Truth to be told- I made a blunder of my life. Total freak out blunder. Ask me why?
A computer science student, still ongoing student to be clearly specific in terms- is now actually hired into formula one for doing Aerodynamics design when I have no fucking clue on fluid mechanics.
Put it simply- the left side doesn't even match with the right side. Who the hell... wrong question. How on earth did they assume I would be a right fit into this shit when I am a newbie. Scratch that, illiterate is the right word.
Should I laugh at mockery? Cry at the expense of my mentor's input that I could do it and his belief in me? Or be happy that I finally got into my favourite sports and team in Formula one?
I guess the middle one.
Right now, I am giving a pep talk staring at myself in the mirror, full of nervousness of how exactly I am going to speak with the one and only person- Vladimir Yusupov. Correction- the interview.
I think he would reject me right away. On the spot, with a poker face. No sort of emotion and breaking my heart. Well, technically relieving my heart with any excess of stress from the future expectation. Right? Right.
Also I wouldn't fail my mentor. Maybe his expectations waver a bit but eventually we will back on track as this would be just a phase of my life. Nothing more or else.
Okay, I can do it. Yes I can. Let's do it, in the name of unholy.
By the time I hopped out of the shower, I screamed looking at the time. I am late. Not by 5 or 10 but half an hour late. I scrambled through my clothes, effectively selecting my night shirt and track pants... at least being somewhat formal- okay not so... because I don't have time for ironing the clothes that I have rolled it in a mess which is lying in my suitcase!
Either way I am going to get rejected. So why bother dolling up? I let my half dry hair loose and just sprayed my rose water on my face.
Not wanting to look like a wanton person walking into the place. I am trying to be decent for once. Note- trying.
I ran to the nearby elevator and kept on clicking the button. Come on... come on...
Finally I got in. To top it up the melody as it went from the 50th floor to the ground floor was haunting. Literal haunting as if preparing my one way ticket to hell of course. At least my casket should be posh and medieval like those of gothic. I demand it though.
What can I say when I am already too deep into the gothic vibe, not the princess style, glittery? Yew! Let's conclude saying I read, literally- I read a lot. Books are my favourite, they let me escape the reality I am stumbled upon and a cooling balm curing my tattered soul. What books? I rather say not.
I held my breath as the elevator doors opened. The smell of rich, I mean it. Like the richy rich people spending their assets when they don't know what is the actual meaning of worthful spending. I can smell that in the air. Suffocating.
In this case, I actually look like a wanton woman who is running away after the session is done because I could see... underrated words- scrutinizing all those judgemental glances by the passing people in their posh and pressed classy clothes.
Fuck them. The elementary factor here is the interview. Oh the fucking interview!
I can very well imagine the scenario, Mr Yusupov will throw the glass to the opposite side of the room and drag me out of the hotel, I'm pretty sure with one of his bodyguards as it was the company that has put money to get me here. Very well they can throw me off to the streets with a flick of fingers.
Hopefully not banning me from Formula One. Fingers Cross.
Hurried footsteps clicked on the pristine marble floor of the hotel. Seriously blinding my eyes- as we speak of.
I reached my destination. Okay I need some cardio as I am panting like hell just putting my legs to work. Figuratively- dramatic. I know, I know.
The private lounge of the hotel. Smokes darling.
Alcohol- sorry wine, business talk, and the ladies bitching about each other or having fun bitching other women in this lounge or their haunting women laughter as in plotting evil shenanigans.
Food served in a potion that doesn't fill the stomach of toddlers and even that, these people will eat for an hour. Note to myself- Washing my eyes after the shit I finish and having some real carbonara in Barcelona by the streets.
I showed my email to the guards as I passed through them leading me to a quiet and cosy atmosphere yet an energy of subtle darkness clouded into the temperature. Shivers ran down my spine. Nervousness I guess. Last time it was MIT university's rejection and this time it would be Formula One's rejection. Not a big deal.
I soothe my racing heart while taking a deep breath as I came into the lounge. I think I am going to throw up. This is too much. Way fucking too much. I can't. Can I run?
But my feet itself dragged me to the person who looked like is ready to snap and devour anyone.
Vladimir Yusupov. Seeing him in a suit in real life is cutting my air off from the oxygen supply.
His godly presence. Scratch it his demonic presence, casually sitting on the sofa as if it was a throne made for his highness's impending judgement- as in me.
I gulped my saliva hard down to my food pipe. I have seen him many times through social media or any sort of media outlet but nothing gave the justice of how his demeanour would be in reality.
Jaws ticking from clenching to un-clenching. His glass of alcohol swirled in impatience.
From the looks of it- the day is going to end horribly.
Question is- will I survive? May the unholy help me...