One
Michaela
I wasn’t a weirdo, but I was definitely a creep.
Invisibility was my superpower, but not in the sense that I could make my body disappear. My invisibility came in a different form. Quite like a clock on a wall, looked at only when a person needed to know the time, I had a function but in general, people didn’t really see me, they didn’t spare me a second glance.
In a world where attention was a new form of currency (and I knew this all too well being the PA to a group of reality TV stars), this might seem like a bad thing.
But it wasn’t.
All my life, I’d preferred to go unnoticed. Everything inside of me was repelled by the idea of standing out. In my mind, being seen was dangerous. I avoided it like the plague, was relieved when people passed me by without looking too closely. What I truly feared was someone pointing me out all, Hey, you. Yes, YOU. You’re not supposed to be here. Now go away. Get out before I call the police.
But now, for the first time, I wanted to be noticed. Strike that, I wanted one person in particular to notice me, and it was wrong on so many levels. I admired him from afar, dreamt about him, pondered the likelihood of an alternate reality. I felt lit up from the inside out when he so much as smiled at me.
Yes, my feelings for James Khan were complicated, even more so because he was my boss. He was also nine years older than me and engaged to be married.
See? I really was a creep.
I sat working with my computer on my lap, while at the same time, my gaze kept wandering to him of its own accord. He had dark, close-cropped hair and the most beautiful brown eyes, eyes that held wisdom that lit a spark in me. His full yet masculine lips and broad shoulders never failed to make my stomach flutter.
I watched, admired, coveted. All the while I knew I could never, would never act on my secret attraction. James was unaware of the sunshine he shone on the world. He had no idea of the light he emitted, attracting lonely, emotionally malnourished, forgotten creatures like me from the shadows. Sometimes he’d cast me a glance, but it wasn’t cursory, wasn’t like someone checking the time. James saw me, and I wished to be invisible and illuminated all at once.
Could a person be torn apart by their own suppressed desires? I clamped down on my attraction to this man who could never be mine, stowed away my feelings in a locked vault, hoping they’d be starved of enough oxygen that they’d eventually die of asphyxiation.
James was a kind, honourable person. I knew he didn’t want me like I wanted him. When he smiled at me, he was simply being cordial. He was the sort of person who gave himself to others without expecting anything in return. Dad always said that you could get the measure of a person based on how they treat those who can’t give them anything, and James was as kind and accommodating to strangers as he was to his very best friends.
He took the time to ask questions, to get to know people on a personal level. At first, I’d thought he paid me this same kind of attention because he liked me in the same way I liked him. It took me a while to realise my error, to see that this was how he was with everyone, leaving me with a very embarrassing, very inconvenient secret crush.
And now, eight months later, well, I had to figure out a way to kill these unwanted feelings I harboured.
I used to think I was a good person. I tried to treat others as I would like to be treated, and I lived my life by the practice of knowing I was no better than anyone and nobody was any better than me. Another of my father’s lessons. But nowadays I suspected there were quite a few people out there who were better than me. People who didn’t desire a man who already belonged to another woman.
I brought my attention back to the screen in front of me and tried not to fixate on the glistening sweat that coated James’ skin. I worked for a group of free runners, my main place of work a state-of-the-art gym in Shoreditch, and James was currently in the middle of a workout.
I was one of two personal assistants who catered to the cast of the popular reality TV show, Running on Air. The show followed a group of free-running urban explorers as they completed parkour-style stunts in cities all around the world.
I loved my job. No two days were the same, and there was always some ritzy event to attend, or an episode to film, as well as all the usual humdrum duties of being an assistant. The cast weren’t due to start filming Season Five until the new year, so right now, they were all London based. This meant I was required to come to the gym each day, where it was inevitable that I’d see James.
When I saw him approach, my stomach did its usual dance, butterflies flitting about.
“You should get yourself a pair of those glasses with the blue light filter,” he commented.
I glanced casually up from my screen, pretending I hadn’t seen him coming the moment he headed in my direction. My heart pitter-pattered away like a frightened, eager little rabbit, eating up any tiny crumb of attention he deigned to bestow upon me.
“I don’t wear glasses,” I replied shyly.
“You don’t have to. They’re for people whose jobs require them to look at screens all the time. The lenses filter out harmful blue light. You’d also look cute in a pair of those chunky hipster frames,” James said, wiping some of the sweat from his neck with a towel.
I rubbed at the same spot on my own neck, then instantly dropped my hand. There went those pesky mirror neurons, making me mimic James and revealing my attraction. I was pretty sure he didn’t notice. Innocent people often presumed everyone else was as pure as they were. He had no clue of the corrupt thoughts that swarmed inside my head. Then again, him telling me I’d look cute in glasses seemed a little flirtatious, right?
No, wishful thinking.
“How is blue light harmful?” I asked. I already sort of knew the answer, but I wanted to listen to him speak. The deep, masculine quality of his voice was like a symphony to my ears.
Ugh, I really had it bad.
James gave a sheepish grin. “Okay, so I’m not an expert. I think it causes eye strain, and it keeps you up at night if you look at your phone before bed.”
“But I like looking at my phone before bed. Sometimes I’ll be drifting off to sleep and suddenly wonder what year Napoleon died, so I grab my phone to check.” I paused to shoot him a little grin. “The answer is 1821, in case you were wondering.”
“Isn’t that the type of information that can wait until morning?” James asked, a hint of amusement shaping his lips.
“By morning, I’ll have forgotten.”
“Well, then why not keep a pad and pen beside your bed so you can scribble down reminders? That way, you won’t forget.”
“Hmm, that’s a good idea.” I mentally shooed away the errant thoughts caused by James mentioning my bed, despite there being zero sexual connotations. Yet more evidence of my creepiness.
“Happy to help,” James said, eyes twinkling. I felt like they didn’t twinkle like this with everyone. It was like when you walked into a room full of people and spotted your close friend. Your eyes made a warm, happy sort of shape to know a kindred spirit was present.
I dragged my gaze away from his, clearing my throat and trying to rid myself of the light, airy feeling he solicited in me. “Did you read that article about the Russian ice slides?” I asked.
One of the things James and I bonded over was our love of the website Atlas Obscura. Its main focus was highlighting obscure places to travel around the world, but it also featured little known historical facts, which were our favourite.