell are you still doing here?" His voice cut through the room, low and sharp, like steel scraping over stone.
"Get lost."
didn't even hesitate. My bag felt heavier in my hand as I swung it onto my shoulder. I carried my laptop.
I left without a backward glance, my pulse racing. Was I allowed to go home? I wasn't sure. But I needed a reprieve, a moment to breathe, even if it was fleeting. His mood had the sharp tang of danger, and I didn't want to be anywhere near the line of fire.
My office phone rang jolting me out of my thoughts. My heart skipped. I turned, feeling the pull of duty against the need to flee.
Taking a deep breath, I returned to his office.
He was leaning slightly over his desk, his expression unreadable but undeniably authoritative.
"What you hear stays here," he said, low and commanding, his eyes scanning the room as if daring me to contradict him.
Every hair on my body prickled. I nodded, swallowing hard, careful not to meet his gaze too directly.
"Understood, sir," I whispered, bowing slightly. My voice sounded small even to my own ears, but I knew it needed to carry the weight of respect, caution, and acknowledgement of his unspoken power.
"Clear out my schedule for tomorrow evening. Eight to nine p.m." His voice was final, brooking no argument. The command left no room for hesitation or delay.
"Yes, sir," I replied, my voice steadier now, but my mind a whirlwind of curiosity, fear, and lingering awe.
"You can go back to work."
Go back to work? After working all night? And clear his schedule? From everything I'd heard, Kael Thorne didn't cancel work for anything. Ever.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry, and waited, rooted to the spot. My heart hammered, and my stomach twisted in knots. Surely, he couldn't expect me to just keep going after all I'd already done.
I stood there, hoping, silently praying he'd say something about me going home, even for a minute.
"Are you always this useless, or is today special?" he barked suddenly, his voice low but sharp, reverberating across the office. "Why the hell are you still standing around like a moron?"
I flinched. My chest tightened, each inhale shallow and trembling. I didn't argue. I didn't protest. I just turned and left, my steps tentative, almost mechanical.
The tightness in my chest didn't release; it wrapped around me, squeezing my lungs until it felt like I might suffocate.
Back in my office, reality hit me fully, I hadn't eaten since yesterday. My stomach growled painfully, a sharp reminder of my neglect. My head felt light, my vision blurred slightly from hunger and fatigue.
My hands shook as I leaned over the desk, trying to steady myself. Every keystroke felt heavier, slower, my body rebelling after the relentless pace Mr Kael demanded.
I peeked into Mr Kael's office cautiously. He was still on a call, his posture rigid, shoulders squared, completely absorbed in whatever battle the world, or his father, was throwing at him.
I stepped up quietly, not wanting to disturb him, but knowing I couldn't remain in this state any longer. I had to eat, or I'd collapse.
I returned with a club sandwich and fries from Harbor & Crumb Cafeteria. Sitting at my desk, I tried to eat quickly, keeping my eyes mostly on the screen to avoid drawing attention. My fingers shook slightly, and my appetite had evaporated under the weight of Mr. Kael's scrutiny.
Even as I chewed mechanically, I felt his gaze on me. Just for a few seconds, sharp and unreadable, before he returned to his call. I could barely breathe. The intensity was suffocating, leaving me on edge even as I tried to feed my body.
*****
By exactly 6:00 p.m., I forced myself back to his office. Heart hammering, palms sweaty, I approached silently, praying for permission to leave afterward.
Mr Kael was standing rigid by the window, phone pressed firmly to his ear, the city lights casting long, sharp shadows across the office. His posture was immaculate, completely controlled, as if exhaustion didn't exist for him.
I waited. Three long minutes passed, every tick of the clock a deafening reminder of my nervousness. Of course, no signal came.
"I already agreed to have dinner with her," he thundered into the phone. I flinched involuntarily, startled by the sheer volume and authority in his voice. "Don't make this more awkward than it already is."
"Yes, she's my childhood friend," he continued, voice low but sharp. "You know I wouldn't leave my work for some pointless dinner. I'm only agreeing out of respect for you."
"I won't have anything to do with Elara, and that's final. Stop living in your fantasies, Roderic. You can't force me to do what I don't want to do."
What?
Did he just call his father by his first name?
He ended the call abruptly, and for a long, silent moment, he just stared at me. His eyes were unreadable, dark pools that seemed to strip away every thought I had, weighing, judging, measuring. The air in the office thickened, oppressive with tension, authority, and unspoken rules I could barely comprehend.
"I'm amazed at how consistently wrong you are," he said coldly. The sound of his voice made me flinch again. "So now you eavesdrop on my calls?"
"No, sir," I said quickly, my pulse spiking uncontrollably. "I'm really sorry. I just came to inform you that I'm done for the day and would be leaving."
"And you didn't have the common sense to come back later?" he snapped. "Are you always this daft and senseless?"
"I'm sorry, sir," I murmured, lowering my head, trying to make myself small. I felt like a child caught in the storm of a man's wrath I didn't fully understand.
"You're not leaving yet. I have one last file for you to organize."
I froze. I already felt defeated. "I already sent it to you," I said quietly, almost a whisper.
"Organize it into dates, time, and status," he instructed, his tone clipped, leaving no room for argument.
I left, fighting back tears, my hands trembling as I returned to my desk. This isn't work. It was cruel. I had worked nonstop, my body screaming for rest, yet I wasn't even allowed to go home to change, to shower, to breathe.
I inhaled deeply, forcing my chest to rise and fall, bracing myself against the exhaustion that threatened to swallow me whole. Every keystroke became a battle of
willpower.
By 8:00 p.m., I was done. I had never worked that fast in my life,over two thousand pages organized in just over an hour.
My fingers ached.
My back screamed. My eyes threatened to shut despite my desperate attempts to stay alert. I glanced toward Mr Kael's office. He was still there, immersed in his work, a silent storm I couldn't touch. I didn't care what he might say. I was leaving.
I walked into his office while he signed documents. Silence pressed against us like a tangible weight.
"I'm done, sir. I'll be leaving now," I said, my voice steady despite the tremor inside.
His phone vibrated. The name on the screen, Elara, pierced my chest like a knife. Why did my heart tighten at the sight of it?
"I won't check what you organized tonight," he said, voice clipped and low. "But don't make me stressed tomorrow."
"I'm only allowing you to leave so you can freshen up. I don't like the odor you bring into my office."
So… I smelled? Embarrassment flared hot in my cheeks.
I had always taken care of myself.
I smelled clean, like flowers. No one had ever said otherwise. The humiliation burned deeper than fatigue. I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to stay composed.
"I shouldn't see you late tomorrow," he added. "I don't joke with my time."
"Okay, sir," I said softly, nodding.
His phone vibrated again. That was my cue to leave. Each step felt heavy and deliberate, carrying exhaustion, shame, and fear.
*****
At home, dinner was waiting. I ate quickly, barely tasting the food, my mind replaying every word, every glance, every sharp command from the office. Then I went straight to my room. I stripped out of my clothes and spent over thirty minutes in the shower, scrubbing as if trying to wash away not just the sweat but the relentless pressure, the humiliation, the exhaustion that clung to me.
Lying on my bed afterward, I called Rae. Her warm voice grounded me, offering a brief reprieve from the day's chaos. But as soon as I hung up, my mind replayed everything, the insults, the relentless pace, the oppressive weight of Kael's expectations, and the humiliating comments.
Could I survive this job? I wondered if I should keep looking for another one. The moment I found something else, I would leave.
I had thought myself strong. Mr. Kael had proven me otherwise.
Then Elara's name resurfaced in my mind. His childhood friend. One of the few women close to him besides his mother. I didn't know what she meant to him, or why my heart reacted the way it did. All I knew was that pang of jealousy and confusion curled in my chest, unbidden and unwelcome.
Sleep eventually came, fitful and shallow. Even as my eyes closed, my mind raced, sifting through the day, replaying his glare, his cold words, the way he held control over everyone and everything around him. How could one job, one man, demand so much, break me so completely, and yet, make me want to stay?