Whispers Behind My Back
I know they’re all talking about me. I hear the whispers and snickers behind my back. As I walk by. As I head to the kitchen. As I leave to go home at night.
I really hate it here. This is the worst job in the world. Talk about abusive.
I mean, it’s bad. Beyond bad.
The sad thing is, there is nothing I can do about it. Nothing in the world. I get here at six in the morning and am chained to my desk until the dark lord says I can leave.
Aside from the devil in charge who hurls insults at me throughout the day, I’m being held sexually captive by his partner in crime. The old man is obsessed. And there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. I can’t talk about it with anyone. I can’t tell my husband. I can’t tell my friends. I can’t tell my co-workers. Even though they know. Or they think they know. What they think they know or what they know doesn’t even matter.
I don’t know.
I’m wandering through a fog. I need the job, but this is hell. What am I supposed to do? The witchy-poo in charge of HR is in cahoots. They are millionaires. They are powerful. I am David to their Goliath.
He gives me gifts I don’t want. He leaves them on my desk in the morning. Expensive things. Perfume, jewelry. I know what he wants. It’s clear what he wants. Oh my God, I feel so small. This is so hard to talk about. I flirt a little to appease him, and it makes me feel so dirty. No wonder they talk about me behind my back. Like I’d ever want him! Like I’d ever bend to his commands. But, in a way, I do. I swear to God I feel backed into a corner.
Every morning before I head into the office, my stomach becomes like a solid rock. I cry every day. That’s just not me. I’m not a crier. I’m not a weakling. Yet here I am, not knowing how to get out of this situation. I feel guilty. I feel like I’m to blame.
I’m not.
I’m not.
I’m not!
Yet I’m the dirty one. They think I’m naughty. A whore. A nothing in lipstick seducing the boss. They don’t know. They don’t know me. They don’t know the nightmare I am living. I don’t think anyone realizes how difficult being trapped in a cage of wanton desire is. What it does to your soul. What it does to your self-esteem.
I don’t know how to escape. I can’t see freedom. I can’t see a way out. Every day I pray for a savior.
I feel dead inside. And it’s all a blank. Darkness. His crooked smile invading my mind.
There was this one day — I don’t know if I should talk about this — but, there was one day when he called me into his office and propositioned me. He wanted us to leave and go to a motel for, you know, lunch. I was in his office alone, and he pressed his body up next to mine. His warm breath on my face. He thought he was being sexy. I thought, Jesus, I’m in trouble. I wriggled out of the situation somehow. But the shivers up my spine remained.
I’ve tried to ignore the whispers. It’s hard. I don’t know how much longer I can keep him at bay. Wriggling out of these situations is only going to get me so far for so long. The others — the others know how difficult, how abusive, my job is each day. What they don’t realize is, despite the brief flashes of a smile, or flirtatious comment, I am grasping for my life.
I am just trying to breathe. I am just trying to survive. I am being tormented and there’s no way out.
Breathe. Just breathe.
It’s the whispers. It’s the whispers that are going to finally break me.