Gossip

The next morning, I arrived at the office with the intention of maintaining my usual composure. The space felt different, though—quieter, more tense. Despite my best efforts to act as though everything was normal, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. As I settled at my desk, I noticed the subtle change in the office’s atmosphere. Conversations that usually buzzed with friendly chatter were now hushed and awkward.

Steve, my supervisor, was as professional as ever. He greeted me with a nod and a quick, “Morning, Elina.” His tone was neutral, and he didn’t mention anything about the previous day’s oddness. I appreciated his attempt to maintain normalcy, but it did little to quell the nagging anxiety that had settled in my chest, “I need those reports by the end of the day, okay?”

“Sure thing,” I replied, nodding and forcing a smile despite the knot tightening in my stomach.

The day dragged on with an oppressive heaviness. Each interaction felt stilted, with my colleagues avoiding eye contact or quickly changing the subject when I joined their conversations. The usual camaraderie was replaced by a sense of cold distance.

At mid-morning, I needed a break from my desk. I headed to the restroom, hoping to clear my head and shake off the growing unease. As I walked in, I could hear the sound of muffled voices coming from the adjoining area. I hesitated but couldn’t turn back; my curiosity and concern pushed me to enter.

Inside, I overheard three of my colleagues—Jenna, Lisa, and Karen—talking in low, conspiratorial tones. I stood near the sink, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible, but their words pierced through the quiet.

“Did you see the news about Elina?” Jenna asked, her voice dripping with contempt.

“Yeah, I saw it. Can you believe the nerve?” Lisa replied, her tone sharp. “Using her body to get ahead? And with someone like Grayson? It’s disgusting.”

Karen chimed in, her voice full of judgment. “I heard she’s been doing it for a while. It’s not surprising she’d get involved with someone like that. It’s all just for show.”

Each word was like a knife twisting in my heart. The way they spoke about me, so casually and cruelly, felt like a betrayal. I stood there, feeling a surge of shame and hurt as their laughter and scorn echoed off the restroom walls.

Unable to bear it any longer, tears began to well up in my eyes. I turned quickly and left the restroom, my face flushed with embarrassment and anger. I hurried back to my desk, but the sting of their words and the weight of the day’s tension became too much to handle. My hands shook as I tried to focus on my work, but the effort was futile.

By lunchtime, I couldn’t keep up the façade any longer. I grabbed my bag and left the office, not caring that it was still early. The drive home felt like a blur, the cityscape flashing past as I fought to hold back the tears.

When I finally reached the safety of my bedroom, I collapsed onto the bed, my sobs muffled by the pillows. I felt a profound sense of confusion and despair, questioning why this was happening to me.

Why did I have to endure such hurtful gossip? Why was my personal life being torn apart so cruelly? I clutched my pillow tightly, trying to make sense of the situation. It felt as if everything I had worked for and every genuine connection I had made was now tainted by unfounded judgments and rumors.

In the quiet of my room, surrounded by the stillness that contrasted sharply with the chaos of the day, I felt utterly alone. The hurtful words replayed in my mind, and I was left grappling with the painful reality of being judged and misunderstood.

As the evening wore on, I lay there, staring at the ceiling, consumed by questions and an aching loneliness. It seemed that no matter how much I tried to move past it, the wounds inflicted by others remained, leaving me to wonder how I would ever find my way through this storm.

The room was cloaked in darkness, the silence punctuated only by the occasional creak of the house settling. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the day’s events replaying in my mind like a relentless loop. Sleep eluded me, the sting of the morning’s gossip and the weight of my own hurtful thoughts keeping me wide awake.

I tossed and turned, pulling the blankets tightly around me in a futile attempt to find comfort. Each time I closed my eyes, the cruel words of my colleagues echoed through my thoughts, intensifying my frustration and sadness. I felt like I was suffocating in my own emotions, unable to escape the harsh reality that seemed to shadow every moment.

The ticking of the clock on the bedside table grew louder in the quiet of the night, each second dragging by with agonizing slowness. I glanced at the time—it was well past midnight. Gray’s meeting must still be going on. He’d told me earlier that it would be late, and the house felt even more empty without his comforting presence.

Finally, unable to bear the restless confinement of my bed any longer, I decided to get up. I needed to clear my mind, to do something—anything—to distract myself from the whirlwind of thoughts that refused to settle. I crept out of the bedroom and made my way to the kitchen, hoping that a change of scenery and perhaps a drink might provide some relief.

The kitchen was bathed in the soft glow of the under-cabinet lights. I rummaged through the cabinets, my movements mechanical as I sought out a bottle of wine. I found it—a half-empty bottle of red that Gray and I had shared a few nights ago. I pulled it out and grabbed a glass, pouring myself a generous amount. The rich, deep red liquid swirled in the glass, and I took a hesitant sip, savoring the warmth as it spread through me.

I leaned against the counter, my eyes wandering around the kitchen. The familiar surroundings felt oddly distant tonight, like a scene from someone else’s life. The quiet was oppressive, filled with the remnants of my own despair. I took another sip, feeling the wine’s comforting effect dulling the sharp edges of my anxiety, but not entirely erasing them.

As I stared out the kitchen window, the world outside was blanketed in darkness, with only the distant city lights flickering like stars in the vast expanse. The calm outside contrasted sharply with the storm raging within me. I thought about Grayson, wishing he were here with me. His presence always had a way of grounding me, of making everything seem a little less daunting.

The minutes dragged on, each sip of wine accompanied by more introspection. I thought about the conversations I’d had with my colleagues, the way their eyes had shifted away from me, the harsh judgments they had whispered. I wondered if there was any way to repair the damage or if this was something I’d have to face alone.

Just then, I heard the faint sound of the front door opening and closing. Gray must be back from his meeting. My heart lifted slightly at the thought of seeing him, but I remained where I was, not quite ready to face him with the vulnerability I felt. I poured another glass of wine, trying to steady my emotions before he found me.

Moments later, I heard his footsteps approaching the kitchen. He entered, looking tired but immediately concerned when he saw me standing there in the dim light, holding a glass of wine.

“Eli?” His voice was soft and filled with worry. “What are you doing up?”

I took a deep breath, trying to mask the emotions that were bubbling just beneath the surface. “Can’t sleep,” I said, forcing a small smile. “Just needed a drink.”

Gray walked over, his gaze searching mine. He could see through the pretense, and his expression grew more worried. “Is everything okay? You seem—”

I cut him off, not ready to delve into the specifics of my day just yet. “It’s nothing. Just a rough day at work. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

He reached out and gently took the glass from my hand, setting it on the counter. Then he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a warm embrace. The contact was soothing, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm I felt inside.

“You don’t have to go through this alone,” he said softly, his voice a low murmur against my ear. “Whatever’s going on, I’m here for you.”

I clung to him, letting the warmth of his embrace chase away some of the cold that had settled in my chest. I took a shuddering breath, feeling the tension begin to ease slightly. For the moment, it was enough to simply be held, to feel supported.

“I’m sorry,” I finally said, my voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t want to bother you with this. It’s just been a really hard day.”

“I got you, baby, I always got you,”