A tap. A knock. A violent knock. A defeated knock.

I rise, wondering who it could be. I very rarely get visitors. Even rarer is me getting visitors I didn't invite. I have succeeded in getting people to understand that I generally like seeing them on my terms.

"Who is it?" I eject mindlessly.

Lull.

I had not really expected a response, but the lack of it still stops me in my tracks. It could be Johnny - he's always high and doesn't know when to grow up. If it's him, I will have his goolies - I am sick of entertaining man-childs just because it's what men do. Or maybe it's Charlie coming to ask for a plate of food?

I ask again to make sure I'm not hearing things. Silence. I stop in my tracks. The tap comes again. It sounds like someone who's given up on life, grasping onto whatever is close, trying to get someone to listen. I open and am shocked to see Raven at my door. Her arm is rested on my doorframe, her head hung on it. She looks like the devil in her pale makeup and her red eyes and, for a second, I consider shutting the door on her, but I invite her in.

"Are you fine?" I ask as I watch her make her way to the small loveseat in my lounge. She crashes onto it and stares out the window.

She looks ghastly. She looks the way she did two-years ago when she was on heroin. I feel my heartbeat fade.

"Are you-are you fine, Raven?"

"It's all over." The whisper is accompanied by a single tear rolling down her cheek. I don't know if she'd intended for me to hear it, so I ask again if she's fine. "Harry-he's-"

Of course, it's about Harry - the guy has a talent of ruining anything that's remotely good. Raven isn't perfect, I'll admit that, but no one is. I will not allow for anyone to get Raven to relapse because I've seen her struggle with addiction. I've battled addiction with her. I've watched her purposefully regurgitate her food because she wanted to show all her detractors that they were wrong about her, because that was how she thought she could get her uncle to see that she was a little girl - by having a petite body. I've had to force her to finish her food and not immediately go the bathroom. I will top anyone that threatens that progress.

"Did he hit you? What did he do?" I ask impatiently while contemplating whether I should shoot Harry and kill him instantly or if I should torture him and let him bleed out.

She falls into silence, refusing to meet my eyes. I remain trained on her, hoping she gets uncomfortable enough that she talks.

"I found him-it's so embarrassing, Edgar!" she wails. "It's embarrassing... and it's disgusting; I don't know how to even say it."

Knowing exactly what comes next, I join her on the couch, deciding that I don't need to threaten her into telling me anything. I pull her into me.

I realise that I am comforting her over my ex, but I think I can get where Raven is coming from primarily because I know where she's coming from - most of the time; and I believe, more than anything, that she needs help. I feel like her life is always on the verge of falling apart, and she is merely trying to feel safe. I can't fault someone for that because, for the longest time, that has more-or-less been my life.

"He confessed everything to me today. He frequently goes to visit his sister - did he visit his sister often when he was with you?"

I always suspected he was cheating when he claimed to go visit his sister, and after he left me for Raven, I assumed that he'd been going to her during these trips. Not wanting to bring up that past, I simply nod.

"Well, he's just told me that he's close with his siter." She looks up at me as I try to find fault with what she's just said. "Like, really close. Disgustingly close."

Realising what Raven is telling me, my throat closes up, and I feel my dinner make its way back up my stomach, threatening to spill on the very floor. Hoping she means something different; I ask nonetheless: "They're fucking?"

I notice her struggle against tears, putting on a pained smile. She fails - she's never been good at acting - and turns the other way when the gates open. "This is the part where you laugh at me and tell me that I was stupid to be with him."

I slowly get her to face me. "I'm not laughing. Do I look like I want to laugh? I care about you. Yes, we've had our differences, but you can count on me if you ever need a shoulder to cry on."

She stares blankly at me - I'm not sure if it's because she can't see me under the haze of her tears or if she's dumbfounded by my words.

"How are you feeling?"

She wipes the tears away. "I don't know. For some reason, after he told me everything, my mind went to Tony. I don't think I can still be with him, Edgar."

"It makes sense that that'd bring back memories with that man - the lines can seem blurred. This is very disgusting, and you don't have all the answers; so, maybe this would bring them back?"

"I don't want to remember what he did to me." Her voice breaks with my heart. Raven hates being vulnerable, and I had to work hard to get her to trust me with her darkest truths. She's always composed. Her voice is always in her control. It never breaks. It never cracks. She's never uncertain. She's never scared. She may be content or excited or angry, but never scared. To see her reduced to this hurts me just as much as it hurts her.

I pull her into an awkward embrace - awkward primarily because she won't face me for a proper hug - and hush her. "I'm sorry."

I wonder if she would do this for me, too? I wonder if anyone would do this for any woman their man left them for.

Why am I doing this?

I ought to talk to her about this. I can't be scared of being seen as mad. I have the right to be mad! It's long overdue. I deserve an apology. But we're neither here nor there right now. Right now, Raven is hurting, and I must make sure she doesn't relapse to her past. Why?

Because I'm a woman, and that is what women do.

***

It's funny how the entire world comes undone when a man is called out for his bullshit.

"What are our options?" Oscar's muffled voice seeps through the walls.

I have been instructed to wait outside his office to help deal with the fallout the company has come under after a woman wrote an opinion piece on The Guardian detailing sexual exploitation she suffered at the hands of her employer. Following some of the easter eggs hidden all over the article, and some digging, has led the whole world to The Press's Oscar Wright.

Normally, Charlene would be asked to deal with such matters, but she took leave - allegedly her first time taking vacation leave ever since she started working here. There is a myth that she gave birth to her child in her office; thus, everyone finds it telling that she went on vacation amidst this storm given that she used to be married to Oscar.

Jessica allegedly also quit this morning, but not before slapping Oscar a few times on the face. A few other employees also quit this morning and we've lost two major clients already.

I should probably also quit.

A man responds: "You've got to step-"

"I swear if you say I should step down one more time, Scott!"

The world seems to stop after that sudden outburst, and I can sense the tension inside. I imagine Scott being scared to move in that deadly silence, as he tries not to anger Oscar any further. It's strange - I've never trusted Oscar, but he always hid his tendency to menace behind a dashing smile. I bet he isn't smiling now.

I wonder what will happen to me once it's my turn to go inside.

Should I also go on vacation? I don't think I'll have a job for long if I do that. After all, I'm no Charlene, and Oscar still scares me to bits.

"It's not looking very good - your publicist dropped you after the scandal broke out; your lawyer left you, and eight percent of your employees followed her; Samsung and Nestlé have left you. All of this in the last two hours - it'd take a miracle to save the company from this storm."

"Well, then, find it! Find loopholes in the story - why do I pay you? That-Nala or whatever her name is - she couldn't be smarter than a turkey! How hard can it be to discredit her?"

A silence longer than the last ensues. I assume the occupants of the room are trying to recover from the nuclear bomb that just decimated the room. Why am I still here? Why is my heart beating so quickly? Why do I feel like I can't breathe?

"Get out. We'll talk later. Call the new girl in on your way out."

I feel panic race all through my body as I try to look like I didn't hear everything that was said just a moment ago. Every click and clack of Scott's shoes approaching injects more fear into me.

I've got to get myself under control!

I rise from the stool and sit back on it twice before pulling out my phone and attempting to find something on it to occupy myself with. Instagram!

Scott steps out and tells me to go inside, passing me without a further word. I rise, trembling, sure that I am about to be decimated. I find Oscar pacing across the room, the echo from his steps diluting mine, causing me to lose sense of my own pace. Am I walking too quickly? Am I walking too slowly? My wish that he would stop pacing is granted and I instantly regret it: now, his attention is solely on me as I make the ridiculously long journey to his desk.

"You've seen the piece in the Guardian. What is PR doing about it?" he asks as soon as I sit, his eyes following me down as I make my descent to the chair.

I swallow as I contemplate between telling him the truth, lying, and just quitting right this instance. The decision should be simple, really, but I don't think I can bring myself to actually do it. For starters, I have been trying to get a job for years, and I have eventually found one - it seems a bit ungrateful of me to spit on the guys that have decided to give me said job. And there's the other problem: Edward worked hard to get me this job, and I don't think he'll appreciate me just letting go of it so quickly - he'll probably understand, but no less disappointed. And then there's the whole fact that I'm scared of Oscar, and I'm not sure how he'll react to me quitting. So, it's really a lot of things.

I decide on the truth: "Well, Charlene would usually be the one to tell us what we need to do in such a situation."

He sucks in a breath and tips his head back. When he brings it back down, his eyes glint with a dangerous darkness, and he asks, in a low voice: "Do you see Charlene here?"

Trying to keep myself from falling apart, I respond: "No."

"Exactly. Now, I need you to get the best members of your department and get on top of this. If you still want to have a job, I want you to drop everything else you're doing and focus all your attention on cleaning this mess up."

His head rises when frantic steps dance around his door before it flies open and Mia throws herself inside, followed by a young man in denim shorts and a striped shirt.

"I tried to stop him, Mister-"

"You philandering bastard," the twink seethes.

Oscar's jaw tenses as he stares directly at the other man. "Brown, see yourself out."

"Why?" the twink challenges. "You don't want her to see me bring you to your knees? Because that's what I came to do. Or are you fucking her as well?"

"Mia, see yourself out," Oscar says as calmly as when he had given me the instruction, which drives his boyfriend crazy. He stands in front of Mia and me, arms crossed over chest. We stand there, not daring to touch him. Suddenly, the office - which I've always seen as excessively huge - becomes smaller than my bathroom, and I feel my chest tighten as the walls close in on us. "Noah, calm down so we can talk about this like grown adults."

Noah scoffs. "You'd love that, wouldn't you? You'd love for me to be calm. For me not to hang your underwear up right in front of your employees. Well, guess what? You've got another thing coming. I've listened to too many of your lies."

Oscar inhales sharply. "I'm trying to talk to you like an adult, Noah. Just stop this childish headfit and come sit down. Let's talk about this."

Of course, the greatest irony is that the boy barely looks like an adult - he looks older than Mia, sure, but he can't be as old as I am, and I know I'm not old. Also ironic is how, even at his ugliest moment, he still wants to assert dominance. Even when he is at the mercy of someone else, he wants to be in control. He refuses to show any emotion that so much as resembles remorse. Anger is easier to express, and he would rather go down its route than express his vulnerability to his lover. He'd rather show how ridiculous his lover is being than admit that he is wrong.

Noah looks at him, his rage slowly receding and being replaced by sadness, his lips bending into a frown, a flood gaining steam behind his eyes.

"Why are you like this?" he asks, his voice barely rising above a whisper. A second passes. Thirty more. When it's clear that Oscar won't answer, he turns and makes his way to the elevator. Only then can Mia and I walk out of the office. However, I walk leisurely so I don't have to share an elevator with Oscar's lover. I watch as he waits for the elevator doors to conceal him. He came with the mission to humiliate Oscar, but he's the one that's been humiliated. I can see it in the way he desperately punches the button so he can get the doors to close. I can see it in the tears that have spilled onto his cheeks. I can see it. I can see it because I've been him. Many times before.

I turn my attention away from him - I need to think of a plan to discredit an innocent woman and turn the public against her. I wish it wasn't easy to do. I wish it was impossible. That could be Mia in five years. It could be me. It could be any woman. And I am following in the tradition of all women before me - women who have defended toxic men with their lives just because they depend on those very same men to cover basic necessities for them? Am I aiding in the protection of toxic masculinity, as many other women have in the past? Women have probably done more to uphold the patriarchy than men have. And now, I get to play my part.

I summon the elevator and send it to my floor and start inviting people to join my team. This should be a proud moment for me: I was chosen to lead a campaign to save an entire company - my employer; and, in a lot of ways, this will definitely be a defining moment in my life. It sucks that I have to screw a woman over to succeed.

Is this the only way to do things? Is this the only way to be happy? I mean, I don't feel very happy right now. Why am I still here?

"How do you guys think we should approach this situation?" I ask once I have assembled a core team - I will add more people, but my focus is on getting the ball moving as quickly as I can.

The room falls silent. Everyone looks awkwardly at each other, all of them sceptical of getting involved. I feel the same, but I've been tasked with leading this entire takedown; so, I'm in deep shit if I don't get it to work.

"Listen, guys, I know you're all feeling weird about having to trample on a woman to save the company, and I feel the same way; but whether we like it or not, that's our job. We are the company's first line of defence whenever the world looks at us with contempt. Right now, the world is looking at us with contempt, and it's our job to change that - for better or worse. If we don't do this, we won't have jobs by Lord knows when, and we won't be able to feed ourselves and our families. Again: it's not ideal that we have to do this, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't do it."

What the fuck am I saying?

"We could-maybe ask Mister Wright to step down?" a guy at the front mumbles - the only reason I heard him is because he's so close to me.

"He won't. I've tried to get him to, but he just won't," I lie.

"Well, that makes our job difficult," a woman chimes.

"Yeah, I know. Any other suggestions?"

"I don't know; maybe we could run a campaign highlighting our supporting of the East End Women's Shelter?" another man at the back suggests.

"Maybe, but we'll need something stronger if we want to win. The shelter might cut ties with us if they think we're using them for our own cause. We have to discredit Nandi first and make sure people are, at least, willing to listen to us before we can start using shelters."

Lull.

"It's okay. I think most of us are still trying to wrap our heads around the situation, so I think we should adjourn, then we'll come back tomorrow and see what we have. Please help me look for other team members. I chose you all because you are the best in the department. Now, please help me find other people who are as great as you are - particularly in risk management - so we can have a bigger, stronger team. Thank you."

Patricia walks up to me as everyone starts filing out of the room. She waits until it's just us left, and she looks me in the eye and says nothing. She doesn't need to say anything: a fire rages in her dark eyes. I divert my eyes and focus on the painting across me, just behind her. Silence is such a potent way to tell someone how you really feel about them - it's easy to lie with words, and gestures can be explained away, but silence tells the other person what you really think of them, and I don't like what Patricia is telling me.

"Look at me," she demands. I oblige. "Am I a woman?"

I slide to the other end of the room. "Patricia, this isn't easy for me, too-"

"Does me being black mean you get to shit all over my womanhood?"

Lull. I don't know what to say. I wish I didn't have to drag her into this, but I also wish I hadn't been dragged into it, either. I am a woman, too! And I may not be black, but I still know that it can be difficult to be black in the UK. It's on Twitter. It was in Nandi's piece. Occasionally, it's on the news. I know all about it.

"How insensitive do you have to be to fucking drag me into this?'

"I'm really sorry. I didn't want to drag you-"

"Then you shouldn't have! Do you know how hard it was for me to read that article? Do you know how hard it was to come in here today, knowing that all my work will go to serving that disgusting, white jerk who fucking raped a black woman? Do you know how alienated that alone makes me feel? Do you know how hard it is for me not to quit this job right now-"

"Then fucking quit, Patricia! You're not the only one that feels horrible about this! I'm a woman - how do you think I feel? I like to think I'm a feminist - how do you think I feel having to fuck up a poor woman for the benefit of this rich corporation? Don't come to me with a fake high moral ground. You're just as bad as I am. Please, I need to get back to work. I suggest you do the same."

I have effectively managed to overlook my - and my co-workers' - humanity. I have taken almost everything I believe in and flushed it down my mental drain. Yay me. A few more dehumanisation processes and a lot more fucking over people from more minority groups, and I'll be sure to win capitalism in no time.