Chapter seven
921 Words
Sunday was supposed to be simple.
Me, my small kitchen, curry rice that tasted like effort instead of regret, ice cream in the fridge, and the comforting knowledge that rent was paid and nobody could emotionally ambush me with spreadsheets.
A peaceful life.
A quiet life.
A life where I did not think about Voss Industries.
So of course—
I saw a file.
On my desk.
Just sitting there.
Like it had paid rent.
I stared at it for a full five seconds.
Then my brain caught up.
“No,” I said slowly. “No. Absolutely not. We are not doing this today.”
I picked it up anyway.
Because apparently my hands do not respect my emotional boundaries.
It was thick
Voss Industries paperwork was never just paperwork.
It was psychological conditioning disguised as administration.
I flipped it open.
And there it was.
The onboarding submission form.
The one I was supposed to have submitted on my first day.
I blinked.
“…shit.”
“s**t. My life is actually mocking me right now.”
I dropped it onto the desk like it had bitten me.
For context, Voss Industries onboarding is not casual.
Nothing there is casual.
Even the coffee has hierarchy.
Black coffee means: I have no time for emotions.
Milk coffee apparently means: I am approachable but still superior.
And me?
I had walked in thinking coffee was just coffee.
That should have been my first warning.
I paced my small living room.
“Okay,” I muttered. “It’s fine. It’s just a form. People forget forms all the time.”
I stopped.
“No one forgets forms at Voss Industries.”
That was the problem.
This wasn’t a normal workplace.
This was the kind of place where missing a signature could probably alter your career trajectory and your emotional stability at the same time.
I sat down again and pulled the form closer.
I filled it out quickly.
Too quickly.
Pen scratching across paper like I was trying to erase my existence from the timeline.
Name. Department. Emergency contact.
Emergency contact.
I paused.
“…I don’t even have emotional support for emergencies,” I muttered.
Still filled it in anyway.
By the time I finished, I was already exhausted, which felt unfair considering I had not left the house or spoken to a human being.
Problem solved.
Except—
now I had to submit it.
That was where things got worse.
Because I remembered the receptionist.
I had only met her once.
Once.
And in that one encounter, she had looked at me like I was a minor inconvenience that should be escalated into policy review.
Not rude.
Not friendly.
she was just strict
I narrowed my eyes at the paper.
“How is she even a receptionist ” I asked the room.
The room did not answer.
Rude.
I started thinking.
Option one: walk in confidently.
No.
I would be arrested by vibes alone.
Option two: smile politely.
Also no.
That felt illegal in that building.
Option three—
I froze.
“Adrian.”
Of course.
Of course it came back to Adrian.
Everything at Voss Industries eventually loops back to him like a corporate black hole.
I stood up so fast my chair nearly developed abandonment issues.
“Yes,” I said firmly. “That’s it. I’ll ask him.”
Pause.
“I might even beg him.”
Another pause.
“I will bring snacks. I will bring coffee. I will behave like a responsible adult.”
That last part felt like a lie, but I respected the intention.
I grabbed the file again.
Looked at it.
Then looked at my life choices.
Then slowly lowered it back onto the desk
I pushed the file slightly away from me, like distance alone could fix structural anxiety.
“We are not thinking about Voss Industries
today,” I told myself firmly.
“We are not thinking about Adrian. We are not thinking about paperwork. We are not thinking about corporate intimidation disguised as HR systems.”
I stood up again, slower this time.
Walked to the kitchen.
Opened the fridge.
Ice cream.
Still there.
Blessed.
I took it out like it was sacred proof that life could still be kind.
“See?” I muttered. “Normal people activities. Nobody is crying over onboarding forms. Normal people eat ice cream and ignore existential threats.”
I grabbed a spoon.
I sat back down.
Scooped
"God yes" I savour the vanilla taste
I leaned back, letting the cold sweetness do its job.
Slowly, my brain started unclenching.
The office. The receptionist. The hierarchy coffee rules. Adrian’s silent judgment energy.
All of it faded into the background where it belonged.
“Good,” I said. “We are fine. Everything is fine. Nobody is firing me. Probably.”
A pause.
“Probably is enough.”
I took another spoonful.
Then reached for my laptop.
Because if I was going to recover from corporate trauma, I was going to do it like a modern functioning adult.
Not journaling.
Not meditation.
No.
A movie.
Something light.
And for the first time all day—
my brain stopped trying to solve problems it wasn’t paid enough to handle.
The file stayed on the desk.
Unimportant.
Ignored.
Exactly where it belonged.
I pointed at it slightly, like a warning.
“Stay there,” I said. “We are not emotionally available for you.”
Then I turned back to my movie.
And let Sunday finally be Sunday again.
- Writer
