We're Not The Same

Chapter 3 || Becca

The good thing about being a busy person was that I had an excuse to temporarily run away from my thoughts. I was so preoccupied after the interview with Blake that I didn't even remember until I got home. I thought about the interview and was surprised by how well I handled it. I thought about how empowering it made me feel to let him know that I would be his boss should his application be accepted. My high school self would have cheered and said, "Make his life miserable just like he made your life hell!" It would have been an act of perfect revenge. But the thing was, revenge was never my thing. I believed in karma, and I think that this was karma's way of getting back at him. In a way, I was happy about it. He was finally getting what he deserved. But I also felt mad that I would remember everything he did to me back in high school every time I saw him if he got the job. The whole situation was a double-edged sword. 

Just seeing him once today made me travel back sixteen years ago. I traveled to the time I was seventeen again. 

Even as a kid, I was shy and timid. I only spoke when spoken to and avoided socializing with other kids. I hated it when attention was on me and avoided even a sliver of it. I had been that way even in my high school days. I never changed. I ditched school functions, stayed away from public speaking, and stayed on the sidelines. While everyone else was busy trying to be somebody in high school, and while popularity mattered to them, I was contented with being unseen. 

But that didn't last long. People started noticing me. My school achievements spoke volumes, and suddenly everybody knew about me. Everybody wanted to be my lab partner or groupmate in a project that I knew I'd do alone. They weren't being nice to me to be my friend; they were doing it for their grades. But at least some of them were nice. Paid me even. Some people like Blake Hall were heartless and treated me like trash and expected me to do their homework for them. It was bold of them to do that. I'll give them that. 

Using me for my intelligence was one thing. But using my appearance to insult and hurt me was different. That was what damaged me the most. I was constantly bullied for my buck teeth. They called me Buck Teeth Becky, a freak, and other horrendous nicknames. They'd tell me I was ugly straight to my face. People would push me around, and I couldn't help myself because I was too scrawny. There wasn't a day that I came home without a new bruise. 

"Why was it that people assumed somebody's worth based on their looks?" It's what I always asked myself. I knew I was worth more than the insults I got, but I started believing that my worth wasn't much after the constant blows my self-esteem had taken. I had finally asked my parents to let me get braces, thinking it would end the bullying. But even then, the name Buck Teeth Becky had stayed. At that point, I didn't care anymore. What was funny to me was that some people who made fun of me wore braces themselves. I'd let myself believe that they were projecting their insecurities on me and hate me because they couldn't hate themselves enough.

I let them trample all over me for months. But one day, I finally fought back and stood up for myself. But the more I fought back, the more they kicked me harder until I couldn't get up anymore. It had been the last straw. High school was a prison for me. It made me so miserable that the only thing that kept me going was that in a few months, I'd graduate, and I'm officially free. Little did I know, it would only get so much worse from there.

I woke up with beads of sweat all over my body. My heart was beating so fast, like I had run a marathon and had trouble breathing. It had been a few years since I had a nightmare that bad. Let alone a nightmare about what happened to me in high school. Seeing Blake had triggered my trauma. It had been a while since something or someone reopened my old wounds.

But that was the funny thing about trauma. You do not necessarily move on from a traumatic event in your life. It moves with you and adds to the things that make you who you are. You learn to live with it. It leaves a mark, a dent, or a scar to remind you once in a while. You can patch it up and hide it, but sometimes even the patchwork can come undone. The progress you've made at recovering is out the window, and you're left to question whether you've made progress at all. Maybe it was some illusion your mind made up to trick you into believing that at some point, you were no longer taking baby steps. You were sprinting. Fantasy or not, you thank your brain anyway because, for a moment, you've forgotten the torturous thoughts.

I took deep breaths to calm myself and tried to re-orient myself. Once I had calmed down, I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom to wash away today's events with a warm shower. 

When I got home, I was too tired that I put off changing out of my work clothes and lying on my bed. And the next moment, I tried to calm down from an uninvited nightmare. I had even left all the lights in my penthouse apartment open. 

Rosanna, my housekeeper, had left before I got home. I told her she didn't have to wait up for me, especially with a family of her own to attend to. I have known her since high school, and Rosanna was in college. She had been like a sister to me. Rosanna had seen me struggle all those years in high school and saw me become who I was today. Even now that we're both adults, she still cared for me. Rosanna would come in twice a week and would clean the penthouse. She would always cook dinner for me because she knew I forgot to eat sometimes. And right in front of me was her famous chicken pot pie. I smiled and made my way to the microwave to heat up a serving.

After dinner and tidying up after myself, I made my way to my office. It was big enough for another desk. But on its place instead was a cream-colored three-seater couch, which was the comfiest couch ever known to man. My desk faced a floor-to-ceiling window, which offered me a stunning view of the city any time of the day. The room was painted a Dorian gray color. On one of the walls was a gallery wall that held various paintings from small business owners all over New York. Opposite of that was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. Also found in my office was a small day bed that doubled as extra seating. This place was where I spent most of my time when I was home. It had almost felt like another home in my home. 

With a cup of coffee on hand, I sighed as I stared out into the city that never slept. The events of earlier were slowly creeping in my thoughts again, and I had to distract myself before it could fully swarm my thoughts. I didn't want to go back to bed for fear of having another nightmare. And so I settled on my office chair, stretched my neck side to side, and began to work.

The next day, I went to work with huge bags under my eyes and a raging headache from the lack of sleep. And Bethany did not hesitate to point it out. "Is this the start of the zombie apocalypse? Should I fear for my life and stock up on toilet paper and canned goods?" She said as I made my way to my office. I raised an eyebrow, "What's that supposed to mean?" She pointed a polished finger my way, "You look like crap. And that's putting it lightly. Are you okay? What happened?" I rolled my eyes and sighed before dropping to my chair like the toys in Toy Story would whenever a human was around. "I couldn't sleep last night, so I worked until 4:30 in the morning. Do you have Tylenol? This migraine is killing me." She left the room and returned with Tylenol and a paper cup with water.

"Don't you have any hobbies? Or is working your hobby? Seriously, Becca. You're a workaholic, and that's not healthy. What kept you up anyway?" She watched as I downed the Tylenol and drank the water like I couldn't drink it fast enough. I instantly regretted moving too quickly as the pounding in my head only worsened. "Ha, ha, very funny. I do have hobbies, thank you very much. And I don't wanna talk about it." She looked conflicted if she wanted to let it go or to pry. "It's nothing, Beth. I'll be fine. It's nothing serious." She hesitated but nodded anyway.

It had been a few days after the interviews, and I had been putting off dealing with going through the applications once more. It had also been a few days that I wasn't getting any sleep from the constant nightmares I'd been having. Flashbacks would slip into my mind whenever I wasn't working, and I'd go work some more before the memory started. I'd gotten three weeks' worth of work done in a few days, but I had been putting off going over the applications, which could've taken me an hour or two to do. The HR department emailed me about it for the first two days. When I didn't respond, they asked Bethany to remind me. Daily. Bethany was getting annoyed with HR's constant visits and emails to her, so she finally asked me. "Becca, seriously, what is going on with you? If I see Marjorie's name in my inbox, or if I see her greying hair heading my way one more time, I will lose it. Why are you avoiding HR?"

I sighed and rested my head on my hands, "It's not HR I'm avoiding. It's one of the applicants," I said in a hushed voice, almost in a mumble. "What?" I groaned before repeating, louder this time, "It's one of the applicants I'm avoiding." I looked up to see her puzzled expression. "What? Why?" I told her the story of my painful high school experience and that one of the main bullies was one of the applicants. She looked at me sympathetically, "Oh, Becca. I'm sorry you had to go through that. I really am. Tell me who that jerk-face is, and I'll beat him for you!" Despite what I had told her, I smiled at Beth, "Beth, I'm 5'4, and I didn't stand a chance. What more of your 5'1 frame?" She scoffed, offended. "You underestimate me too much, Becca. But seriously, if it's making you uncomfortable, why don't you just tell HR he's a terrible candidate and doesn't deserve the position?" 

"HR wouldn't believe that. It's like his resume is Leonardo DiCaprio trying to win the hearts of teenage girls. One look at his resume, and they're a goner. And as much as I hate to say it, he is the best candidate out of the entire pool of applicants and deserves the position." I scouted for his resume and handed it to Beth, who let out a low whistle. "Oh yeah. Definitely Leonardo DiCaprio. So what are you going to do?" She put the folder on top of the pile and looked at me. "I'll have to hire him, I guess." I shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal when deep down, I was worried. "Are you sure?" Worry was plastered on her face. 

"I told my dad we'd make Stark Corporation the best out there, and if hiring my high school bully will get us there, I'll do it." I hated saying that, but I hated knowing that it was the right decision even more. "What about you, though? Will you be okay?" I sighed for the nth time today. "Honestly? I don't know, but I'll figure it out. You know I always do." She flashed me an encouraging smile, "I know you do. My offer still stands, though. After all, the small ones are the most terrible." She winked, which made me laugh, and then left my office.

I looked at the pile of folders on my desk. After taking deep breaths and mentally preparing myself, I grabbed the stack. Before I could even look at Blake's name, I put his folder at the very bottom of the pile. After a while, the initial stack had been sorted, and I was down to the last document― Blake's. I stared at it for a few moments. Before I could change my mind, I took his resume and added it to the 'hired' category.