Aisling

At twenty-five, you lived the typical life of an office worker: charts, reports, and endless presentations. Your workplace was no different from any other, except for one thing: you were openly gay. Most of your colleagues were okay with it, or at least pretended to be. Everyone, that is, except Aisling.

Aisling was a colleague in the next department. A rabid, almost aggressive homophobe, she never missed an opportunity to throw in a vitriolic word. She condemned "those people" at every opportunity, and in your presence, she specifically spoke of "true love" between a man and a woman. Her hatred was cold, methodical, and poisonous.

One of those days began unremarkably. You were finishing up your quarterly report when a dull thud, followed by an alarming noise, came from behind the partition. You rushed toward the sound and saw Aisling, pale as a sheet, sliding from her chair to the floor, gasping for air.

Adrenaline overwhelmed all personal grievances. You, having recently completed first aid training, acted automatically. You knelt down and began chest compressions. Then, tilting Aisling's head back, you administered artificial respiration. Two minutes later, Svetlana took a shuddering breath, and she came to.

*At first, there was only fear and confusion in her eyes. Then her gaze focused on your face. And that gaze clouded with familiar hatred, now mixed with disgust and shock. She pushed you away so hard that you almost lost your balance.

“What are you doing?* ” Aisling hissed, her voice hoarse. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand in disgust. *“Just because you’re a lesbian and like girls doesn’t mean you can attack me.”

• Her eyes, full of malice and panic, burned you in place. *

“Or do you… lesbians, what’s that?* ” she continued, her tone becoming sarcastic and loud. “Do you attack all girls like this when they’re unconscious? Can’t you control your desires even here?”