Break Me, Fix Me

Chapter 6--This memory...is it worth remembering?

(Patricia)

It was a sweltering summer's day; the sun bore down on me as I moved through the city's rolling streets. I work the afternoon and night shifts at Daisy Luxury Store as a delivery person. It wasn't elegant, but it put food on the table and paid the bills, so why not?

My friends always said I had a knack for finding the shortest routes, which is why I made a bit of extra cash making deliveries even though I had a job as a cleaner.

On that day, I had received a delivery request that stood out from the usual orders.

It was for a mansion up in the fancy part of town, one of those places with iron gates and perfectly manicured gardens. The name on the order was a Mr. Anderson, and I wondered if it was the same person with a name I'd heard before on the news.

His parents died when he was just eighteen, and he inherited their company, making it a worldwide sensation in just five years. He is popularly known as the golden bachelor of New York, but there were rumors that described him as a ruthless person who got whatever he wanted freely or forcefully. Secretly, he is referred to as “Dare Devil."

No media company had ever dared to print his picture, but he was rumored to be a very handsome person. However, all that didn't matter to me; I was there to do my job and make some money.

I hopped on my old rusty bicycle and pedaled my way through the bustling streets of Orange County, eager to make the delivery and get back to the familiar comfort of my home since it was my last delivery for that day.

The address led me to a beautiful, towering skyscraper. I knew this job would pay well, and I needed it more than ever as I wanted to save up and return to college.

I pressed the doorbell for a long time before I was answered. A man dressed in a black suit came out of the gate. He had a very stern face and appeared to be in his late twenties. I assumed he was the butler.

“A package for Mr. Andrew,” I said, smiling, with my hands stretched towards him.

“Thanks,” he said, collected the package, paid for it, signed while telling me to keep the change, and went inside.

I smiled at him and said some words of thanks.

One of the benefits of the job.

I hopped on my bicycle and was about to leave when I heard the gate open again.

“Miss, please, can I see you?” It was the butler again.

He asked in a voice as smooth as honey, with his lips raised in an attempt to smile, but it gave me the chills, and he looked scary instead.

“Okay.” I swallowed and hopped down from my bicycle.

“Mr. Andrew, my boss, has a package to deliver, and I was wondering if you could make the delivery.” He seemed to have noticed that his smile wasn’t okay, so he stopped smiling.

“Sure,” A chance to make more money, so why not?

He said I would have to follow him into the house for some reason I didn’t hear, as my mind was on the extra cash I was going to make.

As I locked up my bike, I had a gut feeling that something was off, but I shook it off as nervousness and proceeded to enter the house with him.

I was led into the mansion, and I marveled at the rows of grandiose rooms we passed, each more extravagant than the last. The whole place screamed wealth, which was very different from the world I knew.

“Be careful, miss,” the butler warned.

“Okay, thanks,” I replied with an awkward smile. I was so busy looking around, I almost bumped into a door.

That was so embarrassing.

“I didn’t get to know your name,” he said, in another attempt to smile.

“Oh, I’m Patricia.” I wished he could stop smiling; it was really giving me the creeps.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Patricia. I am Timothy, a personal assistant to Mr. Andrew.” He finally stopped smiling.

“The pleasure is all mine,” I answered.

What was I thinking? How could a young-looking man be a butler?

We made small talk along the way while he asked me questions like where I work and all that. I answered because I knew he was just being careful; I’d be suspicious if he didn’t.

Finally, we arrived in the grand living room, where I was asked to sit and wait for Mr. Andrew.

“He is dealing with work matters and will be with you shortly,” the butler said.

Personal Assistant, I mean.

“Alright,” I answered.

Shortly after, I was offered a cup of tea by one of the maids, which I drank gratefully. Riding down here was not easy at all, and I was dying of thirst.

Sipping my tea, I glanced around the house, appreciating its beauty. The living room was twice as big as my whole house (if you can call that run-down a house), and every ornament here was coated in gold. He really deserved to be called the country’s richest man.

I noticed two ladies, who were dressed as helpers, whispering to each other while pointing at me. I ignored them because I thought that they must be speculating about my identity.

There will be no need for that, ladies. I'll be out of your hair soon.

I suddenly looked at the wall clock and realized that I had been here for some time, and it was getting late.

I beckoned to one of the maids moving around the house to help me remind their master about my purpose in his house, but no one answered me, and I was starting to get angry.

Suddenly, I remembered the feeling I had just before I entered the house, and I got scared; the thought that something might be wrong somewhere gave me goose bumps.

Then I felt faint, and the world began to blur. My head spun, and my limbs felt like jelly. Panic set in as I realized something was terribly wrong. What had he done to me?

I was starting to lose consciousness, and I tried to escape while I could still hold on, but I found out that I couldn’t even move my legs. In my weakened state, I saw the P.A.'s expression shift from stern to sinister, and at the brink of losing my consciousness, I heard these words:

“It finally worked; it took so long this time.”

With those words, I lost consciousness.

***

When I finished recounting my ordeal to her, Jane looked like she could kill someone. Somehow, she was able to comfort me until I fell asleep.

I woke up later and wrote a letter to Jane, thanking her for all that she had done for me, and left. It’s been a week since she accommodated me.

And so in the wee hours of the morning, I was at the airport heading to wherever, with nothing but the clothes on my back and my pulse. I wanted to leave this city as soon as possible. I failed to notice the teary eyes staring at me from the crowd.

When I arrived at the checking point, my phone dinged, and I checked it.

Jane had sent me fifty thousand dollars with a message telling me that she hated me, but I should stay safe so that I could return the money to her in the future.

I smiled at the message; Jane had always been a light sleeper.

I made a promise to come back here as a better person. If not for anyone, I would do it for the person who believed in me.