Adeline's POV
A jackhammer was going off inside my skull. Thump, thump, thump, right behind my eyes. Wait. I could feel a headache. That wasn't right. The last feeling I had was the cold wood floor under my cheek, the warm stickiness of my own blood, and their voices planning their future over my body.
My eyes flew open.
Harsh, white lights glared down from above. The air smelled like old coffee and printer toner. This wasn't the hospital. I knew these stained ceiling tiles. This was the office.
And then he was there. Mark. Leaning over the short wall of my cubicle with that lazy grin I used to love.
"Hey, rise and shine, sleeping beauty," he said.
A sound came out of me that I didn't even recognize. It was half-scream, half-animal snarl. I shot up from my chair so fast it rolled back and slammed into the desk behind me. My whole body was trembling.
"You!" I yelled, my voice cracking. "You killed me! You pushed me!"
I dropped to my knees, scrambling under my desk. My hands closed around the spiky heel of a shoe. I didn't even think. I launched it at his stupid, grinning face. It smacked hard against the cubicle wall right next to his head.
"Jesus, Adeline!" he yelped, ducking.
"You monster! Both of you!" I shrieked, grabbing the other shoe and throwing it wildly. It clattered off a whiteboard. Everyone in the office was staring, their mouths hanging open. I didn't care. I wanted to scratch his eyes out. I lunged around the cubicle wall, my hands reaching for him.
Suddenly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me back. "Adeline! That is enough!"
It was Mr. Evans, the big boss. His voice was deep and firm, but he wasn't yelling. "Get ahold of yourself. You are at work. This is completely unacceptable."
Work? I stopped fighting, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I looked around, really looked. The computers looked boxier, older. The carpet wasn't as worn down. And Mark... he looked like a boy. His face was softer, without those hard, cruel lines I remembered. The lines he got from yelling at me.
My anger suddenly drained away, leaving only a cold, shaky confusion. Mr. Evans slowly let me go. "Are you alright? You were mumbling in your sleep, and then you just... snapped."
"I... I'm so sorry," I stammered. My heart was a wild bird trapped in my ribs. "A nightmare. A really, really bad one."
I sank back into my chair, my head spinning. This was more than just being alive. Something was very wrong. Or very right. I looked down at my hands resting on the keyboard. These weren't my hands. My hands were thin, with skin like paper and blue veins. These hands were young. The skin was smooth. There was strength in them.
I had to see. I had to know.
"I... I need the bathroom," I mumbled, and I practically ran.
I burst through the bathroom door and stumbled to the sink. I looked up into the mirror.
My breath caught in my throat.
It was me, but it was the me from my old photo albums. My cheeks were round and full, not sunken in. My hair was a thick, healthy brown, not the thin, limp mess it became after months of chemo. The dark, tired shadows that lived under my eyes for years were gone. I looked strong. I looked well.
I reached out a shaking hand and pressed my fingertips against the cold glass. I expected it to break, for the dream to end. But it didn't. This was real. I had been given a do-over.
That night, I went home to my own little apartment. The one I had before I was stupid enough to move in with Mark and his awful mother. I made a promise to myself. This time, things would be different. I would be happy. I would stay far, far away from Mark and Chloe.
The next day at work, when Mark said "good morning," I acted like I didn't hear him. When Chloe skipped over, all smiles, and asked if I wanted to split a salad for lunch, I just said a quick "No," and turned back to my screen. I saw them look at each other, confused. Good. Let them wonder.
But then a nasty little thought started wriggling in my gut. What if I couldn't change anything? What if my fate was set in stone?
Later that morning, the office coffee machine let out a long, choking gurgle. Last time, I ignored it. This time, the sound sent a lightning bolt of fear straight through me. I remembered this. That machine was going to spit and hiss and then a piece of hot plastic would shoot out and slice my hand, leaving a little white scar.
I jumped up and ran to the breakroom to yank the plug from the wall. Just as my fingers touched it, another hand got there too. It was Mr. Evans.
"Sounds dangerous," he said, a small smile on his face as he unplugged the cord.
I just nodded, my eyes locked on his hand. There, on the back of it, was a small, white line. A scar. Right in the exact spot where the plastic had cut me before.
A chill went down my spine. The coffee machine still exploded. It just hurt him instead of me.
A few days later, I overheard two new girls talking by the water cooler. One was crying. Her parents were making her marry some man from their church, a guy she didn't love, because his family had money. I had heard this story before in my last life, but it was about a different girl in a different department.
It was like the universe was a record, and the same song was always going to play. If a bad thing was supposed to happen, it would find someone to happen to. I felt a heavy blanket of hopelessness smother me. Was I stuck? Was I going to get sick and die no matter what I did?
I was at my desk, feeling totally defeated, when Chloe appeared in front of me like a bad ghost.
"Addie! You've been so weird lately. Are you mad at me?" she asked, putting on her best pouty face.
I looked at her perfect makeup and her fake, worried eyes, and the most terrible, wonderful idea popped into my head. If the song has to play... why does it have to be me singing it?
If someone has to suffer with Mark and his family... why should it be me? Let it be her. She's the one who told me to just die. She wanted my life so badly? Fine. She can have the whole horrible thing.
A plan started clicking into place in my mind. I would make sure Mark fell for Chloe this time. I would shove them together. Let her be the one to work her fingers to the bone for him. Let her be the one to get sick from the stress. Let her be the one he betrays.
Just then, my manager, Sarah, touched my shoulder. "Adeline, I just heard from HR. Your promotion letter is being prepared. You deserve this!"
The promotion. Of course. I remembered this day. This was the day I was supposed to become Team Lead. But in my other life, someone hid a stolen company flash drive in my desk. When they did a spot check, they found it. I was shamed, and the job went straight to Chloe.
Not this time.
As I was getting my bag to leave, Mr. Evans walked past. "Heading home, Adeline? My car is out front. I can give you a lift."
My plan was to hide and catch the person setting me up. But I couldn't say no to the boss. "Thank you, sir. That's really nice. Can I have just ten minutes? I need to send one quick email."
"Of course," he said. "I'll be at the front door."
The second he was gone, I didn't go to my computer. I slipped into the dark server room next to our office. I left the door open just a hair and waited, holding my breath.
The office got quiet. Then, I heard a soft shuffling sound. I peeked out.
It was Chloe.
She was glancing around like a thief. Then, quick as a flash, she opened my desk drawer. She pulled a small, silver flash drive from her pocket—the kind the bosses use for important files. She dropped it right on top of my pens and shut the drawer.
My face went hot with anger. So it was always her. It wasn't just my husband she stole. It was my job, my future, everything.
I waited until she tiptoed away. Then I crept out, went straight to my desk, and took the flash drive out. I looked over at Chloe's desk. It was a mess, and the main drawer was unlocked.
A slow smile spread across my face. Okay. New plan.
I walked over, quietly pulled her drawer open, and buried the silver flash drive deep under a pile of her old memos and nail polishes.
There. I fixed it.
Now, she could have the life that was meant for me. Every last bit of it.