Page 244 of Love Me in the Dark
I’ve already solved the problem before he finishes another sentence—some half-installed update clogging the permissions hierarchy. Tier One must’ve been asleep at the wheel. Again.
I document the fix. Flag the error. File the call. Disconnect.
2:07 a.m.
I lean back in my chair and roll my neck until it pops.
I really need to come up with something to keep myself awake besides coffee. I’ve still got another few hours to go on this stupid split schedule they’ve got me on.
But it’s not like I can afford to look for another job.
Or a different apartment.
Or pretty much anything.
My apartment is silent except for the whir of the ceiling fan quietly humming. A single desk lamp spills light over the keyboard and my hands, and everything else is covered in shadow.
Turning on the lights around me will only make my pathetic life all the more obvious. Stained drywall behind badly painted walls and popcorn ceilings that probably contain asbestos.
The window’s cracked open, even though I don’t have heat.
I like the cold—it reminds me I’m still here. Still breathing. Still in control.
Barely.
But I guess that’s the way I like it.
I click into the internal reporting system and start a new escalation because fuck this. It’s not supposed to be my job to handle these issues, and I’m so sick and tired of my supervisor taking advantage of my skill just because he can.
Supervisor redirectedanother Tier Two call to untrained staff. Client escalated and threatened legal action. If we don’t pushthe update patch soon, someone’s going to sue. Again. Also, please tell the engineers I’m not their babysitter.
I stareat it for a long moment before hitting Send. The system thanks me for my feedback and promises to follow up. It won’t. It never does. But filing it anyway feels like planting a flag on a battlefield everyone else keeps pretending doesn’t exist.
I minimize the screen and open my private folder—the one I keep labeled like it’s a training archive in case someone ever goes snooping.
It’s not.
I click into a new voice note and hit Record.
“My manager reassigned me to the early shift again without asking. That makes it the third time this month. And somehow I’m still the only person fixing backend code at two a.m. while pretending to be the friendly support voice of a failing tech empire.”
I pause. My voice always sounds smaller out loud. Less like armor. More like apology.
“I don’t know why I even bother logging these,” I admit, dragging a hand through my hair. “Maybe I just want proof I existed. That I said something. That I didn’t just disappear one day without leaving a mark.”
Click. Save. I don’t listen to it again.
My phone buzzes across the room. I glance at the screen.
Unknown Number.
No message.No voicemail. Just the cold aftertaste of a call that never meant to be answered.
I stare at it for too long before turning back to my laptop—and freezing.
My shift schedule changed again. I refresh twice to be sure.
I don’t get angry. Anger takes energy that I don’t have and couldn’t afford even if I did. Instead, I stare at the new hours and let the weight of it all settle across my shoulders like a coat I forgot I was wearing. 3:00 a.m. to 11:00 a.m. now. They didn’t even bother to notify me that there would be a change and now I’m going to have to adjust my life again.
