A smile spreads across his face, “You know I love you more than I love myself or anyone else in this world. You don’t understand it now, but later, you’ll thank me for putting you through all this. And, years from now, you won’t be able to imagine a time when we were apart.”
“My choices are not yours, Colson,” I seethe, “you don’t get to pop in whenever you want, fuck shit up, and then dip out for another few days. You don’t know what I want.”
“Of course, I do,” he murmurs coolly, “I know you’ve been chasing that high I give you. You might think you’ve found it somewhere else,” he cracks a smile, “but it falls just short, doesn’t it? You have his entire body at your disposal and you still prefer to fuck my knife until you come all over the handle like a filthy…little…cum…slut.”
My shoulder jerks forward and my hand flies to his face. But he catches my wrist before it can make impact. I try to tear it away from his grasp, but he only squeezes it tighter, the corner of his mouth twisting into a half-smile. A moment later, he turns and kisses the top of my hand, still clutched in his fist.
“Fuck you, Colson!” I spit with all the venom I can muster.
“Honeybee,” he drawls, his deep voice grinding into my chest, “I’m just waiting for you to say the word. Then we can stop pretending this wasn’t the inevitable outcome. And, when you do, I’ll be the one on my knees for you.” He tosses my hand to the side and turns to leave, “Meantime,” he taps my doorframe just like every other time he leaves my office, “maybe Bo will tell you some more stories.”
My breath catches for a moment, and then I do the most childish thing I can think of. I grab the paper bag off my desk and hurl it at Colson’s back. But he’s already gone and it hits my door, falling with a crunch onto the charcoal grey Berber carpet. I collapse onto the edge of my filing cabinet in defeat, listening to him chuckle as his footsteps fade away down the corridor.
I don’t leave my impromptu lunch laying on the floor. As much as I want to smack Colson, I’m not above eating my favorite sandwich, and I don’t think he did anything to it—poison or otherwise. I shut my door and tear open the bag of kettle chips as I stroll around the desk to the window. No sooner do I pop one in my mouth when I catch Colson’s familiar figure appear as he emerges from the building into the parking lot.
I watch him, crunching my chips, as he makes his way across the asphalt, I assume toward the front gate for the remainder of his shift. He approaches the row of dumpsters on the right and I stop mid-chew when I see his arm fly up and his fist slam into the side of the black metal.
Hard.
So hard that, even from my window, I can clearly see thin ribbons of blood trailing from his knuckles down to his fingers. He doesn’t even look down. It’s as though he can’t even feel it.
●●●
DAVID BRENTWORTH (US): Hey Brett, can you come to my office in 20?
I don’t think anything of Dave’s IM at first, it’s a simple request, made countless times for countless reasons on any given day. And, like any given day, I don’t give it a second thought until I walk into Dave’s office and see Eric leaning against the wall and another woman with chin-length sandy blonde hair sitting in front of Dave’s desk. When she turns to look at me, I’m slightly surprised. It’s Casey Rearden, the VP of Operations, also Dave and Eric’s boss.
Why is Casey Rearden here?
She never comes over here. And she looks like someone ran over her cat. When I sit down in the chair next to her, she doesn’t so much as crack a polite smile. When I glance at Eric, I notice he’s not smiling, either. But, then again, Eric hardly ever smiles.
“Brett! Thanks for coming,” Dave swivels around from his computer and clears his throat, “this is kind of awkward, so I’ll just get to the point. We have a big problem. We need to discuss what happened the week before last.”
I stare back at him blankly. I can barely remember what happened last week. It all seems like a continuous daisy chain of calamity. How did I go from focused and driven to my own worst enemy in such a short span of time?
Dave must notice my clueless expression, “When you and Colson were supposed to be fixing the server room keypad,” he clarifies, glancing off to the side awkwardly.
Supposed to be? My stomach drops and all the air is immediately sucked out of the room. Oh, God…
All eyes on me, I remain motionless, trying to combat the rush of adrenaline flooding my body.
Shut down. Game over.
The last thing I want to do is move, but I make myself arch my brow in subtle acknowledgement.
Dave nods and rests his elbows on his desk, “Oddly enough, Nate was the one who suspected something and brought it to our attention. We’ve already spoken to Colson, so I just need to hear the story from you.”
Where is Colson now? Probably off somewhere murdering Nate.
“Story?” I squeak, my throat getting more parched by the second.
Keep it short. Find out what Colson said to them first.
I’ll play dumb until the cows come home. And I’ll stay that way until they’re sent off to the slaughterhouse to be turned into New York Strips. I refuse to be the one to say what actually happened in that office. Someone else is going to have to die of embarrassment before me.
Dave glances at Casey and then at me, “Yes, it’s very important I know exactly what happened in case I need to talk to legal. I expect we can resolve this internally, but we don’t need to make it more uncomfortable for everyone than necessary.”
I feel queasy, light-headed. I’m going to pass out, just face plant right in the middle of Dave’s office. The humiliation of it all will be monumental. I’ll never be able to recover.
“You’ve always been the epitome of professionalism,” he continues, “so I want you to know that I’m not accusing you of anything. But we just can’t have this happening, it gets way too messy.”
“Right,” I feel my face getting hotter the longer Dave keeps talking.
“We all make mistakes, OK? I just didn’t expect something like this would end up all the way up on Casey’s desk before I heard about it. It kind of caught me by surprise.” Dave claps his hands once and leans back in his chair, “Alright, there’s my required reprimand, so can you have this wrapped up by COB?”
I blink, “Wrapped up?”
Dave shrugs, “You can just pull the report, can’t you?”
I furrow my brow, “The report?”
“Yes,” Dave gives an exaggerate nod, “so we can send Army the goddamn report they’re whining about so they know our servers aren’t being infiltrated by terrorists and their technology hasn’t been sold to foreign agents.”
Casey shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She looks like someone who probably thinks crap is a curse word. She also looks like she’s been sitting on a pinecone for the last 10 minutes. I continue staring at Dave like a deer in headlights, having no idea what he’s talking about.
Finally, Dave arches his brow, muttering to himself, “Maybe I’m not making myself clear,” he takes a breath and clasps his hands, “Colson said the keypad on the server room was operational after it was repaired, but Army’s saying they never received an updated report verifying the down time and when the system came back online. So, now we have them and their cybersecurity people screaming bloody murder, and if we don’t get that report to them yesterday, we’ll be in breach of contract.”
My eyes fly open, “Oh, yes!” I exclaim louder than I mean to, startling Casey, “I tried to run a new report same day, but the system wasn’t updating, so I had to call Tony in IT. He said he needed to run a software patch and it would work, but then I totally forgot to run it again. I’m so sorry, I’ll do it and send it out immediately.” I’m also talking much faster than I mean to.
