Chapter 1 - Rage
Benedict
This lift is slow. How did I never notice it before. It takes ages to go up, and I’m in a hurry.
Pacing doesn’t help, not that I can do more than two steps forward and two steps backwards. I should have taken the stairs.
I mutter a curse, look up at the lift screen to see which floor I’m on, and for the first time I realise I’m not even alone in the lift.
A young man, a kid actually, a cap backward on his head, sunglasses on his nose, holds a small backpack against his chest, and a phone in his other hand, leaning against the back of the lift. He seems totally oblivious of me, and my temper.
Kids nowadays…
Muttering some insults under my breath to encourage the lift, I force myself not to pace, last thing I want is to bump against Mister Yoh Yoh here, he looks like the kind to greet everyone with that sound and give a fist bump instead of a normal hand shake. I don’t want to give the kid a reason to talk to me. God forbid I have to make small talk right now, I think I’d rather crack a tooth. Which I’m close to doing if I don’t unclench my jaw very soon.
Fuck my life…
I was finally enjoying a well deserved vacation, when Marjorie called to remind me I was supposed to work.
By enjoying, I mean the same old wallowing in hating my life, cursing as I do chores and repairs in my house, relishing and resenting the loneliness at the same time.
At least the house is finished. And I will not, I will not admit I was dreading next week and its long streak of days doing nothing and losing my mind a little more.
Alone, I feel lonely and miserable, and I crave the presence of people. In their midst, I feel lonely and miserable and I hate them all.
Still, it was my time and I was not ready to share it again. But of course, Marjorie knows how to get to me, and her pleas, her repeated “I have no one else” was enough to make me change, rush to my car and come to her aid. Because I cannot say no to the woman.
Fucking finally, fourteenth floor. I don’t even wait for the lift doors to open completely, I bump into them with my shoulders, and huff, thinking I must look like an angry bear to the delivery boy still standing in the lift. I don’t even knock, wrench Marjorie’s door open, and wave an angry index under her peaceful face.
“You promised you’d give me a break, Marrie, what the fuck!”
“Hello to you too, dear. How are you? Do you want something to drink? Tea, coffee, water? Valium?”
I ignore the quip and let myself fall on the next chair. Despite my best efforts, my anger is already seeping away.
What can I say, I’m a sweetheart. And I love the woman.
I rub my face, feeling a hundred and ten years old, and start again. “Look… I told you I had some project to finish, and after the last one, I need a break, Marrie.”
I’m starting to get angry again, thinking about my last tour a week ago. The woman was a nightmare. A horror show. Take a shaker. Put in it Dolores Umbridge, Aunt Petunia and Hyacinth Bouquet. Give it a good shake, mix well, and you get Meredith, the object of my last mission. And nightmares.
I stand up, and start pacing again, ignoring the glass of water Marjorie slips on her desk in my direction, together with her pique, “Well, no coffee for you, that’s for sure”, and curse again.
Unfazed, she smiles at me, and innocently asks: “Have you read your email last week? The first thing I did in it was to remind you, again, might I say, that the chance was big that it would be one week of break, not two, as I was already preparing for this tour…”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“Yes, yes I did. Multiple times. Verbally before my mail too. I guess you were too busy being pissed off at Meredith.”
Thinking about it, she may be right. Shit…
“How long?”
“Four months.”
“Four…” I’m speechless. “Four fucking months? You got to be kidding me.”
Marjorie looks at me calmly, like I’m not about to explode in five, four, three, two…
She lifts a hand and stops me. “Look, it’s not like my hands aren’t bound either, you know how Judith is. I can’t say no to my boss.”
“If it’s a woman like the last one, I swear to god…”
“It’s not.” She slips a folder in my direction, before taking it and shaking it in front of me when I ignore her. With a scoff, just in case she didn’t notice already I’m in a shitty mood, I wrench it from her hands.
Marjorie presses a button, saying something quietly to whoever, and looks at me. Despite my best efforts to irritate her, she is still the same calm composed woman she always is, her brown eyes serenely watching me like I’m an experiment, and not a dangerous man able to kill her in a second. That’s partly why I love her, and that’s why I could never say no to her.
She repeats. “It’s not.” I’m lost. I already forgot what I asked. Or demanded, more like it.
“It’s not a woman like last time, because this one is a man. A young man, and...”
Not ready to let my anger go completely, I scoff. “Right. Great. Give me a kid to babysit. If it’s a punk like the delivery boy I just saw in the lift, I promise you, Marrie, I…”
A clearing of a throat stops me in my tracks, and Marjorie’s raised brow tells me two things. First, I made a fool of myself, again, and she’s amused. Second, the noise I just heard behind me came from the delivery boy I just saw in the lift.
I curse under my breath and turn around. Pet still on his head and sunglasses still on his nose, his voice is polite and almost cheery, although he’s not smiling. “Hi. I would be the punk…”
I mutter some words, hell, I don’t even know what I’m saying, turn to Marjorie to shake a warning index again “This is the last time, Marrie, or I quit”, and walk away, gathering my proverbial skirts as I do.
Who am I kidding. I feel like shit.
