Chapter 2: Shadows and Bruises
1503 Words
Emma kicked her scooter into gear, the sting from her scraped knee matching the bruised ache in her chest.
“We don’t eat this garbage?” she muttered, mimicking his cold, arrogant tone.
“I knew it. I knew there was no way those ‘oh-so-olive-oil-and-caviar’ types would order fried chicken. Especially not from our shop, we barely have any customers!”
As she glanced at her scooter’s dash-cam, the tiny red light was still blinking.
“Oh, so you’ve been recording this whole time, huh?” She scoffed. “Hope you caught my Oscar-worthy fall.”
She tapped the button, turning the camera off.
“Well, night-night little spy,” she whispered, tucking it away before heading home.
.........................
“Emma! What the hell? Where were you?” her mom shouted the moment she stepped inside the gate.
“I told you to text me when you got there! And don’t tell me you fell off your scooter again! Also where’s the payment for the chicken?”
Emma stood frozen in the entryway as her mom, perched on the couch, launched her questions like bullets.
“Uhh…” she blinked. “Soo okay—first of all, I got lost. Not my fault — the place was confusing. And yes, I might’ve… slightly… fallen again. But I’m okay,” she added quickly, glancing at her still-bleeding knee.
“And as for the money… yeahhh… Sooo,” she stretched the word nervously. “Turns out i was right. Rich people don’t eat fried chicken. He literally threw the food and called it garbage.”
“Then,” she added dramatically, “he basically threw me out and slammed the door. Didn’t pay a single penny.”
She smiled weakly. “So yeah. No money.”
Her mom’s expression softened. She looked at Emma’s injured knee and let out a long sigh.
“Alright. Go change, kido,” she said, voice quieter now. “But please, be careful. I can’t keep worrying about you like this.”
“You don’t have to, Mom. I’m doing fine,” Emma replied softly, her concern shifting to her mother instead.
Since her father’s death, her mom had been overworking herself to keep their food cart running. And while she cared for Emma, that care often came out as frustration, anger over small things, lectures over everything.
Emma knew her mom loved her. But she was never the kind of parent who asked how she felt. Not when she was younger. Not now.
“You don’t act your age,” her mom snapped suddenly, eyes narrowing.
“You don’t dress like other girls your age. You don’t go out, don’t socialize, no boyfriend, no networking. You eat too much, Emma! You should join a gym, make connections, grow up! How are you ever going to get a proper job when you can’t even handle a food delivery?”
She didn’t wait for a reply. She turned and walked to her room, shutting the door behind her.
Emma stood there, staring at her reflection in the hallway mirror.
She forced a smile. “It’s okay, Emma. She’s just worried. That’s all.”
Two tears slipped down her cheeks. She wiped them away harshly, gave herself a quick pat on the cheek, and forced a grin.
She always gave herself these little pep talks, telling herself she was just “different.” That she was kind, friendly, and pretty in her own unique way. But every time her mother made another jab at her weight, her awkwardness, her lack of friends, those words stopped feeling like truth and started feeling like lies.
The world has set certain standards, a body image you’re expected to fit.
And if you don’t, they ignore you… or worse, mock you.
No matter how loudly people claim “things are changing,” or how often they preach body positivity, it rarely shows in their eyes.
They say they accept every shape, every color, every type of personality but one glance, one judgmental stare, and it’s clear.
It doesn’t matter how kind you are. How pretty. How smart.
They still see your weight. Your skin tone.
And they reduce you to just that.
...........
TV news broadcast:
“It’s been decades, and the Burned Bodies case remains unsolved.
The number of victims continues to rise, bodies discovered, charred beyond recognition.
Forensic experts report that the extent of the burns is so severe, not only are the bodies unidentifiable, but it’s nearly impossible to determine what was done to them before the burning. Even DNA testing often fails due to the level of tissue destruction.
Authorities believe the remains could belong to several individuals who have gone missing over the last few years.
While police continue to investigate, the public grows more anxious.
Some speculate these crimes are linked to an underground human o***************g ring.
Others whisper of cults, secret societies, or even the involvement of influential public figures which may explain why, after all this time, no one has been caught.”
A hand reached out and switched off the television.
The room was dark lit only by the faint, flickering blue light from the screen.
A man sat motionless in a leather chair, face hidden in the shadows. He picked up a phone and brought it to his ear.
“…Is it done?” he asked, his voice calm. Too calm.
A short pause.
Then, the corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smile.
“Good. Don’t dispose of the body yet,” he murmured.
“Let them find it.”
He leaned back, eyes glinting in the dark.
“Let the world panic.
Let them know fear again.”
............
Emma woke up to the loud ringing of her phone and the even louder ringtone she had set for her only friend, Max.
“What?” she groaned, her voice thick with sleep as she buried her face back into the pillow.
“What? That’s your good morning?” Max snapped. “Has your tongue fallen off or what? Manners, Emma. Ever heard of them?”
Emma rolled onto her back and sighed dramatically. “Oh, my sweetest love, how are you? I was dreaming of your voice. Even in sleep, I prayed to wake up to your call.”
“Gross. Anyway,” Max snorted, “did you check your email yet? Any internship news? You know we need this to complete the final part of our degree. If we don’t get placed, no graduation, and goodbye future.”
“Huh, like I have a future…” she muttered. “I haven’t checked yet. But congrats if you got anything. At this point, getting selected anywhere is a win, even average agencies. Let’s be real, we don’t have much experience. Only top tier kids get into big firms without a resume. It sucks, but hey, we just need to check the internship box for now.”
“Aww, thanks for the useless pep talk,” Max said sarcastically. “Now go check your emails while I’m still on the line.”
Emma turned on speaker mode and scrolled through her inbox. “Ugh, so many college mails... wait”
“Wait what?” Max asked sharply.
Emma froze. “What the potato?!”
“Emma?! What happened? Tell me!”
Emma jumped up in bed, eyes wide. “Zavier Corp. They’ve asked me to come in for an interview! Tomorrow! For a junior content writer internship!”
There was a pause. “Oh... that’s... amazing,” Max said, trying to hide a flicker of jealousy.
“I mean, I won’t get it but still, I’ll get to see the inside of Zavier Corp. That alone is worth it. And maybe…” she grinned, “I’ll get a glimpse of the mysterious CEO himself. No one’s seen him except his staff and a few clients. It’s like he’s a ghost.”
“Hmph. Good luck, Emma. Seriously. You can do it. Just wear lenses, heels, and tame that hair. Dress like you want to be hired. And actually, wait. Lemme approve your outfit first.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it, bossy,” Emma chuckled. “And hey you too. Text me when you get the job. Whoever lands one first owes the other a treat.”
“Deal,” Max said.
Emma laughed and ended the call, still buzzing with shock and excitement.
She glanced down at her phone again, rereading the subject line for the tenth time:
Zavier Media Corp. | Interview Invitation – Junior Content Writer (Intern)
Her heart pounded.
“Zavier Corp… wow,” she whispered, almost in disbelief.
She fell back onto her bed, clutching the phone to her chest, eyes staring at the ceiling with a dreamy smile.
“For once… something’s actually going right.”
She exhaled slowly, the nerves kicking in again.
“Now I just have to pass the interview. Chance? Two in ten maybe… but , let’s see what happens.”
...............
- Writer
