Chapter 13: SOFIA
I didn’t need to hear the completion of what Emily was trying to say, to know that I’m in serious trouble.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck" I repeated inaudibly.
"Oh my God, what have I done?" I asked myself.
The very first time, I’m meeting the man who had once been a mentor and I’ve ruined it with my anger.
I felt like slapping myself until the pain could match the uneasiness that thrummed through me.
"I just asked Richard-fucking-Wellington to exit his very own elevator in his very own company or die riding with me. By God Sofia, you are a fool" I echoed those words through me, but it did nothing to alleviate the guilt surmounting in my chest.
Will I blame life this time around? Or will I blame those who make it a living hell with their quick to remind status?
The truth was that, this was all me. I did it. I allowed my anger to score a number on me.
"How could you? This was your chance. Finally for once in your life, your dreams held a chance of coming through, but you just had to ruin it, didn’t you?"
By God, I hated my conscience. Couldn’t it see that I was already regretting every word I spoke in the last 5 minutes? Must it add to my guilt?
Some people say their conscience (or is it a general fact) is a small still voice barely discernible from the one yelling wrong. It’s the voice of reason aiming at the right against the wrong.
But my own conscience isn’t still neither is it’s voice– small. Now, it feels like it’s holding a megaphone in my mind screaming all the wrongs I managed to accomplish with the very words I uttered. And with it, a knife, slowly dragging the point through my heart, drawing blood.
Richard Wellington may no longer be a mentor, but I still love his designs. There’s still a part of me that longs to accomplish what he has done in the fashion industry.
I may not follow him, but I still go through his posts and I will be lying if I say that I’m not looking forward to the new collection. And it would mean the world to me if I can be a part of its success, even if it’s just by typing words on a page.
Working under him would be a privilege and I fear I’ve messed that up.
"No, you haven’t. Just apologize. Sincerely ask for forgiveness. Tell him you don’t mean it" the voice in my head kept saying.
I once read that our minds know us more than we do ourselves. That if you are a winner, like you always remind yourself that you are one, then your mind will always strive, gear and think of ways for you to keep securing wins.
But if you are someone who feeds the mind with negative thoughts,
"I can’t do this"
"I’m such a loser"
"I’m a failure" and the likes.
It will get to a certain point where your mind will accept and imbue every thought with such negativity. Instead of thinking up ways out of a difficult situation, it will keep reminding you that it’s impossible to escape. That as a failure why should you try to liberate yourself from such a situation?
Our minds know our stories far more better than we can write or tell them. It is the only companion we truly feel safe sharing our secrets and interacting with. In the darkest of times, it is all we’ve got and mine... mine knows just how much my future is hinged on securing this job.
Believe me, I want nothing more than to grovel before the high and mighty Richard Wellington until he accepts my apology, but I simply can’t.
I opened my mouth severally to say the words, "I’m sorry
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