It was only a month into the job when you bumped into the wall with the cart, just hard enough to leave a scuff mark. Hard enough to elicit a low whistle from the manager nearby, hard enough to make the wall shake. You gave hurried apologies and trundled on with a mental note to clean the scuff.

Hours later, the chill of the air conditioner tickled your neck with an icier tinge; you all but jumped from your chair. The scuff. You grabbed a rag and a bottle of all-purpose cleaner, tested a spot, gingerly rubbed at the gray bruise you'd left. The vents rumbled– the heat turned on.

Days later, you shut the door a little too loud and it echoed. You didn't remember the handle being so heavy. You gave your apologies to the manager. 

You brought in a jacket to drape on your chair, for the returning cold, and it quickly grew more rumpled each shift. Even as the air conditioning ran lower it still felt just a bit too warm as soon as the jacket wrapped around your shoulders. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.

Some papers needed to be run to the supply room for shredding. Was the scuff always so large?

More cleaner, a nicer rag. The scuff smeared over the paint. 

In the break room the water ran colder than you've ever remembered; your hands shivered as you washed your mug. You turned the other tap and scalded your fingers, dropping the mug with a clatter. All eyes turned to you, then slid away.

You walked back down to the desk in defeat. Since when have these shoes been so loud on carpet? The vents groaned. It took your shaking hands three tries to put in your password. Several emails awaited you. Just a few things we've noticed, said the manager. We're always looking to help you improve.

Everyone noticed after that. They thumbed through your files more carefully. Stared just a moment too long. Been a bit cold in here, hasn't it?, you joked. Mm, came the reply, through pursed lips.

Surely with a bit of paint it could be covered; with the right cleaner it could all fade away. After several searches online you found your fixes, and the next day was spent wringing your hands in anticipation.

You weren't spared a word when they all left for the day, passing by your desk with only a nod. The paperwork spread across your desk fluttered. One of them glanced backward, laughed softly. No use. It's already on the record.

When the door finally clicked shut you bolted for the supplies. Grey paint, painstakingly matched, with a small roller set on top of the can. A spray bottle of cleaning fluid for scuffs, with a new, soft cloth. You knelt before the wall and reached forward.

A gust of air blew across the back of your neck. You yelped and leaned against the wall, palm pressed against the scuff. The walls shook indignantly. The vents rattled.

A thought trickled down your scalp and into your skull. Leave. Leave now. 

You dropped the cloth. A faint smudge of paint marred the untouched wall. A cup of pens clattered to the floor.

You bolted.

The doors slammed shut behind you, one by one; the vents groaned, and when you banged your head against the wall you barely registered the rumbling of pipes buried within.

The walls pressed inward, shoving you outward. Your pace flagged to match your haggard breath, but the hall only squeezed, and tilted, the inside of a closing fist. You nearly tripped over your shoes; the carpet impatiently propped you back up by the soles. You wildly stumbled on.

A wood door. A wood door. Glass– a double set. The final one. Your knuckles connected with the glass behind the handle, sending a scatter of thudding pains up your fist and arm unheeded in the moment as you swung the door open and

breathed in fresh air.

The parking lot laid flat and unfazed. The building, quieting to a faint hum, only cast its massive shadow to the half of the sidewalk behind your feet. And before you the even larger sky had never looked so wide, or so blue.

You set your foot forward, and you never looked back.