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- Nov 22, 2025
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- 298
In my case, it went from disapproving side-eye whenever he walked by, to goosebumps whenever he was close. It wasn't planned and neither of us were looking for it from each other.
Hell, despite having my share of attention from afar, nobody dared to get too close. I made sure that anyone thinking that the pretty blonde woman with the resting bitch face actually had a side of sweetness, was mistaken.
The thing with chemistry is that it's hard to ignore. It permeates. You feel it and you want it some more. Maybe you find a funny article, you want to share it with someone you know will laugh at it. Or there's a situation you know someone will see the same way as you.
*One year earlier*
"Hey Ophelia, is your boss around?"
"Hi, no, don't know where she is?"
Why did I answer as though I was asking him a question?
Caught between giving him my trademark side-eye and rolling my eyes at my own idiocy, I just went back to staring at my screen and ignoring him.
Why doesn't he ask how I am and just be fucking nice for a change?
I almost made myself jump at the strength of my feelings. He grated on me and I didn't know how to ignore him. He was just so fucking rude.
He did some strategy crap and my boss ran the customer support team so they crossed paths. She's always been a gossip, he was the new chosen one that she wanted to get in with, so they spent a lot of time together. Mostly she gossiped and ranted to him, mostly she wasn't aware that he was a manipulative little shit that would burn her metaphorical house down if it suited him.
Breathe Ophelia, breathe.
Why did it matter to me?
I guess the first thing to say is that I wasn't always like this. There was a time, many years ago now, when I could go three days without crying.
But my story isn't a sad one, far from it. Like all good romances, it just starts off that way.
_
"Miss, we've tried to work with her but she's just so ermm, foreign."
"Julia!"
Ophelia couldn't have blushed harder if she tried. She could understand English well when she heard it but saying it, making her brain do it, that was hard.
"I'm sure if you have a little patience and recognise that some people aren't as far along as others, it'll be fine," Ms Huntingdon said. To a 12 year old, about another 12 year old.
Ophelia had come over as a child with her family. Her parents had their careers taken from them because of their nationality, so they had left their home in search of a new life. The second youngest of four, and the only girl, she had quickly come to realise that her nationality still made a difference in England like it did in Cyprus.
She had learned English to a basic level in early Cypriot school but kids spoke it so differently when it was their natural tongue that it took a long time for her to catch up. It wasn't until she was about sixteen that the accent faded away, replaced instead by the sounds of a London inflection.
Ophelia was bright and smart, particularly with language and with politics. She seemed to get people and get the meaning behind the spoken word. Perhaps it was because of her skill that she was always able to infer what people really meant.
She went and achieved a great degree, despite only being fluent in English for a handful of years. The first in her family to do so. She even stayed on for a postgrad in English & Politics.
She loved her parents and loved her brothers who always looked out for her, but being in a strict household where she was never allowed out in the evening and could only see friends at the weekends, really didn't help when it came to adjusting to university life.
Slim, with a naturally tanned complexion, curly hair and a beautiful face, her looks became a perfect recipe for attracting men. At first she could see the fuckboys and avoided them. Her brothers had taught her the signs and the lines, and they kept themselves involved in their little sister's dating life, intervening when necessary. Even her younger brother Julius treated her as the baby sibling.
But fuckboys evolved as she went through university and became harder to spot, even for her brothers. Even for her.
Sonny came into her life in her final year at undergrad. He was a postgrad student, offering additional help to the undergrads. So he was around at workshops but they never really spoke because she didn't need the help.
When she started her Masters, he was finishing up his own and offered to give her some tips over a coffee. He'd said he wasn't surprised that she was doing her Master's because all the lecturers had privately said she was extremely talented. A line like that shouldn't have worked but he was sweet and smart and nothing like the egotistical men she had become used to turning down. So the warning light never went off.
The one-off coffee became a coffee the following week and then an official date. Then they were officially dating. He was the perfect gentleman all the way through the first year.
He met her family as well as her extended family - her brother's had started dating, though surprisingly, she was the only one who wasn't dating someone English. She had met Sonny's family too and all was going well. His family liked that she was foreign and from a traditional household, they liked the way that she behaved around them - respectful, quiet and demure.
A year in, and ignoring reservations she couldn't quite place, she accepted his marriage proposal, despite only being 22 and way younger than she ever expected to be engaged. A few months later he convinced her to come off the contraceptive pill - a warning light that she ignored because she was too swept up in someone wanting to spend their life with her - and agreed that it would take some time for her to fall pregnant.
As her luck would have it, she fell pregnant within a month.
She had to rush a wedding when her Greek parents and Sonny's Italian parents found out. Both families were traditional and a baby out of wedlock wouldn't be acceptable.
If that didn't sum up the fucked-up fate of her life, of ruined dreams and plans, she could still probably find another ten examples that would.
Having and raising a baby practically ruined her chance of having a desired career in politics. Ophelia kept politically engaged and held strong views, but wasn't able to do anything with them, except rant to Sonny. He became a university lecturer himself and over the first couple of years of Lui's life, all seemed well. Not great, not inspiring, but well.
Secretly, and hating that it was the case, Ophelia existed in a depression that she hid from everyone. She focused on getting through the days, however many cigarettes it took, never spending too long asking why she was too depressed, because she never liked the answers.
Crying in the bathroom became a normal part of her routine, something to schedule in and look forward to as a bit of relief from the rest of the day.
Sonny worked and Ophelia kept house, living the life she never wanted for herself. Her brothers bonded with Sonny and treated him like one of the family, to the point where she felt they liked him more than her. He went to play football with them, went to Friday night drinks with them. That made it a lot harder to talk to her family about any issues, so she bottled them, like a good traditional girl should.
Her friends from school and university stayed close but life was so different between her and them that speaking to her friends about how she was struggling as a young mother with a child felt impossible. Sonny wanted more children but by the time she was well into her twenties, things weren't sitting right.
He stayed out late, drinking with work colleagues. He started to argue with her a lot - not when he was drunk and not in a violent way - but always contradictory, always making her feel like she was wrong. Whatever opinion she held, even if he had once agreed, was wrong.
He became more openly assertive and directive. Less willing to listen to pushback. Gaslighting began.
"You always said you like me taking charge," he'd say, when she asked him why it was always his way or the hard way.
"I, I haven't," she'd stutter. "I want to decide things too." He just laughed.
As true as it was that she liked her partner making decisions, she resented the idea that the man should run the house, so she deliberately never voiced her preference. But he knew, and that was enough for him to use it to his advantage.
Another time when she asked for a higher allowance he had said, "you always say you hate how expensive shopping is and what do you expect if we're letting all the immigrants in. You said so yourself. So no, you'll have to shop smarter."
"I'm an immigrant," she reminded him tearfully. She bit her tongue to stop herself pointing out that the weekly shopping would be a lot more if she hadn't started missing breakfast to save money.
"You're not though, you came here legally like my family," he explained as though she was an idiot.
The hardest part, she reflected after, wasn't leaving him, but feeling like she had to have good enough reason to leave. Was being deeply unhappy for years, losing her own identity enough? How deep would her depression need to be before someone in her family wrapped an arm around her and said, "don't worry Effie, we're here for you no matter what."
Could she do it to Lui? He was nearing five, perhaps young enough that coming from a broken home wouldn't harm him. The man she married looked so different to those early days that maybe it would be a kindness to Lui to not grow up with parents on such divergent trajectories.
To not grow up in a home where shameful things were done to her that she could never tell anyone about. If she did, she knew Sonny probably wouldn't live out the day. But he had told her without doubt that if they ever broke up, she'd never see him again.
Her husband inadvertently made the decision for her when he was caught shopping with another woman. She got the call from her Mum while she was watching Lui play football with the local team.
It's hard to argue nothing was going on when you've been seen kissing another woman. Harder still to argue back against three men who drag you out of your house and make sure you know you're not to return. He was out of her life within a week. He kept his promise.
Most importantly, he was out of Lui's life too. Not even his family wanted anything to do with Lui; somehow it was Ophelia's fault that Sonny had cheated. She hadn't been good enough for him or else why would he stray? And Lui had suffered for her failure, which made it worse.
Ophelia had what she needed to start life afresh but she was too far gone to care. Too out of her career to try and pursue it. Happiness? A new man? Forget it.
She took on jobs - sales jobs and then recruitment jobs, where it helped to be as pretty as she was. Her parents helped with Lui and helped them find a place to live nearby.
Her friends took turns to babysit when she worked late, and took her out in the hopes she would meet men to date. But she never did, despite continued interest. She found little spark with anyone that would inevitably come to chat to them. She felt so extinguished with life that all she wanted to do was get by and make sure Lui had a good life. Maybe she could just fade away when he was old enough not to need her.
She no longer cared about her career or relationships or sex. All that mattered was working, providing and seeing that Lui missed out on as little as possible. She never had enough money to go on holiday but she had enough to ensure he had what he needed. With his uncles around too, he at least got by without those paternal gaps.
Over the next five years Ophelia worked hard and finally fell into a job working for a charity, where she hated most of the people because they were disingenuous and so far removed from the issues, but at least she liked the cause. The pay was enough and the hours were kind - working late was rare and could be done at home when Lui was asleep.
Overall, she was probably less miserable, but realising this was the best her life was going to get, she was gripped by a sense of hopelessness.
Then she got to know him. The man who she knew was just using the charity and the cause to make a name for himself.
_
"You're miles away girl, hope you're somewhere hot."
Carly's voice woke me from my daydream. The one I frequently drifted to that left me with a mix of shame and anger. I went to pull on my cigarette and was surprised to see it had almost burned out.
"No place hotter than this hell," I replied, pulling out a fresh one.
She walked over to me, shivering slightly in the chill, despite a jacket. Carly wasn't a smoker so she'd no doubt gone to find me at my desk and put the clues together. She wrapped the jacket more tightly around her and shrugged off the looks we got from male passersby. Two good looking women shivering slightly in the cold. A gentleman's dream. But nobody stopped, it was the middle of the day, and men had long since seen me as unapproachable.
Carly looked at me expectantly, waiting for an answer. Oh, it was a genuine question? Fuck, how out of it did I look?
"I was actually just thinking about fate and flip decisions," I invented wildly. "Like, were the people here always going to fight the good fight or on another day, could they have applied for a job in government and work for someone who thinks all homeless people have a choice?"
Not for the first time, Carly looked worried about me. "My boss says Benjamin worked in government health policy at one point," she remarked conversationally.
Benjamin was a frequent topic for most people since he joined a few months back. He was about the same age as me, somewhere in his thirties. Hailed as some kind of forward-facing, high-impact strategist. Buzz words that typically went to people like him freely.
"I don't trust him," I repeated.
Carly chuckled at that. "I know, whole department knows. They reckon you'll go to war when he starts sacking us all."
I took another drag of my cigarette. An opening had come up on the staff union committee and I had taken it because it seemed a smart idea to cover my ass a bit better. If the rumoured redundancies came up, the committee would have to be told first. We'd effectively be on an even level, for once. He was two levels above me hierarchically so there was currently an element of doing what he said we had to do, especially with my boss so far up his ass.
We walked back upstairs together, chatting about evening plans. She was going to the theatre with friends, reminding me I'd declined her invite some months ago. Sometimes I went with them and enjoyed the escape but not often.
I walked towards my desk and surprise, surprise, who was standing beside my boss' desk, nodding as she spoke without pausing for breath? I hung my jacket up and pulled my jumper back down as it had ridden up, showing off my flat stomach.
He looked at me and then looked away quickly. Feeling watched and judged for taking a break, I sat down and ignored him. Either he was an idiot who couldn't see he was being manipulated or he was too smart. I wanted nothing to do with him either way.
_
I'd forgotten all about work that evening - one of the positives about not needing to make sales targets - and was instead fighting with Lui about his hair. Yet again he'd done a shit job at getting the shampoo out because it was too long and curly.
"Lui, please, this only looked good on Maradona," I sighed. "I'm going to start thinking you're scared of the barber if this carries on," I warned.
I grew up with brothers, I knew what buttons to push.
"Fine," he sighed, sounding so much like his dad it momentarily threw me. "We can go this weekend."
"Thanks for your sacrifice," I mock-bowed.
He took after me with his hair, though nowadays I regularly got my hair treated to straighten it and had even extended out to blonde highlights after being talked into it by my hairdresser. It annoyingly worked for me and my mediterranean skin. Those two attributes plus a thin, athletic body and a great ass, and yeah, I was seeing an uptick in attention at the gym and in public. But not enough for anyone to actually ask me out. I was a single Mum, with a fantastic resting bitch face, so nobody dared.
After re-washing Lui's hair for him and leaving him to his hour of allowed gaming (assuming all homework was done), I got started on laundry and ironed my outfit for the next day. Fun times.
I should side-note here to say that I liked to think my life is complex and complicated. Reality is, I could have had it a lot worse.
You were already thinking it, I said it.
The truth was, I hated the non-Mum part of my life, I didn't feel I could change it and I hated it. That's the crux of it. I had nothing exciting in my life and perversely, didn't want anything exciting. I wanted to suffer, as never-ending punishment for the failures and missed opportunities that I attributed to myself. I don't need to pay for therapy to know that's what it was.
I know I'm attractive. In fact, one of my favourite moments of self-loathing is when I remind myself I wasted my best years and looks on Sonny. It's great because I can look at pictures, actual evidence, and remind myself that I was seriously good looking.
I know that between smoking, under-eating and working out at the gym down the road, I'm still in good shape for some getting alarmingly close to 35. What I lack in breasts, I make up for in ass and just general skinny-but-hot vibes.
I don't go out, haven't been to a nightclub since I got married and don't plan to. So when I go to work and when I go shopping or run errands or anything that requires taking the effort to get ready, I try to look the part.
In short, I dress to be looked at.
Not ogled, not to be openly hit on, not to make people uncomfortable, especially at work. But enough for someone to look twice, enough for someone else to look away with a flash of disapproval.
Enough for me to feel a moment of validation and appreciation, which can then quickly become the self-loathing I truly seek.
You want this? Yeah, you can't have it and you don't want it, believe me. Nobody wants this.
That's how I want to feel.
So my dress for work the next day is short but not too short. Like my skirts are not too short and if they are, I wear tights. And if my crop tops are a bit too small, I wear high-waisted jeans. But I want to show some skin, I want there to be a whisper about me and I want my boss to want to talk to me about what I wear but it's just about appropriate enough to not do it.
And of course, I make sure I look professional. My makeup is on point, my pretty nails (which are my own by the way) are painted and classy, my work is done to the highest standard. So, Lizzie, you can't accuse me of anything.
I'm an expert at toeing the line and reading people who live by that line.
_
The next morning started badly. Train delays had followed Lui taking ages to get ready, meaning I had to do my makeup on the train like an absolute skank.
