You can’t remember if it’s one sugar or two.

You squeeze your eyes shut so hard that it hurts a little as you try really really hard to remember. It’s not like you weren’t paying attention. You’ve been trying very hard. But there’s just so much to learn and… and… it’s not there.

You realize you’re hyperventilating and force yourself to take slower breaths. It’s not like a sugar cube is that big of a deal. Except you know that, yeah, it sort of is.

Steam’s still rising off of the coffee mug, and another worry hits you. You don’t want to keep Her waiting, or worse, show up with cold coffee. In a sudden burst of activity, you add two sugar cubes and stir.

It’s only then that you realize you’ve screwed up again. If you only add one cube, you can bring the other along with you, so that way if you are wrong the mistake can be easily fixed. You can’t take sugar back out of coffee. Idiot.

The coffee swirls in the sink as you pour it down the drain and carefully prepare another cup. One sugar in the mug. One in your pocket.

Good.

Knowing you’re already running late, you pick up the mug and scurry out of the breakroom. Jane from Accounting gives you an odd look as you rush past her cubicle, the mug carefully clasped in both hands at head height, making sure you don’t spill it.

Whatever. No one likes Jane anyways. People are in the office to get work done, not to make friends.

You keep going and you’re so close. So so close, when you end up walking slightly too fast and your right foot thuds into the back of your left. You go down in a tumble of limbs, the coffee flying everywhere. It’s scaldingly hot as it splashes over you but you barely notice over the raging panic blooming in your head.

You screwed up again. Idiot.

You screw your eyes shut, trying not to cry as the heels of your palms thud into your forehead over and over. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You’re a disappointment to Her. You’re beating yourself up about this, but it’s necessary. You have to make sure you remember. You have to quit messing up.

“A-are you okay?” a voice calls out. You look up to see Jane from Accounting, which doesn’t make you feel any better. She wrings her hands. “I saw you trip. You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

You stare down at the ground, despair and anger focused inwards but still spilling out into frustration.

A clammy pair of hands grabs onto one of yours and you find yourself being pulled to your feet. Jane’s pushing you with a gentle insistence towards her cube. Before you know it, you’re sitting down in her chair and she’s rummaging through drawers for napkins to hand you.

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything better. You’re kind of a mess. I think your sweater might be ruined.”

No, really. Thanks, Jane. You look down to see that she’s right about your sweater. It’s your favorite one, too, purple and fuzzy and comfortable, decorated with a big pink star across the chest. Now it’s covered in splotches of brown, undoubtedly permanently stained.

Looking down at it now, you realize with a sick feeling how much of a kid it must make you look like. A kid who can’t even manage to fetch a cup of coffee correctly. The very sight of the coffee-stained reminders of your failure makes you want to get rid of it, burn it.

Jane brightens up, a smile cutting across her bland face. “I have an idea. I think the Lost and Found might have some jackets that other people have left behind. Maybe you could wear something else for the rest of the day.”

It’s… not a bad idea. Even Jane is apparently smarter than you today. She ducks out of the cubicle and begins rapidly waddling down the hall as you sit and soak in your squishy misery. The coffee has already gone from hot to tepid, but smells as strong as ever. You pull the sweater over your head and end up just dumping it into Jane’s trash can.

Yup. Even the dress shirt you were wearing underneath is covered in brown from the spill. Ugh.

Your eyes wander around the cubicle, where Jane has entirely too many pictures of herself and her hideously ugly dog. No one else, of course, no boyfriend or family or anything. The closest is a picture of the company picnic a few months ago, and even there she’s standing apart from everyone else. It makes you smile, slightly.

Another flicker catches your eye. Jane’s computer has switched onto its screensaver, and you’re momentarily startled. Oh. But of course she would have one of those watercoloury fantasy backgrounds. Something with a pearly-white unicorn rearing back against a starry sky, two differently sized full moons hanging over the horizon.

You reach over to bump the mouse and return it to the boring logon screen. You hate unicorns.

Thankfully, Jane returns a minute later. “Look what I found!” she chirps, proudly holding up a t-shirt with a sun emblem emblazoned on the front.

You begrudgingly admit to yourself that she didn’t do a half bad job. Even though t-shirts aren’t considered proper work attire. You shiver slightly. Extenuating circumstances, right? She can’t get mad at you for that, not when you’re still wearing a company shirt. Hopefully.

You’re lying to yourself. She can totally get mad at you for that, and you totally deserve it.

You snatch the t-shirt from Jane and start unbuttoning your dress shirt to switch over. You’ve got it halfway undone when you notice Jane with her face blazing red, hands spread over her eyes.

Oh. Right. You shouldn’t be stripping in someone else’s cubicle. There really is something wrong with you. You feel heat rush to your own face, but just speed up, quickly taking the old shirt off and shimmying into the new one.

“I’m done,” you say. Jane puts her hands down but won’t meet your eyes.

You stand up and start to walk away. You have to go. She’s going to be waiting, and… well, wanting her coffee.

But for some reason you pause at the opening to the cubicle. Your mouth opens and closes.

“I don’t need your pity,” you say. Yes. That’s definitely what you said, because you would have no reason to say thanks. It’s weird that Jane smiles and gives you a quick wave. She’s weird though. That’s why no one likes her.

You hurry down the hall, considering for a minute about going back for more coffee, but realizing that you can’t waste any more time. And if you went back for coffee and then spilt it again, then… Not even worth thinking about that.

She has an actual office, of course. And even an administrative assistant sitting at the desk outside. She’s an important person.

You shoot the secretary a dirty look as she gives you one back in response. Neither of you like each other, ironically for the exact same reason. You’re both a little jealous. The secretary is the lucky one who gets to work with Her all day. Every day. And yet it’s you who’s considered the special project, the one who’s being groomed for an eventual leadership role.

As long as She doesn’t realize what an idiot you are and fire you, of course. How is someone who can’t even get a cup of coffee ever going to amount to anything?

You gulp as you pause before the huge oak doors. Hand trembling, you reach out to knock softly against the wood.

“Come in,” a voice irritably barks out.

You push forward and the door swings open as you shuffle inside, head down in shame.

“About time,” She says, and you look up.

You look at Her and can’t help but feel something swelling inside you. She wears a standard business suit, well cut for her feminine figure. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses sit on the bridge of Her delicate nose. Her glorious hair of red and yellow is pulled back from its normal cascade into a severe ponytail, which is slightly disappointing but does nothing to remove from Her beauty.

“                            ?” you croak out.

That’s wrong. That’s not her name, why would you even say that? A sunset is a thing, it isn’t even a name that… that normal people would have. Her eyes narrow as a frown creases Her face. What’s wrong with you? A muted horror grips your chest. You’ve been saying that all day but you realize for the first time that there might just be something really wrong with you. In the head.

“Still?” She says.

Of course you expected Her to be here. Why would you expect anyone else? Who even has hair in rainbow pastels? Are you going crazy? You need help. You need Her help.

“I thought this was supposed to be taken care of,” She says, staring off into the air. “What exactly is the problem?” Every syllable of her voice is crisply enunciated. Businesslike. It makes you shiver, as fluttery feelings fill your stomach.

You stop pounding your fists against the door.

You are in the right place. There is no door. There never was a door. You cannot run away.

“I don’t care about your excuses,” She says. “I have better things to do than waste my time when you clearly haven’t finished here. I mean, look at her.” Her eyes stare down you like some kind of hawk studying its prey.

You can’t stand it anymore. You kneel before your master. You kneel before your master. You kneel before your master. You fall to your knees, face buried in your hands as you futilely try to block out the pain pounding and pounding away in your head.

You hear footsteps as She walks forward to stand over you. And then a soft hand rests on top of your head, running through your hair. You feel the tension drain away.

You know now. You are nothing. You submit yourself to Her. Your friends will not save you. You understand that giving in will make this all so much easier. You stop fighting. You submit yourself to Her. You accept your rightful place. You obey. You submit yourself to Her.

“Don’t fry her brain,” She says sharply, cutting through your thoughts. “I need her to be useful to me, not a vegetable.” You love her now. You know She’s looking out for you. Trying to help you. Trying to save you.

You feel an unbounded adoration towards Her. You are happy now. You are at peace. You didn’t bite your tongue, and can’t taste any blood in your mouth. You could spend the rest of your life like this. You crave her touch.

“Put her through more cycles. And don’t call me until you’re certain she’s broken.”

You have much still to do. You must be better. You can’t disappoint Her anymore. You must be a better person, for Her sake.

You smile.

You can’t remember if it’s one sugar or two. Next Chapter: 6.1 Estimated time remaining: 0 Minutes