Half-Speed Life

I was born a sloth. My cognitive gears turn at a glacial pace.

Everything takes a beat longer to register, and my typing speed is always half a step behind the rest of the world. When I graduated from college, people at my first internship mocked me, calling me brain-damaged. My parents were so heartbroken and furious they nearly bought out and closed down the firm just to fire my tormentors.

To shield me from the harsh realities of the corporate world, my older brother, Gavin, founded a boutique venture capital firm. Here, the entire staff operated at 0.5x speed, aligning their rhythm perfectly with mine.

That was until last month, when a highly accomplished intern joined our department.

Watching me take half an hour to draft a single email response, she tapped her fingers impatiently on my desk.

"Maisie, with a brain as slow as yours, you really should focus on running errands and fetching coffee," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "The corporate world doesn't harbor freeloaders. Otherwise, why would anyone keep a useless slowpoke around?"

I clutched my water glass, my slow brain struggling to find a comeback.

She had no idea that during campus recruitment, she was about to be rejected for failing her basic financial licensing exam. It was only because I saw her crying in the hallway that I begged my brother to give her a chance, casting the deciding vote that got her hired.

If Gavin heard her say those words, she wouldn't just lose her chance at a permanent position; she would be entirely blacklisted from the city's financial district.

By the time my mouth finally opened to speak, Sashas thin stiletto heel had already ground into the papers I had dropped on the floor.

A stark, black shoe print smeared across the core due diligence data I had spent the last two weeks painstakingly calculating.

I stared down at the ruined pages, numb.

A dull ache bloomed in my chest, though the crushing feeling of suffocation took a delayed ten seconds to fully register.

This week, Gavin had taken the senior management team and core employees abroad for a closed-door summit, leaving the office completely in the hands of the new interns. Sasha, leveraging her Ivy League degree, had immediately set herself up as the self-appointed queen of the department.

A heavy plastic bag filled with shredded paper waste was suddenly slammed onto my desk.

Fine paper dust billowed into the air, settling over my keyboard and my hair.

"Since your brain works at a snail's pace, do something that doesn't require one," Sasha said, looking down her nose at me. "If you don't piece this entire bag back together by tonight, don't even think about leaving."

I blinked slowly, looking at the mess covering my workspace.

At lunchtime, eager to cement her authority, Sasha announced loudly to the room: "Thanks for the hard work, everyone! Gourmet high tea from the Ritz-Carlton is on me!"

"Sasha, you're the best! We're definitely going to rely on you once we get hired full-time!"

The other interns crowded around her, offering shameless flattery.

Sasha raised her voice, throwing a malicious glance toward my quiet corner. "Oh, my bad. I didn't order anything for Maisie. After all, feeding a useless slowpoke is just a waste of company resources. Her sluggish digestive system probably wouldn't even process high tea until tomorrow!"

The office erupted into a chorus of unprompted, mocking laughter.

Determined to secure their permanent positions, the other interns quickly fell into line, eager to show Sasha their loyalty by targeting me.

Dustin, an intern with bleached blond hair, walked past my desk and spat his chewing gum right at my feet.

Another intern, Kayla, deliberately bumped into the corner of my desk as she walked by. My water glass tipped over, sending a wave of warm water rushing across the neatly arranged paper fragments I had spent hours piecing together.

The ink dissolved instantly, turning my hard work into a soggy, illegible gray paste.

"Oh, my bad," Kayla giggled, covering her mouth as she scurried back to Sashas side. "Maybe you shouldn't leave your trash lying around."

I stared at the puddle on my desk, my hands hovering in the air, trembling uncontrollably. Tears welled in my eyes, but my throat was so tight I couldn't squeeze out a single word of protest. I could only pull out a tissue, trying in vain to dab the water away.

Sasha walked over, her heels clicking against the floor. Instead of stopping the harassment, she pointed a finger at my face. "Maisie, look at this disgusting mess you've made. You're single-handedly dragging down the aesthetic of this entire firm."

"Go scrub the restrooms. Every single one of them. If there is a single speck of dirt left by tomorrow morning, don't bother coming back."

I slowly lifted my head, my face flushed as I shook my head. "I... my core work... isn't finished..."

Sasha slapped my hand away and grabbed my collar, pulling it tight. The fabric choked my throat, making my vision go blurry.

"Do what you're told," she hissed. "One more word, and I'll make sure we all give you a zero on the peer reviews. You'll be packed up and gone by noon."

Frightened by the sheer malice in her eyes, I shrank back.

Under the watchful, mocking gazes of a dozen colleagues, my body moved stiffly as I picked up the mop and walked slowly toward the restrooms.

Behind me, Sasha raised her phone, laughing loudly as she recorded my retreating back. "Hey, followers! Check this out: a real-life look at the brain-dead janitor working at the city's top venture capital firm!"

The sharp click of the camera shutter and the echoes of their laughter pierced through my sluggish senses.

"The way she mops is so stiff, like her brain can't even tell her arms what to do. Its hilarious."

The video Sasha posted in the group chat quickly sparked a flurry of messages. Her caption was incredibly cruel, and my phone in my pocket vibrated constantly against my leg with incoming notifications.

Dustin sent a mocking meme, and Kayla sent a voice note: "This is so embarrassing. If a client came to visit and saw a janitor like her, theyd think our firm was about to go bankrupt."

Because of my slow movements, I had to work straight through dinner to finish cleaning. My low blood sugar made my head spin, and the heavy scent of disinfectant in the restroom made it hard to breathe. I had to lean against the tiled wall for five minutes just to gather enough strength to walk.

When I finally dragged my feet back to my desk, the scene before me made me freeze.

The investment draft I had spent a month carefully organizing was spread out across the table. Sasha was sitting in my chair, eating a bowl of greasy, spicy takeout noodles. Red chili oil had dripped onto my model data, and my meticulous draft was being used as a grease mat under her food.

The model was something I had built line by line, staying up late to verify every single decimal point against the screen.

A hot tear spilled over my cheek, landing on the back of my hand.

"Why... did you... ruin my papers?" I asked, my voice trembling.

Sasha sucked in a noodle, tossing her wooden chopsticks onto the ruined documents. "What are you crying for? Trying to ruin my appetite?" She pulled out a napkin to wipe her mouth, rolling her eyes. "With a rusty brain like yours, could you actually write anything of value?"

"It's just a stack of scrap paper. Using it to protect this solid mahogany desk is doing it a favor."

My body shook with anger. I reached out to pull the document from beneath the greasy container, but before my fingers could touch the paper, Sasha kicked the trash can beside my desk.

With a loud crash, discarded paper and fruit peels scattered across the floor, blocking my feet.

"Maisie, not only are you a slob, but you're also a literal hoarder," she sneered, pointing at my face. "Keeping absolute garbage like it's some kind of treasure. You smell like poverty."

The surrounding interns gathered around, chiming in.

"Seriously, Maisie, your workspace is a total eyesore. It's ruining the high-end vibe of the office."

"I say we move her desk to the janitor's closet in the hallway," Dustin suggested with a smirk. "She can sit with the mops and brooms. It suits her."

Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a video call request from my brother, who was still abroad.

Seeing his name on the screen, I hesitated. I knew exactly what Gavin was capable of. If he found out how I was being treated, this venture capital firm would vanish overnight, and the people standing in front of me would find their careers utterly destroyed.

As I stared at the screen, Sasha stepped forward and snatched the phone from my hand, abruptly declining the call.

She stared at the screen with deep suspicion, assuming I was trying to complain to management. "Oh, look at you. Trying to play the victim and tattle on us?"

"Give... it... back..." I reached out, but my movements were too slow, and my hand swiped through empty air.

Sasha held the phone, her gaze locking onto the device. It was a custom, zero-radiation satellite phone Gavin had commissioned from a research lab specifically for me. On the back, a single, brilliant pink diamond was flush against the casing.

A glint of greed flashed in Sashas eyes. "Ooh, a pink diamond?" She scraped her fingernail against the stone. "Did you buy this cheap piece of glass at some street vendor for ten bucks?"

Sasha turned the custom phone over in her hands. Although she didn't recognize the brand, she could tell the craftsmanship of the pink diamond was extraordinary.

It was a real diamond.

She clenched her jaw. How could a useless freak like me own something so valuable?

She casually slipped my phone into her designer bag. "No personal phones during work hours. Im confiscating this."

"I'll hand it over to management when they get back from their trip, along with a formal report of your misconduct."

Tears began to spill from my eyes again. That phone contained a custom voice assistant Gavin had built for me. Without it, I couldn't remember which bus to take or how to safely navigate the busy crosswalks on my way home. It was my only link to the outside world.

"Please... give it back..." I reached out, grasping at the strap of her bag. "My brother... gave that to me..."

Sasha slapped my hand away.

A sharp, stinging pain radiated up my arm, and my skin immediately flushed a bright red.

She looked at me, her brow furrowing with disgust. "Maisie, a slow-witted parasite like you only got into a top-tier firm like this because your parents begged and pleaded for a favor. You're a drain on society, a complete hazard in the workplace!"

She stepped closer, her sharp nail almost touching my nose. "Without your parents sheltering you, you wouldn't even survive begging on the streets!"

I covered my ears, my pale face draining of what little color it had left. Memories of my childhood diagnosis and the cruel whispers of classmates flashed through my mind, making my heart flutter erratically. I struggled to draw a breath.

"No..." I whimpered, tears slipping through my fingers. "My brother said... if I take my time... I can still shine..."

Sasha laughed, her voice sharp and mocking. "Shine? That's just a lie they tell toddlers to keep them quiet!"

She shoved my forehead with her finger, forcing me to stumble back a few steps. "Who do you think you are? A mute idiot who can't even speak a full sentence. Your very existence is a waste of resources."

She turned back to the crowd of interns, raising her chin proudly. "Look at me. I come from an ordinary family, but in college, I received an anonymous, full-ride sponsorship from the city's most powerful financial mogul. Even my placement at this firm was personally arranged by him."

Her eyes filled with arrogance. "Once I am hired full-time, I will be second-in-command here. You, Maisie, aren't even worthy of wiping the dust off my shoes."

I froze, my slow brain catching a familiar thread of information.

A year ago, Gavin had mentioned sponsoring a brilliant but underprivileged student who had failed her basic licensing exams and was about to have her contract terminated by HR. I had seen her crying in her file photo and had begged Gavin to make an exception for her.

The ungrateful student was Sasha.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I stared at her. "My brother... would never like you. If he knew... the truth... he would throw you out."

The words seemed to strike a nerve, and Sashas face twisted with rage. "Your brother? What are you babbling about, you freak?!"

She grabbed my collar, raising her hand to strike me, but stopped herself when she noticed the other interns watching. She leaned in close, her voice a lethal whisper. "The Venture Capital Gala is in three days, and the big boss will be there in person. I'll make sure you watch me stand right by his side."

She shoved me hard, sending me crashing to the floor.

"And the very first thing I do when I take power will be to crush you under my heel and throw you out of this company!"

Four days later, the Venture Capital Gala.

I huddled in a quiet corner of the grand ballroom, finding it difficult to even breathe.

Having my custom phone stolen for three days meant I had lost my voice assistant. I had gotten lost multiple times, missed meals, and had almost been hit by a delivery truck on my way home. My congenital heart condition was flaring up, pushed to its absolute limit.

I wanted to cross the ballroom to find my parents and brother, who had just landed and were arriving at the venue.

I leaned against the wall, dragging myself forward step by painful step.

But as I rounded a corner into a quiet hallway, Sasha, dressed in a lavish gown, blocked my path. She was draped in rented jewelry, her eyes scanning the crowd for the elusive billionaire.

When she saw my pale, disheveled state, her face contorted with disgust. "Oh, look. The freak is here to ruin the view."

She stepped forward, her sharp heel deliberately pinning the hem of my skirt to the floor.

A sudden, sharp pain flared in my chest. I tried to pull away, but she lunged, tripping me with a harsh sweep of her leg.

I lost my balance and crashed heavily onto the marble floor.

The impact echoed in the quiet hallway. My knee split open against the stone, blood pooling onto the white fabric of my dress. The sharp pain made my vision go black.

The interns standing behind her burst into sneering laughter.

"If I were born a broken piece of trash like you, I would have ended my own life long ago," Sasha said, looking down at me as she ground her heel against my bleeding hand. "Living like a parasite off your parents, and now you show up here trying to look for a handout? Disgusting."

The pain drained the last of my strength.

My heart contracted violently, and the suffocating lack of oxygen squeezed my throat. I curled onto the floor, my body shaking uncontrollably as I reached out a hand, silently begging for help.

"Stop playing dead!" Sasha snapped, kicking my hand away. "If you get blood on my couture dress, you won't live long enough to pay for it!"

As the darkness closed in, I felt myself slipping away.

Suddenly, a terrified scream shattered the quiet of the hallway. "Oh my god! Miss Maisie! Miss Maisie!!!"

The Executive Vice President of the firm came running around the corner, his face completely pale with horror.

Before anyone could speak, the double doors at the end of the hall were thrown open with a violent crash. A group of people rushed in, their faces tight with panic.

Sasha froze.

She stared at the man leading the group, her heart leaping with excitement. It was the mysterious billionaire she had dreamed of meeting.

But in the next second, the triumph on her face shattered.

Through her widening eyes, she watched as the most powerful man in the city pushed past the crowd, dropped to his knees, and gathered my limp, bleeding body into his arms.