Episode 9 : I’m still adjusting
941 Words
I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache.
I barely got any sleep last night—too much overthinking. I’m pretty sure I didn’t even fall asleep until like, 3 a.m., and now I was running on nothing but fumes.
I rubbed my eyes and caught a glimpse of the band-aid wrapped around my finger—the one I cut yesterday. I peeled it off to replace it but froze the second I saw... nothing.
No cut. No scab. No scar.
What the hell?
It was a pretty deep gash yesterday, so how the heck did it heal overnight like it never even happened? Creepy.
I tossed the band-aid in the trash and rushed out of the room before Miss Pen had another excuse to yell at me.
The Servants’ Hall was already busy. Miss Pen wasn’t there yet, but I spotted Giselle, along with a few other staff setting up for breakfast. She smiled when she saw me and walked over.
“You okay? You look like you didn’t get much sleep,” she said, eyeing the dark circles under my eyes.
I gave her a tired smile. “Yeah… I’m still adjusting. Probably just homesick or something.”
“Well, that’s normal,” she said gently. “It gets better with time. You’ll get used to it.”
I smiled again, but inside, my chest tightened. I suddenly thought of home. My room. Dad. I wondered how he was doing now. I knew he must be worried sick. I purposely left my phone behind so he couldn’t contact me.
Maybe I should call him later. Just to let him know I’m okay.
“By the way,” Giselle said, leaning in. “Heard you're not allowed near Master Ryou’s room anymore. You messed something up, didn’t you?”
I instantly frowned.
She giggled, clearly reading my face like an open book. “Thought so.”
She patted my shoulder. “Girl, just be thankful he didn’t fire you on the spot. Must’ve only been your first offense, huh?”
I almost choked.
If only she knew this wasn’t strike one. Or two. I’d already racked up enough mistakes to fill a full report.
Before I could say anything, Miss Pen walked in, flanked by two other staff carrying laundry baskets.
“Amelia,” she called out. “Here’s what you’ll be washing today.”
Right. Saturday. Laundry day. I usually cleaned his room too, but thanks to my banishment, I figured Miss Pen had handled that for me.
She gestured for me to follow, and I trailed behind them to the laundry room. Once there, the other two helpers dropped off three overflowing baskets.
“Giselle already showed you which washing machine to use and what detergent goes where, right?” Miss Pen asked.
I nodded.
“Good. We’ll leave you to it, then. I have to head back and clean up a few more things from his room.”
With that, they left me alone in the laundry room. I put my hands on my hips and sighed. The baskets looked like they were multiplying by the second.
I opened the first one—sheets and curtains.
The second? Pillowcases, towels, and handkerchiefs.
The third? Clothes. Pants. Tees. Even pajamas.
Seriously? Who wears this much in one week?
I got to work, starting with the sheets and curtains. Thank god for washing machines, or I’d still be stuck on basket one. It took over an hour just to finish that batch. Then I moved on to the pillowcases and towels.
By the time I sat down for a break, I was sweating buckets. My hair stuck to my neck, and the stupid uniform—with its short skirt—was not helping. Every time I bent over, I felt one breeze away from flashing the whole staff.
Just great.
A few minutes later, Miss Pen came back in—holding yet another basket.
I nearly collapsed.
“This is the last one,” she said, setting it down with a thud. “These clothes need to be hand-washed. No machine. Make sure you don’t stretch or ruin the fabric.”
I forced a smile and nodded, but as soon as she left, I groaned loudly and yanked the basket toward me.
At that point, I didn’t care. I was tired, sweaty, annoyed, and over it. I grabbed a handful of his clothes and shoved them straight into the washing machine—ignoring her warning completely.
While the washer whirred to life, I turned to the final basket and grabbed the first thing I touched.
And immediately dropped it.
Was that... underwear?
Yep. Men’s briefs. His briefs.
I jumped back like it was radioactive.
“Oh my god, WHY am I touching this?!”
I started flailing my arms, half screaming, half dancing in place out of frustration. Thank god I was alone or they would’ve had me committed.
I turned toward the machine and started pulling out the clothes I’d just washed to sort through them—trying to calm down. I separated the pants, the shorts, the shirts…
But when I reached for one of his white polos, my heart stopped.
It was... rainbow-colored.
I blinked.
I pulled out another white shirt—same thing. Tie-dye vibes. Pastel swirl nightmare.
No. No. No.
“AMELIA, once you're done with the laundry—what on earth happened to his clothes?!”
I whipped around to find Miss Pen standing there, eyes wide in horror.
I held up the ruined shirt with trembling hands, eyes full of panic.
“M-Miss Pen… can this still be saved?”
- Writer
