The Echo of Steel-Toed Boots

Dear Delyara, A maintenance worker walked down the corridor behind my desk today, his heavy steel-toed boots making a sharp, metallic clack-clack against the concrete floor tiles. Instantly, my shoulders slammed up toward my ears, my breathing stopped completely, and my stomach turned over with a sick, liquid heat. For five years, that specific sound meant an aggressive supervisor was approaching my station to look for an excuse to penalize me. The job is gone, the manager is gone, but the physical scar inside my muscles remains completely untouched by the time that has passed. I am a monument to old abuse, and it makes me furious that he still owns my reaction.