[BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!]
Wrens alarm tore through the silence at 5:30 a.m.
Wren slowly opened her eyes. Her face felt swollen and her body ached.
Yet her mind felt numb.
She had no idea how long she spent crying last night, but the exhaustion still lingered in her aching sore body. She groaned as she laid on her back, and stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
Then she got up, not because she wanted to, but because she had to.
Because she had work.
And that was the end of that day.
And the beginning of the next.
The days after her diagnosis passed, and passed, like a long gray blur. She wasn't aware of how many days had gone by, but she was sure it was at least a week.
Every morning, Wren was awoken by her alarm and the same hollow ache never left her. She didn't feel panic anymore. She didn't feel dread. She didn't feel anything at all. It was like her body had shut down the part of her that reacted, leaving her with the only mechanical motions of her day-to-day life. She woke up, dressed, walked to work, sat at her desk, and the office swallowed her whole.
Because it had to.
The bills still needed to get paid, and she still needed to eat and have somewhere to sleep.
Nothing was going to stop that.
Well, until that finally happened but she quickly shook the thought from her head.
The same fluorescent lights hummed overhead, cold and sharp like they had been for the past few years until they died and got replaced by the same fluorescent lights that cast everything in a sterile white glow.
Wren typed until her fingers cramped, her eyes burned, and her mind slowly drifted somewhere far away. She thought about her life, her utterly bleak normal life.
Years had passed and she had nothing to show for it. She worked at the same company as she had for many years now. She had no family left, no lover, no friends; outside a few office acquaintances she occasionally traded morning greetings with. She had nothing.
Her mind drifted towards thoughts about her late grandfather. About how he used to make her tea every evening when she came back from grade school. Jasmine, oolong, or sometimes something floral and sweet. He'd pour it into mismatched cups, some more worn and more chipped than others. Each cup was acquired from who-knows-where over the years, but each cup always had a story and a warm memory attached.
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Rain or shine, sick or health, he'd insist on making her tea, and sat with her on the porch every evening, letting the steam rise between them, and laughing with her as he told stories that never sounded totally true.
"Wren," He'd always spoken her name softly.
"Whenever life gets heavy, make a cup of tea."
"A cup of tea won't solve your problems, but it'll sit with you while you face them."
She wasn't sure how she could face this anymore.
He was the only person in her life who truly cared for her.
Her parents had left her with him when she was barely old enough to understand what abandonment meant. They never came back nor cared to call. He raised her. He loved her.
He died a year before she started university.
And now she had no one.
The thought pressed against her mind every time she looked at the stack of work her boss dropped onto her desk, and slowly her coworkers left the office to go back to their families and loved ones. It made her chest tighten. It made her breath catch. It made her pulse spike in that familiar, awful way.
Her coworkers whispered their pity as they left each evening.
"She's still here…"
"The boss is going to bury her…"
"She looks worse every day…"
She didn't react. She didn't have the energy to.
She worked until the sky outside turned black.
She walked home in silence.
She slept without dreaming.
And she repeated it the next day. And the next. And the next.
Today was Friday, and Wren felt like she was dissolving. Her legs trembled as she stood up, her hands shook when she packed her bag, and her chest felt tight.
She pushed herself to feet that screamed protest and headed towards the bathroom. She wanted to splash water on her face to try to ease the exhaust bogging down her thoughts. As she got closer, voices drifted through the partially opened door just before she stepped inside.
"...I'm serious, I don't know how she still works here." Someone laughed out.
"Because she says yes to everything."
"Honestly, at this point I think management forgets she's a person."
More laughter followed.
"Well, if she's dumb enough to keep doing everyone else's work that the boss pushes her..."
"Did you see her today?"
"Yeah. She looks like a corpse."
"Not much difference from normal."
The group laughed again, while Wren stood there frozen.
"I almost feel bad for her sometimes."
For a brief moment, something hopeful stirred inside her.
Then another voice snorted.
"Why? She's the one choosing to stay."
"Exactly."
"Some people just like being miserable like that."
The conversation then drifted towards small talk and weekend plans moments later, as though discussing her had been no different than discussing what they'd eat for dinner that day.
Wren quietly turned around before anyone noticed she was there.
The hallway felt colder on the walk back. At her desk, nobody looked up when she sat down. Nobody asked if she was okay. Nobody noticed the tears she wiped away before reopening her spreadsheets.
She didn't matter.
But something else did.
Tomorrow was Saturday.
Her one day off.
The only day that belonged to her.
The one day that was purely for herself.
The one day where she didn't have to sit under those harsh fluorescent lights. The one day where she didn't have to hear whispers of pity, and the one day she didn't have to deal with her boss.
She clung to the day like a final lifeline.