Dove
"Look at what you did," Stephanie threw the boot legged leather pants she had redesigned at me with an angry huff! The pants collided with my face before falling down to the floor. The shock of it made me lose focus as the needle from the sewing machine cut into my finger.
I pulled away with a grimace and hissed when I saw the small trickle of blood from my right index finger. I pressed it to my lips as I looked at her with big eyes. "What?"
"You messed up the pants! Why did you flare them out?" She slammed the original design down on my desk.
I let out a sigh as I rolled myself over on the wheel chair to it. With a quick rummage of my drawer I found her redesign, "You changed the design."
"I never did," she shrieked, pulling in the attention of the other stitchers and designers in the room.
"It has your signature," I frowned and pointed to it with my not so injured finger.
"Well clearly you must have not read my measurements right," she snapped, "If you want to succeed in this industry you better know when to pick your own battles. You're lucky this fashion house even hired you. If I was them I'd have you be a deadbeat next to nothing dishwasher boy!"
"Stephanie," I tried to speak but she was quick to cut me off.
"The boss is here and he just spent the past three hours chewing us out because of your stupid mistakes!"
"You redesigned everything," I defended.
"I don't care! You're going to stay here every single hour and fix everything!" She jabbed her finger against my chest. "If not I'll go straight to your university and put such a terrible report under your name that you can forget about ever finding meaningful work in fashion in your life!"
With that she walked away her blonde hair gleaming like the pits of hell.
The whole room had turned quiet as everyone stared at me. My finger was bleeding, my face must have been beet red and the humiliation was never ending!
I rarely cried but I had been the perfect punching bag for Stephanie ever since I walked to this damn building. Her little squad was no different because apparently her dad owned a chain of retail stores in Miami and all of them were hoping if they hung out with her they'd get the same opportunities.
I was not the only stitcher in the building but when something went wrong I was always the first to blame even if it wasn't my project.
Yet I knew better than to give her the satisfaction of hearing that I had cried so with my head held high I grabbed my phone from my desk and marched out of the studio.
With a quick walk I made it down the stairs to the back entrance of the building. The alley was a tad bit creepy but it was perfect if I wanted to get away from the Steph gang. They would rather be caught dead than having their designer shoes on the paving of some alley.
I grabbed my phone as soon as I climbed down the metallic stairs and dialed for Zahi
"Hola-" (Spanish: Hello)
"Ya no puedo hacerlo," I broke into a fit of sobs as I leaned against the wall. My back pressed up against the cold brick. (I can't do it anymore!)
There was a pause before a low chuckle came through the speaker. "¿Qué hizo ella esta vez?" (What did she do this time?)
"Ella rediseñó todo y aparentemente el Jefe, Pereira o como se llame vino a comprobarlo y ¡es un desastre! Le dije que era un desastre, pero luego fingió haberme derramado café accidentalmente esa vez. ¡Ella nunca quiere escuchar! Ella simplemente eligió hacer de mi vida un infierno," I let out a desperate cry as I wiped away my tears. I knew if I cried too hard my nose would be blocked but I just needed a quick few seconds of release. (She redesigned everything and apparently the Boss, Pereira or whatever his name is came through to check and it's a mess! I told her it's a mess but then she pretended to have accidentally spilled coffee on me that time. She never wants to listen! She's just chosen to make my life a living hell.)
"Then don't give her the satisfaction of making your life a living hell. You've fought so hard to get here. We both did and you can't give up because one girl makes you uncomfortable. Just keep your head down and push through it, that's what I did."
"I guess," I pressed my free forearm over my eyes and let out a sigh trying to calm myself. Zahi always had a way with words to make me snap out of my little tantrums and he was right. Even if I would never admit it to him.
He spoke to me until he was sure I was alright before ending the call. I decided to take a few more minutes to myself as I tried to breathe in the fresh air. We were minutes from the beach and just standing here you could smell the sea water.
Yet as I tried to take a deep breath in I immediately started coughing. Instead of crispy fresh air I was met with the end of a terrible cigarette.
I looked around wondering where it had come from until I noticed a figure just a few feet away from me. My heart was thundering in my chest as I tried to figure out who it was but I did not know anyone that tall! Nor did I know anyone with muscles that big.
They were dressed in scoffed leather brown boots that had clearly seen better days, dark denim jeans that were ripped by the knee and a plain white shirt. I tried to make out their face but the black Cowboy hat and sunglasses did a good job at hiding that.
My heart hammered in my chest when I saw the tattoos running up his arms and up his neck. You could see shapes of them under his thin cotton shirt and I felt my heart drop.
Was this finally the day I got killed at the back of the alley?