Waring: Somewhat graphic content follows the "Read More" link.
Office
Romance
Barbara
enjoyed the solitude as she typed at her computer. Having the office to
herself, after everyone else went home was the best of both worlds: it made her
feel professional but without the demands of maintaining a professional façade
with her colleagues. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them. She liked them all
well enough. It’s just that she felt something of an imposter. She’d recently
rejoined the workforce after taking a few years off to start a family. Now,
with her two children in school, she was trying to learn how to relate to
adults again.
The rituals
of the working world take time and are as intricate as those of the Freemasons,
though likely less codified and with fewer funny hats. Except on Funny Hat Day.
Barbara didn’t quite understand Funny Hat Day. She liked doing her hair,
putting on a flattering dress, chosen for style rather than how easily puke
stains would come out of it, and a pair of shoes in which she could never
negotiate a Lego-strewn family room. “Why would you want to deliberately mess
that up,” she thought? Especially when the day’s work remained unchanged? The
hats were just there, peripheral. Three minutes of chuckles and seven hours and
fifty seven minutes of hat head.
Fortunately,
it wasn’t Funny Hat Day. It was just a regular work day. Barbara liked those.
Not that she didn’t enjoy the office’s collegial vibe, but what she really
loved was that she was taken seriously, as a capable woman. She wasn’t
somebody’s mom, she was somebody.
Barbara
saved the draft she was working on and closed the document. She glanced at the
picture of her family on her desk as she thought about the e-mail she was about
it write. As she sat there, she heard a noise. She’d been hearing noises for
about an hour, since the last of her colleagues went home. She had been
dismissing them as the building settling, wind, or machinery. It wouldn’t do to
let her imagination get the better of her. There was something different about
this noise, though. It sounded like the outer door to the stairwell closing
with its characteristic clang. There shouldn’t be anybody coming in that door.
All the staff entered through the main door, using their electronic pass cards
and either took the main stairs or the elevator to the third floor office. The
fire stairs were only used as a shortcut to the parking lot when people were
leaving at the end of the day.
Barbara sat
a moment thinking about what she should do. She thought she could hear
footsteps in the stairwell. Her mind raced to scenes of women in heels being
chased by killers in countless movies and TV shows. They always tripped or
twisted an ankle, their vanity being their undoing. Feeling silly, Barbara
reached down and began to unbuckle the straps on her shoes. She’d loved them
when she bought them, but the three-inch heels weren’t made for speed.
She heard
the fire door open. That was odd. The door was supposed to be locked, only able
to be opened from the inside, just like the one at the base of the stairs. She
was reaching for her purse, and the phone it contained, when she heard a voice.
“Helloooo Barbara,” it sang out. Just as the greeting ended, Tom came into view
at the end of the row of cubicles in which Barbara sat.
“Tom, you
scared me,” Barbara said, feeling herself relax. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“Sorry,
Barb. I didn’t mean to.”
“My heart is
beating a mile a minute.”
“Didn’t mean
to, but it’s only fair, since you always have that effect on me,” said Tom as
he stopped at Barbara’s cubicle and leaned against the partial wall. She could
see the small smile on his face and the subtly raised eyebrow.
Barbara
laughed a little and blushed a little. Tom had been flirting with her since a
month after she arrived at the office. One of the first conversations they had
was him asking her out. This was despite the wedding ring she wore and that, at
34, she was about eight years older than him. She had laughed and blushed that
time too. She had to admit to being flattered. Tom, while not overly tall, was
a good six inches taller than her and fairly solid, if not muscular. His dark
brown hair always looked as if he had just rolled out of bed and run a brush
through it once or twice before heading into the office.
“I saw your
car in the parking lot and I thought I’d come up and see how you were doing,”
he said, crossing his arms.
“Oh, um,
fine, really,” replied Barbara, averting her eyes from his gaze.
“In no hurry
to get home, huh?” As he said this, Tom moved closer to her and picked up the
picture of her family. It had been taken when she and Gary had gone camping
with the children. Barbara loved Maria’s smile in that photo. Jake had refused
to smile, trying to mimic his father’s look of mock anger at the request to
pose for yet another photo. Tom studied it briefly, sitting on the edge of her
desk while he did so. Then he placed it on the desk, face down.
“I just
wanted to get a few things finished before I head back home. There’s so much to
do there, what with making dinner and getting the kids to bed and making sure
everything is set for the morning.” Barbara stopped, surprised by how much she
had just told Tom. She tended to be on the quiet side when she was in the
office. She found herself particularly flustered by Tom, ever since the day
he’d casually asked her if she wanted to catch a movie after work. Now here she
was just blurting out everything!
“C’mon! It’s
got to be nice to get away from the white picket fence and cooking and cleaning
and the old Saturday night usual,” he said with a wink. “I wonder how a
beautiful woman can live with those constraints.”
He didn’t
know the half of it, she thought. Before she’d married, Barbara had lived a
life that would probably surprise Tom. In her early twenties, she had been a
fixture at the clubs and there wasn’t much she hadn’t tried. Thirteen years of
marriage had transformed the lithe, redheaded hellion of her youth into a
respectable housewife. She was grateful for that, really. Had she kept at it,
she probably would have pushed things too far and paid the price. She nearly
had. And Tom was certainly wrong about the “Saturday night usual.” Her husband
didn’t approach her for sex anywhere near that frequently. Two or three times a
year was more like it, and then it tended to be perfunctorily vanilla. Could he
see that in her? Could Tom tell how hungry she was to be taken up, wrapped in
flesh and sweat?
“Oh, no,
married life is great. I really like it. It suits me. I love the kids and my
husband is great. I admit I like coming to the office for the three days a
week, though. It’s good to get to act like an adult for a change.”
“I imagine
it is. Want to act like adults right now?” Tom lowered his chin and raised his
eyebrows as he locked his brown eyes with her green ones.
“Um…well…you
know,” Barbara stammered, flustered. She imagined that look, their eyes locked,
as she writhed beneath him, the warmth of his belly pressed against hers. She
shifted slightly in her chair, trying to push back the thoughts.
Tom chuckled
at her awkwardness as she felt her face flush. “Oh, come on. Let’s go have a
bit of fun. You and I can have a drink, maybe get a bite to eat. Then I can
drive you back here to get your car. Maybe stop off at my place and talk a bit,
get to know each other better, or, you know, whatever.” He smiled broadly, but
it didn’t reach his eyes.
She couldn’t
believe what he was saying. He was so forward! She had worked so hard to build
this life for herself and now he was denigrating it. She had known so many men
like him before. She looked at his face and saw none of the warmth that marked
her husband’s face. He didn’t want to build anything with her, only kick at, to
soil, what she already had. Why then, was she finding it so tempting?
“Really,
Tom, that’s really inappropriate. Please stop. I don’t want to have to report
your behaviour.”
“Cut the
crap, Barbara. I know you love the attention and I know you want some of this,”
he said, pointing to his crotch. “You might fool everyone else with your shy
act, but I know better. I know your type. I know you.”
No, you
probably don’t, thought Barbara. Still, she couldn’t help looking where he was
pointing. She’d caught him eyeing her on numerous occasions. Whenever she did,
he held her gaze for a few beats, often giving her a sly smile before she
averted her gaze. He wasn’t much different than other men she had known when
she was younger: arrogant and proud, interested only in conquest. She’d learned
long ago it was in her best interest to say no to them.
She squeezed
her legs together, trying hard not to think about what was happening, how empty
she was feeling. How empty she had felt for a long time. A mechanical, hard
attack sounded exactly like what she did want. She wanted to feel hard, solid
evidence that she was desirable, that she was a woman, not just a mother and a
wife. She wanted someone who would give her that and go, who would leave her in
her life. Damn him! This was all under control before she came here and he
started in on her. Could Tom be what she needed? “No, Tom. I’m not interested,”
said Barbara, looking him square in the eye.
“I can see
evidence you are,” said Tom, as he stared at her erect nipples, evident through
the fabric of her dress. He leaned in quickly, a hand cupping her breast, the
other the back of her head and pressed his lips to hers, in a sloppy,
open-mouthed kiss.
She was
stunned by the action. It felt like a jolt of electricity when his hand landed
on her breast the nipple covered by his palm. Her lips felt hot, wanting so
much the attention long denied them by anyone. It lasted only a second.
With all her
strength, she pushed him back. “No!”
Tom’s usual
cocky smirk had been supplanted by, clenched, bared teeth. When his eyes met Barbara’s,
she could finally see what was really inside him and it was not arrogance, it
was anger and loathing. “You bitch,” he said in a low voice.
He grabbed
her wrists and held them tightly. As she struggled to free herself, he squeezed
harder, his strong fingers making the deep impressions where bruises would
later bloom.
“After all
the time you spent leading me on, acting shy and coy and lapping up all the
attention I give you, now you have the nerve to act like you don’t want it? You
can’t fool me. I know you do. I knew you were going to be staying late. That’s
why I taped back the latches on the doors when I left,” Tom said. “I knew you’d
like to keep it quiet. Figure I’d sneak in and we could head out and I’d show
you a good time. Why else would you be staying late so many nights?”
“Let me go,
Tom. You’re hurting me.”
“Shut up! I
bet you like that, don’t you? That’s why you’re playing so hard to get. You don’t
like nice guys.”
“You’re
deluded! You’re an egotistical, pathetic loser. Let me go,” Barbara yelled as
she struggled. She broke one hand free from his grip and raked it across his
face, her nails leaving three bloody furrows across his cheek and nose.
Tom let out
an angry cry and touched his fingers to his face. He felt the warmth of his
blood on them. “Damn you!” Tom released her wrist and grabbed her throat with
both of his hands and started to shake her as he tightened his grip. “Stupid,”
he hissed through clenched teeth.
Barbara struggled,
unable to get a clear hit anyplace that hurt him enough to make him loosen his
grip. His rage was completely uncontrolled. She had no doubt he wouldn’t stop
squeezing until the life was gone from her. If she didn’t do something quickly,
she’d die here and now.
She reached
down beside her chair, stretching her right arm out as she curled her right leg
up, bringing her ankle up to her palm. Her hand fumbled with the unfastened
buckle, pulling the strap loose. Once she felt it was free, she slid her had
down her ankle and pulled her shoe off. She tightened her grip. She was getting
light-headed. She swung hard at Tom.
Barbara felt
the jolt of solid contact radiate down her arm as the narrow heel connected
with Tom’s temple, punching a hole through flesh, down to the bone. She
immediately pulled it back, the taper of the heel allowing it to slide from the
wound. Tom turned to see what had hit him just as she swung once more. She felt
contact again, but not as solid or jarring, as she followed through on the
swing.
Immediately,
her ears were filled with a loud, animalistic wail and the vise squeezing her
throat was gone.
As she
gasped for breath, Barbara saw Tom stagger backward against the wall of her
cubicle, his hands at his face. Her shoe obscured his left cheek, ichor
dripping from the toe as the smashed remains of Tom’s eye ran down his cheek,
flowing around the edges of the sole.
“What the…you
bitch! I’ll kill you,” Tom bellowed, the hands on his face doing little to
dampen the volume of the words and nothing to reduce their fury.
Barbara
scanned her desk, grabbing the scissors from her pencil holder. Planting her
unshod foot on the floor she leapt from the chair toward Tom. Landing on her
left foot, her ankle wobbled but she stayed upright on the heel. She pushed
herself upward, using the heel as leverage and drove the point of the scissors
into his throat until the handles stopped them. The groans of pain stopped,
replaced moments later by a wet gurgle. She backed away.
Tom’s hands
moved from his face to his throat. He pulled weakly at the scissors as blood
seeped around their edges. He fixed his remaining eye on Barbara and tried to speak.
No sound passed his lips, only blood. He collapsed backward against the cube
wall and slid down.
Barbara fell
heavily back into her chair, gripping the arms tightly to stop her hands shaking.
Then she reached for the phone on her desk, opened a line, dialed 911. “I think
he’s dead, “ she said and hung up. Then she reached in her bag, took out her
cellphone and pressed the speed dial button for her husband.
“It’s
happened again…yes, dead…drop the kids off at your parents and bring me a pair
of comfortable shoes, please…me too. See you soon.” She put her phone back in her
purse and put the purse back on her desk. She could hear the sirens growing louder.
She looked at Tom’s unmoving form, focusing on his unblinking eye. “No. You don’t
know me at all.”
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