I felt a sense of foreboding as I approached the boardroom. The intern walked past me as the usher held the door open. I caught the speck of dried tears on her face like the trace of a slug on a leaf.
My mind was clear as I entered. I would leave the boardroom unscathed, without another scar. The scented diffuser tucked into the corner table reminded me of the first. His eyes sought mine. He sought much more than the merciless stare I returned. My testimony would determine his fate.
The chairman ushered me to an ergonomic seat at the edge of the table allowing me a view of all the committee members and facing him on the opposite end. A camera was strategically positioned to record the proceedings.
A few years back, I joined here as an intern. A meeting spilled over beyond working hours. I had volunteered to stay as my senior had to go home to a baby. My errands were to send files back and forth inside the boardroom. The meeting had ended but he didn’t leave. Hence, I couldn’t either.
He buzzed for a coffee. I didn’t know how the machine worked. I politely explained the coffee machine situation, waiting for a torrent of his retorts. There was none, thankfully. I went about clearing the litter from the table. It was then I felt hands on my shoulders. I staggered and tried to wriggle out, toppling the corner table and the scent diffuser down.
The scar he inflicted upon me, he bartered with my career growth. People can’t see the scars themselves, only the side effects. They hide very well until they get irritated and get ugly.
I was irritated. Exonerating him would mean another indelible scar on myself.
I testified against him.
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