After dropping Ernie off at home, I make my way to work, arriving later than usual. The sun has already dipped behind the distant skyline, casting long, creeping shadows across the vast, deserted yard outside the recycling plant. The open space stretches far in every direction, scattered with towering piles of unsorted waste and half-sorted recyclables. It feels endless, the sheer amount of work dwarfing the handful of workers still moving between the mounds. At the far end, a small, squat building made of stained concrete and rusted metal houses a few basic rooms and Mr Hydell’s office, its faded door creaking slightly in the evening breeze. I pull out my phone and geotag myself as having arrived, the faint buzz in my hand making it official. Another shift.

  The air hits me first. I can never get used to the thick, foul blend of rotting waste and chemicals, but today it’s the noise that catches my attention more than the smell. Sharp voices cut across the heavy rumble of trucks and the gritty sounds of shifting piles. Someone is shouting, loud and angry, slicing through the usual scuffle of boots and the scrape of sorting. The strict 'no noise' rule seems forgotten today. I instinctively tense as I wander toward my assigned pile of waste to sort. Every step closer, I wonder how long it will take before Mr Hydell steps in to reprimand the loud culprit.

  As I approach my work area, I realize I am walking toward the noise rather than away from it. My boots crunch across the gritty cement floor, and the stench thickens around me. Then I see him.

  Mr Hydell stands motionless over a young woman, a stark figure against the filthy sprawl of broken crates and scattered waste. His uniform, pure black and sharply tailored, absorbs the dusty light around him, making him seem heavier, more immovable. A sleek security belt wraps neatly around his waist, and his steel-capped boots, polished to a mirror sheen, gleam obscenely amid the dirt. His black hair is slicked back accentuating the sharp lines of his face and the cold intensity of his dark eyes. Though his expression remains composed, a hard, controlled fury radiates from him with every measured word. The woman beneath his gaze stands frozen, her fists clenched at her sides, her shoulders trembling.

  The corner of Mr Hydell’s eye catches mine and my heart plummets. I freeze and hold my breath, expecting him to turn his rage toward me next. For a moment, the world narrows to the clatter of trucks and the burning heat of his glare. But he does not move toward me.

  Instead, he delivers his final words to the woman with quiet finality.

  "I never want this again. Take responsibility for your actions, and… be better!"

  Without waiting for a response, he turns on his heel and storms away at a determined pace, his boots thudding against the ground with each furious step.

  Nearby, a rough cluster of men and women in battered clothing and stained gloves watch him pass, their eyes wide with surprise. Without slowing or hesitating, he confronts them.

  "Get back to work unless you would like to star in the next performance!"

  There is an awkward fluster of motion. One of the men, startled, nearly trips over a bin of crushed cans. He fumbles to snatch up a sticky yoghurt tub with his gloved hands, pretending to sort busily before Mr Hydell can turn on him too. The other workers also hurry to look busy, their heads ducked low as they sort through their piles.

  I hover by my pile of waste but cannot bring myself to start. Instead, I head toward Georgina. She is still standing exactly where he left her, trembling with contained fury and on the verge of tears, the emotion in her eyes held back by anger too intense to let them fall. Her hands are shaking slightly, gloved fingers curled at her sides. Her dirty blonde hair is pulled back into a messy braid today, a few strands plastered against her damp forehead.

  I approach her cautiously, my voice gentle and concerned.

  "Are you okay? I have seen Mr Hydell angry before, but have never seen him treat anyone THAT badly!”

  Georgina’s eyes stay fixed to the ground, holding her rage in with visible effort. She swallows hard.

  "I’m fine," she mutters through clenched teeth, though her trembling hands and burning eyes say otherwise.

  I take a step closer, lowering my voice.

  "Are you sure? You don't look fine."

  For a long moment, she does not answer. Her lips press into a thin line, her jaw tight with the effort of holding herself together. Finally, she forces out the same lie, sharper this time.

  "I said I’m fine. There’s nothing to talk about. I’m going back to work."

  She turns slightly, shoulders stiff, but I can’t let her carry the full weight of this alone.

  "Wait," I say urgently. "At least tell me what that was about. Did you get caught talking? Perhaps about him? Is he not happy with your work performance? Please talk to me… what happened?"

  For the first time, Georgina lifts her head. Her eyes, glassy with anger and hurt, lock onto mine. Some of the tension in her brow eases, just a fraction.

  "Well… if I do tell you… you have to promise not to say anything. To anyone."

  Her voice is quieter now, shaking slightly at the edges.

  There’s only one answer to that.

  “Of course!”

  Something in my voice must convince her, because she takes a deep, steadying breath, her shoulders rising and falling. The grim set of her mouth softens.

  She presses, "I need you to actually say it to me. I rely on the money from this job, and I can’t afford to lose it."

  I repeat gently, ‘I promise I won’t tell anyone. I need this job too, and I’d never do anything to jeopardize what you’ve worked so hard for.”

  Georgina hesitates a beat longer, then finally begins.

  " Ok… this is difficult for me to share… but I will give it a try."

  She wipes the back of her gloved hand across her forehead, leaving a faint smudge, then shifts her weight from one foot to the other, as if the ground itself feels unstable. I cringe involuntarily, trying not to think about all the germs on that glove. Luckily she doesn’t seem to notice, her mind already working to shape the story she is about to tell.

  "As you know," she begins, voice low, "I have not been working at the recycling plant as long as you. It has only been six months now and my daughter, Faith, needs to stay with my parents while I work. Her father doesn’t want to care for her or help me financially to support her, so I’ve been working long hours."

  She tightens her jaw, blinking hard, as if forcing herself not to break.

  "I don’t really have a choice. My options are very limited.”

  She pauses to think of how to continue, giving me a moment to take in everything she has just revealed. We’ve been friendly ever since she started, but only through shallow conversations. Aside from the fact that I only work after school, we never really knew anything meaningful about each other. And yet, we’re more alike than I realized. She’s raising her daughter alone while the father offers no help, just like I’m taking care of Ernie with no support from his.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  I stay quiet, nodding slowly, giving her the space to speak.

  She continues, “After my first shift, Mr Hydell called me into his office. He gave me great feedback about my attitude and how much recycled materials I managed to sort. He said he looked forward to more good work from me, and that was it.”

  She gives a brittle laugh that barely sounds human. The clatter of cans and the low churn of machinery fills the space between us.

  “Since then, he has called me into his office for a performance review every month, and always at night. I never even noticed that no one else ever goes in there or has a review. He just checks their work sporadically while walking around the plant, and if he doesn’t like something, he tells them then and there.”

  I think back to my own situation. I did get called into his office on my first day as it was an on-the-spot interview, but not after the shift or ever since. It is very weird that Georgina has been treated so differently.

  Her voice drops even lower. She crosses her arms over her chest, as if shielding herself from the memory.

  She continues, but the edge in her voice is fragile.

  “Anyway, each time I’ve been called into his office, he’s seemed just a little more comfortable with me. He compliments my dedication, my attitude, and on Friday he added that there was a job opportunity at the Sydney FC and Northern Reds football game. He said I’d be suited for the corporate suites given that I’m also attractive and attentive.”

  The word attractive practically drips with bitterness.

  “I didn’t appreciate the attractive part, even if I am, but the job was mostly catering and cleaning in the suite and I haven’t had a reason not to trust him. So I went.”

  Georgina pauses, staring at the faintly littered dirt, her hands clasped in front of her, thumbs rubbing nervously.

  “At the stadium, the event felt fairly normal. His business associates were rude, but I was paid well to be there, and it was still better than working here. It wasn’t until after the game, once everyone had left, that things became awkward.”

  Her voice turns raw around the edges.

  "It was just him and me left in the suite. He shut the door. Told me I could make a lot more money that night. All I had to do was stay for another hour and do what he asked."

  “It ended up being just me and him in the suite, which could be completely sealed and locked. He asked if I wanted to make a lot more money that day. All I had to do, he said, was exactly what he asked for an hour. The sleazy look on his face said enough. I asked if he was talking about sex, and he answered me while stroking my hair… ‘Would that be so bad?’ I said no thank you and tried to leave, but he grabbed my wrist and looked me in the eye, telling me he would make it worth my while. His face was so casual, like it was just a business offer."

  "Luckily, the door hadn’t been locked yet. One of his friends came back in, looking for another beer before he left. Mr Hydell let go of my wrist to keep up appearances, and I left quickly after that. If they had not come back to the suite for another beer, I don't know if I would have gotten away."

  Her voice breaks slightly and she swallows it back.

  "I haven’t worked again until now, and I’ve had to deal with the fallout of rejecting him. I still have my job though, and I want to keep it that way!”

  I’m in a state of stunned shock, trying to process all of this.

  “I would have never thought…” What can I even say to that? I have no idea what to do in this situation.

  “I can’t believe he did that to you!”

  Georgina is a little calmer now after getting it off her chest, but the anger still burns in her voice.

  “It doesn’t surprise me,” she says. “Men are all the same. They are only after one thing from women.”

  Her bitterness is quiet but brutal.

  I think about Roselyn’s relationship with Dom and realise I don’t want to know any details of what he gets out of it. It seems about right.

  Before I can respond, Mr Hydell’s voice booms across the plant, making both of us flinch.

  "I hope you are not distracting Victoria from her work, Georgina!"

  Georgina’s voice cracks out, a rushed stutter.

  "No, no…” as I jump to make my way to my work area as a pace just short of running.

  He cuts her off.

  “Good. Otherwise, I would think you’re looking for reasons to lose your job.”

  It sounds like she bites her tongue in fear, holding back her true thoughts before responding agreeably,

  “No, sir.”

  He pauses, contemplating whether to say more, then leaves the issue alone and turns to patrol the other workers on his supervisory round.

  She starts to stutter, “No, no…” as I jump to make my way to my work area as a pace just short of running. He cuts her off, “Good! Otherwise, I would think that you are looking for reasons to lose your job.” It sounds like she bit her tongue in fear in order to hold back her true thoughts before responding agreeably,

  “No, sir”.

  He paused, contemplating if he should say more, then left the issue alone. His heavy boots crunch against the floor as he moves on to patrol other workers on his supervisory round, leaving behind a thick silence.

  Georgina ducks her head and turns back to her sorting pile without another word. I do the same, my heart hammering. Every glance at her across the dusty, compacted earth reminds me of the weight she is carrying, hidden beneath the layers we all wear to protect our skin.

  The rest of my shortened shift passes quietly. Silence should feel normal, but this one is thick with tension, shaped by my thoughts and the sight of my friend still shaken by her unfair experience. I preferred it when I only saw one side of Mr Hydell, a strict boss I could tolerate during work hours. This job is also a means to earn money for me, and I prefer being alone to my thoughts in the silence, without having those taken over too.

  When I’ve had enough for the day and decide to end my shift, I peel off my gloves, my fingers sweaty and aching. I walk back past the graffiti-scratched walls of the main building, geotagging myself out. The pay hits my digital wallet instantly, but the relief is short-lived.

  Standing by the exit is Mr Hydell.

  He spots me immediately, his mouth twisting into something that is supposed to resemble a smile.

  "Victoria," he calls. "I would like a quick word with you. May you join me in my office?"

  I’m a bit taken aback, and panic starts to stir in my mind as I wonder if this might be a reprimand for talking to Georgina. I also really do not want to be alone with him after hearing what she just went through. I look down and walk with increasing speed, avoiding his eyes so he cannot stop me.

  As I hurry past him, the words rush out of my mouth.

  “Sorry, I can’t tonight. Bye!”

  I don’t think he was expecting me to say no. He just stood there for a moment before shouting after me,

  “Ok, tomorrow then, Victoria!”

  I pretend not to hear and keep rushing away, not slowing down until I am well down the street, weaving through dim pools of streetlight, past hunched figures lingering near overflowing bins and the occasional rustle of movement in the shadows.

  Only when the plant fades into the distance behind me do I let myself exhale.

  I head home at a brisk pace, slipping my hands into the pockets of my jacket. The city feels heavier tonight. Every creak of a fence and every flicker of window light on the dark streets makes my nerves jump.

  I glance around cautiously but I do not get the feeling that I am being followed.

  Finally some peace!

  After everything that happened today, I just want to get home safely.

  I resist the urge to pull out my phone and transfer my pay to my hidden wallet. The streets aren’t empty enough, and I’m not na?ve enough to flash my digital wallet out here at night. I will have to wait until I am somewhere safer, maybe just before reaching home.

  I turn into my neighbourhood, past a leaning fence layered with scraps of old circuit board, faded signs, and the chipped path outside the corner store. Nearly there.

  I check one last time behind me.

  Still no one.

  I let my shoulders ease as I reach the quieter end of the street, surrounded by people but finally in a safer part of the neighbourhood.

  I quicken my steps, eager for the fragile comfort of our apartment.

  Still, I do not risk transferring the money. Even here, it never feels safe enough.

  I reach the front door, unlocking it with careful, quiet movements.

  The heavy metal door creaks inward.

  It’s a lot louder inside.

  Aggressive, excited voices bounce off the walls, overlapping in bursts of shouting and laughter. More than one man is speaking at once, the noise sharp and unfiltered, like a joke could turn into a fight without warning.

  I step inside, let the door swing shut, and lock it behind me.

  I set my bag down carefully, my fingers already aching with fatigue.

  Dad has a friend over. I sigh, exhausted.

  Here we go again.