"Hello, Lena," Julia from payroll said as she passed by my cubicle with a smile, her lips stretched thinly.
I was about to reply to her with a genuine smile when I heard the rest of what she left unsaid, "God, she thinks she's better than the rest of us, such a bitch." Immediately, my face grew hot like I had been slapped.
"I wonder how she affords those shoes. Probably a sugar daddy," another voice murmured from across the aisle. "She's too quiet. Creepy. Probably damaged goods."
Every thought they had was piercing, slicing, and far crueler than the words they spoke. On the surface, greetings, cordial nods, and even the odd compliment. But so much venom underneath.
Ink spilled across the ledger as I clenched my pen until it cracked down the middle. My ears are ringing with my heartbeat.
It seems a lifetime had passed between my work leave, death, and rebirth; this place no longer held the positive memories I had always thought it had.
I was hoping to be able to act like a normal human first. Numbers never lie; It's either the columns are balanced or they aren't. The audits either revealed a hole, an error, or they didn't. It's either black or white.
In my little cubicle at Start Accounting, I have always felt safe in the order of it all—like math itself was the one language that couldn't betray me.
But now?
Now sitting at my desk, staring at spreadsheets that should have been clean and silent, yet they bled with whispers. Not from the numbers, but from the people around me.
Their scheming, sabotage of one another; I hadn't asked for this. I hadn't asked to know the truth that slithered behind their every smile.
I would have loved to be blissfully unaware of the hate and envy. I was already left for dead by someone I trusted. I didn't need more surprises.
Then Melissa walked in.
Melissa—the woman who had once sat with me during late nights when the deadlines threatened to drown us both, who had shared takeout cartons and nervous laughter.
Melissa, who once held my hand under the desk when I was strung up on my uncle's abuse, my mind in chaos. I had told her my story over a cup of coffee at lunch, and her compassion had made me feel seen.
When she saw me, her face lighted-up. "Lena!" she said warmly, sliding into the chair across from mine. "I was hoping you'd be here early. The boss loved your analysis of the Eversen report. He will be using it as an important reference for his presentation to the top management."
But her thoughts hit me first.
Of course, he loved it. It was brilliant, and now it's mine. He'll never know she wrote it. She's too meek to fight me for the credit.
The words in my head sliced through me like glass.
"Thanks," I said out loud, my voice even trying to be calm. "That means a lot."
Her smile widened. "You've always been a genius with numbers, Lena. I don't know how you do it."
Pathetic little orphan. Always working late to prove something. She doesn't even know the partners think she's replaceable.
I almost dropped my pen. My vision blurred, Melissa's carefully painted face splitting into two—the sweet smile and the jagged resentment that lived underneath.
I excused myself before I could scream. I needed to breathe.
With a perfunctory excuse, I escaped to the company's rooftop and inhaled quick breaths of cold air. The whole office was suffocating. I can hardly determine what was real or not.
________________________________________
The bus ride home was worse.
I pressed my forehead against the cold window, snow streaking past in wet trails, but the thoughts wouldn't stop.
The man two seats away was tapping his phone with a wide grin on his face, his inner voice gloating: Can't wait to see her tonight. God, if my wife finds out… whatever. She's too dumb to notice I'm her sister's new boyfriend.
A teenage boy in the back drummed his fingers, his thoughts heavy with longing: I'll leave tonight. I swear. I'll pack my bag, take the train, and never look back. Anything is better than this place.
An old woman clutched her purse to her chest, eyes misty. If I had told him I loved him that day, maybe he wouldn't have left. Maybe he'd still be here. God, I was such a coward. Oh, I hate myself.
The college student in the front seat: The data from my research project are not viable as proof; I will need to spruce up the final results. The deadline for the research publication is in a few weeks. I'm sure no one will know I doctored my results.
Voices. Stories. Lies. Regrets. The air vibrated with them, pressing against my skull until I thought it would split open.
I stumbled off the bus three stops early, boots crunching in slush, clutching my head as if I could physically rip the thoughts out.
But they followed me.
________________________________________
I was trembling by the time I got to my apartment. I didn't answer Tiffany's texts. I didn't pick up Melissa's call when her name flashed across the screen. Not that I needed to—her thoughts were already poisoning me.
I locked the door. Closed my blinds, curled into the corner of the couch and pressed my palms over my ears, but nothing helped.
My mind reeled, pictures of their faces kept flashing, their innocent expressions.
Everyone had lied to me. All along. Smiles had been masks, hands had been claws, words had been weapons hidden behind silk.
And now I knew the truth.
"Their lies were louder than their words. Hypocrites, Murderers…" I said with realization.
The whisper left my throat before I knew it. My own voice, shaking, breaking in the stillness of my apartment.
I hugged my knees to my chest, tears stinging my eyes. I am alone. Always alone. Even more now than before. Because now that I have heard all, I couldn't unhear it.
Now I couldn't unknow just how rotten the world truly was. And as I stared into the dark, only one question clawed at me.
How long before all this knowledge consumes me?