1. ALEXI

It's all going to be ok.

I'd told myself too much, and now I'd convinced myself it was all a lie.

I was beyond ok.

Through slow breaths, I mentally repeated the mantra.

It failed.

Listening to a customer snap at me down the phone. I stared at the interface on the computer screen. She'd been going for ten minutes now.

In her pause for a breath, I read from my script. "I'm—I'm sorry you feel that way," I said. Holding back the swell of emotion in my throat. I gulped it down like I was suppressing some monster.

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" the sharp voice barked at me through the headset.

I'd gone from making coffees in a small café, in a town nobody had been to, to doing what I thought would be admin work. The promise of low stress and steady pay was all a lie.

This was the first time I'd worked in an office surrounded by cubicles. I didn't think I'd be handling complaints.

It was making me worse.

"I can pass your feedback to our research team here at Fizz, the future stop for all your carbonated drink needs," I answered, less than enthusiastically in response. My eyes blurred reading the words, trying to force them into focus.

"No, you've got the number on the can for any customer complaints and queries," she snapped. "And when I bought a multi-pack, I hated your lime flavour. Are you proud of that? Proud of making me want to throw up because of your disgusting flavour."

I knew the call was recorded, and that only adding pressure. The tension headache and throbbing in my chest. "Ok," I said through dryness in my throat. "Thank you for your feedback." The grip of my pen was weak; I could barely scribble on the notepaper.

"Aren't you going to offer me compensation?"

"Compensation?" I repeated. Veering into panic attack territory. My slick palms dropping the pen, and my vision drifting like I wore my body as an exoskeleton. "I—um—I—"

"Yes!" she screamed. "Is that something you offer? What are you? New? Dense?"

She was calling me stupid. My body threw itself into action as my mind froze. With a jolt, my hand flopped across the keys. And click the call disconnected.

Repeating the mantra through deep pants, I kept my chin dipped to my chest. The itchy collar of the shirt scratched my neck. It was a new shirt; I bought it specifically for this job, and it was like a choker.

"It's ok," I let out in a whisper.

Slowly, I removed the headset. The sounds of the surrounding office, undisturbed by what I'd gone through. I kept my head low. I didn't need anyone to see me; and I didn't want to disturb them.

The team was small, but the company was growing, always more faces appearing. I kept to myself. I didn't think I'd be on the phone, but three weeks ago, during my first week here, they brought it up. I couldn't back out. I'd moved my life here as small as it was, and now I was in a shared apartment living in the world's smallest bedroom.

After a moment, with my head focused on the keys, I looked at the monitor. On the clock, it read 12:24. I needed to leave for lunch, but I feared I'd frozen in the chair. Clicking on the mouse, I set my status as ‘away'.

"On lunch?" a cheerful voice chirped ahead of me.

My supervisor, Kate, she was probably only a few years older than me. She was happy and smiley, even when dealing with asshole customers.

I hummed, looking at her. "Yeah, I—I'm taking my lunch." My body aching where I'd hunched and recovered from what happened. "Is that—is that ok?"

She nodded. "Of course, make sure you remember to type up your notes."

I nodded. "Thanks."

Fizzwas a drinks company, very new, and eager for feedback. Part of me thought they were being paid to call us, and I suppose they were if they got compensated for their complaints. I hated that. I was sold the job on emails and sitting at a desk.

I had dreams. I didn't want to do this forever. I wanted to save so I could visit my online friends. They were the only people who understood me, and that felt impossible these days.

I walked down the aisle of office cubicles. Out in the hallway, there were frosted glass fancy office windows lining the wall. They had doors into larger office spaces and meeting rooms. I'd seen shadows behind them as people paced back and forth.

I went straight to the men's toilets. I needed to see myself, look into my eyes and reaffirm everything was going to be ok.

It was a daily ritual. Thankfully, nobody was ever in there. A square room with two toilet stalls and three urinals. It was all fluorescent and white, harsh as it reflected in the mirror.

Fizz was in Manchester. One floor of a large office building. It was within walking distance from the city centre. Close to where I was living, but I never had the energy to explore.

Pressing the faucet, water gushed out. I cupped a hand and splashed some of it to my face. It dripped down my chin. My hair was growing out. Thin and flat as it framed my forehead.

Looking at myself in the mirror, the strange lighting unnerved me. I wore a chunky knit dark blue sweater over an itchy white shirt, thankfully no tie. It wasn't my style at all. It didn't say who I was—unless I was a corporate drone.

"You've got this," I said, prodding my reflection with a wet finger.

In the kitchen-eating area, there were three circular tables, and people were always in there, making coffee, eating, or on the phone.

I saw the same faces, over and over, but I only ever spoke to Kate, or waved at the others from the customer team. We were all a similar age. I'd just turned twenty-two.

From the large refrigerator, I grabbed my labelled blue lunch bag. My belly rumbled. I quickly sat at the empty table and pulled out my phone. There was usually a pastel purple teddy bear case on my phone, but I removed it for work. It felt weird with a clear plastic case on. There was no life to it. I sighed, plugging my earphones in to listened to music.

"Slow bites," I mumbled to myself as I unwrapped my ham sandwich from the plastic wrap. I also had some chocolate animal biscuits and a small carton of orange juice. My issue was always eating too fast, indigestion, and then more anxiety.

Music helped with the nervous feeling of being watched. It was calming to listen to the same music over and over, my lips moving slightly as they synched to the songs. I knew all the lyrics.

Halfway through my sandwich, I looked up to see a man. He wore a light blue shirt with a navy-blue tie. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Green eyes and shaved black hair. His lips moved. I stared, admiring the dimple in the cheek and stubble catching the light. His hand pressed across the length of the table.

"Huh?" I grumbled, yanking an earphone out.

Chuckling, he continued to smile. "Are you waiting for someone? I wanted to know if I could take a chair." His brows raised on his forehead.

"No, no, you can take it," I said.

"Sorry for disturbing you." He planted his hands on the back of the chair, his forearms flexed to reveal a thick vein running down them.

"I was just—eating lunch."

He nodded, his smile pulling at the dimple. "I see that," he said. "Are you new? I've seen you around but, I don't know where. My name is—"

"I should go," I said, immediately pushing out my chair, feeling the anxiety in my stomach. It told me to move; quick, anywhere.

"Right, well, thank you for the chair."

Flustered, I threw the half-eaten sandwich into the lunch bag and walked off.

I think I handled that well.

You handled it well, Alexi.I told myself in a huff.

In the hallway, I rested my back against a wall. Pressing a hand against my cheek. I was flustered.

It was only April; I shouldn't have been sweating through my clothes.

When I worked in the coffee shop, I was just making coffee and serving cakes. It wasn't the biggest or best job, but I never felt like this.

Resting my eyes, I allowed myself to lean more as the comfort of music played through one ear. I heard the door swing through the other ear.

"I figured you didn't get far."

Clutching my bag, I turned. It was the same guy. He was overstimulating eye candy. From the way he dressed to the way his body language offered a warm confidence.

Stuck for words, my throat swollen. I stuttered over an introduction.

"Alexi Drake," he said.

My name? Why was he saying my name?

He presented my grey Totoro-print lanyard with my name badge attached at the bottom. "I'm guessing this is yours," he said. "You forgot it in there."

That would help. I needed that to get around the building. "Thank you," I said, trying to accept the lanyard with fumbling hands, juggling my sandwich bag and phone in them.

"Here, let me," he said, reaching over my head. He placed it around my neck. "You won't lose it that way."

"Tha—thank you." I was in constant flight mode. I shouldn't have been flying at all; I didn't even have a pilot's licence, but my anxiety did.

"I'm Warren," he said, holding out a hand. He chuckled, probably at the sight of my hands being full. "I love Studio Ghibli. I take it My Neighbour Totoro is your favourite."

Tongue-tied, I didn't know how to respond. "I love Kiki's Delivery Service, actually," I finally said. "I love—" my lips pursing together, scrunched.

"Oh, that's a good one. Not my favourite, but definitely top ten."

Visibly about to crumble into a pile of dust, he smiled. "I should—get back. I'm—I'm customer service."

"Ah, an important part of the business," he said, "let me know if it gets too much, I can show you where to blow some steam."

"R—right, thank you," I said, a little louder than inside my brain.

I didn't know what that was, but it made me feel worse. The entire interaction, replaying it over in my head on the short walk back to the cubicles. My lunch bag tucked under an arm. I hadn't even got to the animal biscuits.

I was back at my desk early, noted by Kate with an enthusiastic wave and a chuckle as she glanced at her wristwatch.

The last thing I wanted was to look eager, or like I didn't want to do the work. How come it was impossible for me to just skate by? But on a small team like this, under the radar didn't exist.

I finished my lunch sneakily at my desk.

All it took was a little breathing control, and I could get through the rest of the day. Although I wasn't sure if I could be bothered going home.

I lived in a small flat. I answered an advert on a spare room website. In all, the flat had two bedrooms, a small bathroom, a living room, and a small kitchen. It fit three people, me, and a couple. Amelia and Tim, they were nearly thirty, and they were trying for a baby, so as soon as they got pregnant, I would be out on my ass.

My room had a window facing out on the alley at the back of the block of flats. It looked over the recycling and general waste bins.

I had a small single bed and little room for anything else. There was a set of drawers stuffed with onesies, mostly, but you couldn't open them all the way. All my things were on shelves and the movie posters were tacked to the walls. But the most favourite part of my bedroom was the collection of plush teddies on the bed. There was also a very small TV mounted to the wall and I could connect my Nintendo Switch to it.

Since starting work at the company, I played every night. I needed it to recharge. For a moment, I liked being Alexi, the boy who could grow turnips and sell them at a huge markup.

Other than that, I spent most of my time on a web forum called Littles Boys and Toys. That's where I felt relaxed enough to tell anyone who asked what I was going through. It's also where I found people who loved what I loved, the feeling, the outfits, the act.

Squeezing my phone into the purple teddy bear case, I laid back on the bed.

I nearly tore my clothes off to free my body, but instead, I went through the process of unbuttoning and wriggling out of them. My skin finally stopped itching.

In one hand, a carton of juice, and in my other, I scrolled through my messages.

BabyBoy69: Alexi, where have you been all day?

Alexxxi: I had to work. It's Tuesday. I want to collapse.

BabyBoy69: Didn't you visit the group on here? There are men volunteering to be sugar daddies, but obviously make sure they can offer you sugar before you give them anything.

I didn't like the idea of that. I knew he did. People liked him. I was quiet. I thought being quiet was always something good, until I realised people hadn't meant anything good by it.

Alexxxi: I don't want someone to give me money. I just want that feeling. You know. I want someone to stroke my hair and whisper in my ear until I fall asleep.

BabyBoy69: I'll pass on that. I'm happy with men showing their love language in the form of gifts.

It wasn't so much that I hated gifts, but I preferred people to be there physically. I also liked to dress and feel cute. But I hadn't found anyone like that for me. Everyone was so occupied with dumping themselves into any hole, they didn't care if they fit.

I was waiting for the one.

He was out there somewhere.

A Daddy I could call mine.