Chapter 22: too close

I jump out of the chair, jolting the desk in the process. The correcting fluid falls over and spills across the surface.

The footsteps are louder.

I grab some paper and try to blot the correcting fluid. The paper sticks together, the white fluid obliterating what was written on it. I cover the mess with more paper.

The footsteps halt outside the door. I can hear the Turtle’s voice: she sounds stern. The lash of the whip is clearly audible.

I look around, panicking. I don’t want to be here.

The handle turns and the door begins to open.

I dive behind the desk, cramming myself in the small space by the wall.

The Turtle enters, throwing her whip into the corner. She sits down, letting out a sigh at the mess. Fucking cleaners, she says. There is the noise of shuffling paper, and then silence.

There is no sound for 2 minutes. I wonder if she has fallen asleep.

The silence is broken by a shuddering groan from the Turtle. Her voice shakes with sobs as she begins to cry.

All I can see are her feet under the desk. She is wearing brown shoes with sensible soles. They tremble in time with her sobs.

She cries for 5 whole minutes, her voice becoming increasingly raw. Her feet, in their sensible brown shoes, tremble the whole time. I want to reassure them, to let them know it will be alright, that soon they can go back to their job of standing and walking and everything will be fine.

I close my eyes.

With a deep breath, the Turtle gets to her feet. She has stopped crying. There are sounds like she is drying her face. She picks up her whip from the floor and, after a couple more breaths, leaves the office.

I wait for a minute. Rising out of my cramped position, I go to the door and peer out. The corridor is empty. I leave the office and go to the staff room. When I get there, I realise I am still clutching the folder from the Turtle’s desk.

The one with my name on it.