01

Dinner. A fricking business dinner and they wanted me to go with them since "it's good for me once I take over the business." I don't want to be here, not even a tiny bit. Having to say yes to them every time already grew on me, it is the natural answer for me every time they give me orders.

Go to the other branches? Yes. Supervise employees? Yes. Try and learn how everything works? Yes. Want to supervise a branch? Yes. I say yes to almost everything— not almost, actually. At such a young age, a minor even, I didn't say no to them. I basically work for them against my will, but they don't know that, of course.

I was broken from my reverie when the door opened. Two gentlemen and a sophisticated looking woman entered the room, all unfamiliar faces. We stand up to shake their hands. My parents were the first ones to greet and shake their hands and I followed suit, not giving a fake smile like my parents did and just nodded at them.

We all take our seats and called the waitress to get our orders. When she finished, I was surprised that these people in front of me are my uncles and aunt. Well, not surprised. I do not even know who the others are, they just put all these random, probably successful, and useful people to be my aunts, uncles, godmothers and fathers. Just a greeting would be nice, but none.

I nod once. "I am very much pleased to meet the three of you," I say, head up and looking at them one by one. Not giving a smile, again. I actually prefer my face relaxed and not tire my facial muscles.

One of them clears their throat and the other two laugh. "Likewise…" she pauses and raises her brow. Ah, she was asking for my name. My aunt doesn't know my name. Perfect! How amazing.

I stand up as a sign of formality and bow slightly. "Gem Margarette Lenz. You can call me Gem," I sit back down as I watch their faces paint with curiosity. It's probably because of how I am acting, but this is how I was thought to act.

She clears her throat after closing her mouth. Letting out an awkward laugh maybe seemed to her as a way to reduce the /very/ formal aura going on inside the room. "You didn't tell me you raised such an elegant lady! I wasn't even expecting her to be this… well mannered and well spoken."

My mom laughs, looking so proud. She raises her arm on the table, uses it for her chin to rest on. It's also probably a way for her to show off the golds dangling on her wrist. I roll my eyes internally. Obviously I won't be able to do that in front of them or my mom will give me an earful.

"Oh, she just learned from the best!" she still laughs and holds on to my father's arm who was also smiling.

The two other gentlemen seemed outcasted, so my dad opened a topic about… of course, business. "I heard that your son graduated already! How is he? Starting to help you as well?"

The man wearing a designer navy blue shirt chuckles. But as a fake person myself, I know a fake when I see or hear one. His laugh was as fake as his shirt. I know he was just trying to fit in because my parents are always… overdressed. A way for them to showcase their so called stature.

"Yes, sir. He's currently at London to look at some supplies that we need for the new product we're probably going to launch this year."

Dad's eyes widen in astonishment. "Oh! A new one just after your successful product three months ago! That's good, great!" he exclaims.

The gentlemen seemed to have their own topic while my mom and the woman, who I believe to be is Sarah, has their own topic also. I stare straight blankly, sitting with the right posture, listening to everything they're talking about.

I don't really get what's the point of me attending this dinner when I cannot even talk to them. I'm just here as a prop. Nothing new about that for me, but I still don't get it.

Thankfully, the waitress came back with our food. We started eating, and they were still talking about business and family, laughing from time to time.

"Gem, do you have any thoughts you'd like to say about your Aunt Sarah's manufacturing company?" my mom suddenly turns to me, expecting an extravagant, educated answer.

I place down my utensils and look at them blankly. Just trying to answer the question so I can eat at peace. I'd rather eat at home, my cooking, rather than being here in this suffocating room. "Well," I pause. "Can I be honest?"

"Of course you can, honey," she gives me an adorable smile.

I nod. "To be honest, I commend the product you're manufacturing right now. It's nice, actually. Though it is quite over-priced for its low quality. If you want to price it that high, might as well get a supplier who has a great quality of the materials you're looking for," I try to hide a playful smile.

"I can give you a number of one, if you'd like," after talking so much, I resumed eating and didn't bother to wait for any response.

They casually came back to taking to each other and didn't pay any sort of attention to me after that. And so, I quietly sat there, taking my time to eat to entertain myself. I answered questions that were thrown to me, but other than that, I did nothing else. It was just me and my food against the world.

Thankfully, after a stressful evening (god I think I'm not gonna digest my food tonight), they finally decided to go home. It was also very late already, if I may be honest. Who talks to each other until this late at night and just talk about some stupid business things that can make you fall asleep in an instant.

Until the end, I was polite to them. Though before my aunt goes, I give her a calling card which confused her. "The supplier I was talking about earlier," I bow to say goodbye and she was just holding on to the card and though confused, just entered her car.

On the way home, as usual it was as suffocating. Everywhere they are is suffocating. What am I even saying.

I do not bother to say a word. My mom's on the phone with some employee, as well as my dad. Everything was chaotic inside, you might even lose your mind if it's your first time having a car ride with them. I'm quite immune to this noise. Mom was yelling, dad's voice was resonating. I wonder if the people on the other line could hear the other shouting.

Oh, of course! I was held off before I got out of the car. Probably a talk once again or something they want me to do. "Yes, mom? Would like me to do anything for you tomorrow?"

"Mhm. Actually, yes," she answers while typing on her phone. "Go to this branch tomorrow, I need you to sign all of the papers that needs to be signed in my office."

I cannot help but sigh internally (again, of course), though I am used to it. "Yes, mom. Anything else?"

"I have this supplier in mind, actually. Would you mind going there for my stead? Check the materials and give me a report." Now, it was my dad was the one who asked me.

"Alright, dad. Just send me the details. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be going inside now," I open the door of the car and proceed to my room, my safe place.

My only home in this house.

I am homeschooled since high school started. It's for the sake of the business, so I could help them. More like so that they'd have an instant assistant. I do everything they ask of me though it is too much on my plate. They never heard me say no because once I do, I know what happens.

Business is not what my heart wants to do, but I'm doing it, because that's what my parents want me to. I have not even an ounce of interest in their business. Maybe someday I'd want to start my own, but I do not want to be connected to any of theirs. They made me hate their business, they kept pushing me to do it though they knew I did not want to. And of course, as someone who they fed, clothed, and took care of, I just said yes.

Here I am in front of my laptop to open a document. It was a story I was starting to write. Now, this is where my heart and interest belongs. Writing.

I did not bother to tell my parents this, because I know what they'll say about it.

'Don't bother doing that, you'll get no money from it."

'Don't let yourself get distracted by it, remember that you have a business to manage."

'It's just a phase. You'll get bored of it one day."

And it wasn't /just a phase/. I still love writing after 4 years. I have so many unpublished novels, all gathered in one folder that no one else will be able to see.

"Gem! Come down here, I need to give you something," I hear my mom shout from downstairs and so, I go. Calmly but fast. She doesn't like slowpokes.

"Yes?" she hands me a brown folder, documents. "I'll hand it to Geleen tomorrow."

"Okay, good. You can go now."

And now I return again to my room to wash up. I'll just write later. Besides it has become a routine for me to write only during midnight. That's the only time where no one can disturb me, so I take advantage of it.

Putting on the last piece of my silk pajamas, I finally go out of my bathroom feeling very refreshed. I felt like I smelled like the food we ate earlier at the restaurant, I wanted to wash it off quickly. Now, I guess I do smell like a baby. Not a baby, but som— nevermind let's not discuss what I smell like.

Now, finally, I type in my password and the password of the folder. I click on the document and scroll up to reach where I last wrote.

Everytime I type in something, I feel some kind of ecstasy, kind of high if I may say. I feel like I'm floating, dizzy. And then, I completely get engulfed in what I write, I feel like I'm inside my own story, imagining everything happening, seeing what my characters are doing. It does make me… happy. Getting immersed and imagining, and writing, both make me feel euphoric more than anyone can imagine.

Sometimes, I also have a writer's block, but I kind of push myself to write, and there goes me writing— or rather typing like a madman. It—the words just come in my head, it enters like a bullet train that I have to type fast as well to keep up with it, to write down all of it.

Writing got me completely enamored, and I can say that it's the only best thing happening in my life for the past 16 years that I am living. I have no friends, no happy childhood or anything like that. Yeah, I guess it kinda is weird and, you know, isolating. To be honest, I don't know how to feel. Anymore.

Sometimes when everything gets suffocating, when I feel like I'm going to explode because of everything that's kept inside me, I write. A novel, a letter, a poem, anything. Anything to ease my mind, to lessen the burden that I am feeling. Or I run, though I hated running, now it's something I use to clear my mind of things, especially when it gets too much for me to handle.

And since I do not have anyone to talk to, I just think about myself, what happened to me? My parents, my life. How it came to this. The complete, utter hell it is.