Challenge #: 28
Genre: Romance and/or Humour
Rating: Any!
Likes: Something to do with the work environment (an office, etc).
Dislikes: The usual (stereotypes, Mary Sues, bad spelling/punctuation/grammar).
Words/phrases to use: "So, just to clarify.. you're single?" "Is a party really a party if I'm not there?" "How exactly does one act sheepish?"

-

.my favorite remedy.

“Anette, stop being so paranoid,” he snaps.

I hear him sigh in frustration, and get off the bed, walk out of my room and then out of my loft. The door slamming echoes oddly, and all I do is breathe heavily, gasping like a fish, out of hurt and confusion.

Then I realize that I sound like I’m dying, and stop breathing altogether, and instead turn towards my clock.

Ha, 9:27 pm. It is much too late in the evening to even eat anything, let alone launch a late-night escapade to Mia Francesca and then back to his place for some “dessert” when we have work at 7 am tomorrow morning. We’d both turn up looking demented and half-alive, and then all of our coworkers would become suspicious and poke their old, huge noses into our business and insist on getting us fired and ruin our blossoming careers by exposing our secret relationship to the boss, and then he would bust out the rulebook and begin to recite all the codes we had violated by having sexual relations as coworkers in that terribly, terribly droll voice of his.

See David? I’m not being paranoid at all. I am just being careful, and preserving both our senses of dignity.

But rationalizing my refusal to go out to dinner doesn’t help the hurt feeling that’s manifesting itself in my heart. Err, chest. I’m not that far in love with him.

Or maybe I am.

-

I couldn’t sleep all night. Because that’s how I get when people I care about are upset with me. I remember, once, I said I was going to a study group when actually me and my best friend snuck into a R rated movie, and then my mother found out and was very upset with me. I couldn’t live properly for an entire week, and it was only after I’d given her breakfast in bed for the third time that she started joking around again. My will to have a carefree, rebellious teenage life was completely squashed after that incident.

It was only once I realized how deeply affected I was by the people around me that I decided that detachment from the bubbling sources of life about me was the best way to live.

But I fell again, for David. He swept me off my stiletto clad feet with his subtle references to rendezvous at art galleries. And me, being the naïve editorial writing nerd I am, fell straight for his charms.

I reminisced our first date at the Art Institute of Chicago as I clambered out of bed at my scheduled wake-up time of 5:45. Get up, wash my face, change, do hair and makeup, consume a light breakfast, drink my daily coffee on my morning commute to work, arrive at the office at approximately 6:55 and then clack up the stairs in heels to my cubicle (we had a dress code at work).

David would usually slip by my cubicle at 6:58 on the way to his cubicle. For two minutes, we’d unabashedly flirt unless a coworker walked by, in which case one of us would deftly change the subject to something of a more savory nature.

David didn’t come by that morning. My conscience froze up and I began to panic. What if he wanted to break it off all of a sudden because this one time my inherent inflexibility to risk publicizing our relationship just topped it all off? Didn’t he like the lingerie set that I had bought especially to tempt him? Damn it, that set was expensive. I didn’t even wait till it came on sale; I was just that excited to please him.

I began to breathe heavily again, hyperventilating slightly.

Somebody passed by; George from the Sports section.

“Good morning Anette.” I smiled toothily back at him, trying to convince myself that everything was alright, that David wasn’t the least bit agitated with me, and that I most certainly did not sound like a dying walrus.

It was 7:05. And he still hadn’t passed by.

My stomach heated up and I felt like vomiting, the anxiety of displeasing somebody taking over me. David was right. I was paranoid.

I breathed in deeply and turned on my computer, to try and immerse myself in the stifled society around me and write about world affairs.

-

I am a current events writer, and David is a movie critic. Occasionally Mr. Johnson, our boss and editor-in-chief, will ask me to write an editorial about something, but they are nowhere near as popular as David’s. David is an anomaly; he adds colorful verbiage to our otherwise droll newspaper. And I am jealous of him in this sense; his writing has this charisma about it, so whatever he says will be accepted and adored by his readers. And Mr. Johnson will even let his random controversial comments slide by, whereas the rest of us are subjected to writing as dull as is physically possible.

I pondered the limits of my tolerance for the self-willed illiterate, while I waited for my break time.

I was nervous about break time, because break time meant giggling in the corner of the staff room with David.

Restlessly, my fingers crawled up my neck and tugged at my hair, while I heard footsteps drawing nearer to my cubicle. I pretended to be immersed with the 764 word article I had written about a genetically mutated donkey in Kabul that was displayed on my computer screen.

“Hey Anette!” I flinched, Mindy’s ridiculously cheerful voice penetrating the depths of my nausea.

“Oh, hello Mindy. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m just dandy, thanks. What about yourself?”

I forced saliva down my increasingly dry throat. “Oh, I’m okay.”

“Oh, good, good. Say, did you want to write that article about the soldier who returned from Iraq? I finally got his number, but I remembered you saying something about needing a beefy occurrence to write about.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay, you can have it. Christmas is coming up soon, and you know how busy we get with the news then. I’ll have my hands full, so, don’t worry. Thanks though.”

My eye began twitching, so I forced it open and swallowed.

Mindy looked at me, with her head cocked to the side, straightened blonde hair falling over her face in a manner that she probably thought was attractive (it wasn’t).

“Gosh Anette, are you alright?”

“Oh, yes, I’m fine, just fine.” I glanced at my computer screen. “Oh, 9:30! I’m gonna go take my break now.”

“Oh yeah, go ahead, you look like you need it. I’ll see you later Anette.”

‘You look like you need it.’ What was that supposed to mean? Silently fuming, I made my way to the staff room and then turned the other way, heading towards the restroom. I wasn’t in the mood to handle the fake smiling that would be involved in the staff room if David wasn’t there, and if he was there, then I wasn’t in the mood to handle the awkwardness.

The way to the restroom that I preferred to use passed by the printing department of the building, and the stench was heinous. It wasn’t necessarily worth the walk, but I enjoyed completing my business in a place with faux pink marble and scented foam soap.

My reveries about looking tired and bedraggled were interrupted by the distant buzz of voices approaching. I thought I recognized David’s. Panicking again, I hid my slim frame behind the massive rubber plant that was placed in a corner near the door that led to the lobby, posing as a pathetic excuse for decoration.

David and Mindy walked by. Initially I was more shocked by the fact that Mindy had apparently transported herself to David’s side, but then Mindy shrieking with laughter about something and David looking immensely uncomfortable took the spotlight.

Unconsciously, I shrunk into my hiding spot even more, rage beginning to cloud the edges of my panic.

Mindy stopped laughing and turned to face David. “So, just to clarify…you’re single?”

His voice kicked up two octaves. “What? Oh, n- I mean, yes. Yes, I suppose.”

I inhaled sharply and they whirled around, alarmed, but didn’t see me.

Mindy was dismissive. “Oh, it was probably just some machine in the printing press.”

I could say that at that moment I felt as if the walls were shrinking in on me and that the plant could have fallen on top of me, and I would have felt nothing, since my heart was broken. But that’s an exaggeration. Instead, I covered my mouth with my hand and watched as Mindy behaved like the world’s fattest, walking-talking-heel-wearing cow.

David cleared his throat. “So…” His voice was strained. “So, why did you ask that?”

Mindy giggled and took a step towards him. David took one back.

“Oh, you know, I’ve just always liked you. You’ve got this…charm around your presence.”

Normally I would have gagged, but at that moment I kept still, watching David.

“Um, thanks. But, you know it’s…we’re not allowed to have office-relationships.”

Mindy took another step towards him and raised an eyebrow.

“Who said anybody has to know?”

I could only see the back of David’s head, but I imagined his eyes widened.

“I have to pee,” he said and hurried off to the men’s restroom.

Mindy watched him go and sighed. After a moment she walked off again, and I watched her go with narrowed eyes.

I waited for a moment and then got out from hiding spot and forced myself to the ladies’ room.

-

In the restroom, I looked in the mirror. Mindy had been right; I didn’t look particularly well. The dark shadows under my eyes were especially prominent, and the white cowl neck sweater I was wearing made me look especially pale, contrasting with my black hair. I looked like a vampire.

“Everybody likes vampires,” I told myself firmly.

Nobody answered back, but I did feel a little better. I pivoted and examined myself from the side, and then abruptly started laughing hysterically. Generally, when I would be undergoing a situation of immense emotional stress, my body would begin twitching and I’d be prone to burst out into hysterical laughter. Thus far, I’d been showing both of the symptoms.

I don’t know how long I was laughing for, but it must have been a while. When I recovered, I exited the bathroom and dared myself to walk past David’s cubicle on the way back to mine.

I hated dares.

-

I got a few strange looks from my fellow writers who worked in the entertainment section, where David’s cubicle was, but most of them were amused.

“Fancy seeing you here, current affairs girl. Looking for some article inspiration?”

“Yes, as always,” I replied absently to Bill’s inquiry.

I continued along, almost running into Mr. Johnson himself, who reminded me to turn in my donkey article before I left for the day.

Before I really knew it, I was at David’s cubicle. He was sitting at his desk, clacking away at his keyboard furiously, black hair disheveled and glasses falling halfway down his nose. He seemed disturbed.

He jumped when he noticed me standing there in his doorway.

“Anette! What the hell?” We both winced at his inappropriate office language. “I mean, what are you doing here?”

I didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at him.

“You didn’t come to visit me at my cubicle this morning.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, yes, I was running late. Really late.” He nodded to reaffirm his statement.

He was such a pathetic liar, and we both knew it. I blinked slowly, letting him wallow in his own cheap shot.

“Oh, what a shame. I was waiting for you.”

There was an awkward silence, in which I took pleasure in imagining his growing guilt.

I decided to play with him a little more.

“Say, have you walked past the printing press today?”

He jumped again. “What?” he asked rather loudly.

“The printing press. You know, the smelly place, where the actual newspapers are made.”

“I know what the printing press is,” he snapped.

I recoiled, suddenly remembering why I never attempted to initiate conversation in the first place.

“Um, yes, well, I was just, you know, wondering. Have a good day.” I hurried off, the nausea returning again.

-

I didn’t take any more breaks during the day, not even for lunch. My anxiety about David’s feelings for me took away my appetite for food and for relaxation. Instead I busied myself with writing far more articles than I had to, and I even wrote out short little blurbs about holidays around the world, hoping to please Mr. Johnson. I needed to make someone happy today.

And it worked. Seven and a half minutes after I’d e-mailed the six articles that I’d written, he swung by my cubicle.

“My goodness Anette, what have you been doing over here?”

“Oh, just working,” I replied weakly.

“I can tell. I’m going to use all of your blurbs for the paper tomorrow; they’re very good.”

I nodded, complacently, getting some contentment out of his compliment.

“Could you try and write out a few blurbs everyday maybe?”

“Oh, sure, of course.” Blurbs were easily written.

“Good, good. And nice job on the donkey article. Drab and dull, just the way it should be. Excellent work today Anette. Go ahead, and take your lunch break.”

I glanced at the clock on my computer screen, which read 3:43.

“Oh, I’ll probably just write a little bit more and then clock out for the day.”

“Now now, the feds will come after me for abuse in the work place. They’ll start blabbering on about how I’m forcing you to write six articles a day with no lunch breaks.” He laughed, and I forced out a giggle.

“Oh, alright then, I’ll take a short break.”

“Good, good. Your donkey article should be in Friday’s paper.”

“Wonderful, thank you Mr. Johnson.” I gave him a smile, which he returned, and then walked towards the staff room, and then when I was sure he wasn’t looking at me anymore, turned towards the fire escape.

I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as I opened the noisy door. I checked around me, and to my relief, nobody was paying me the slightest bit of attention. I slid through the door, shut it, and then slumped against the wall, adjusting my skirt to hide my legs.

For five seconds, I stared up at the ceiling, allowing the cool, relatively unused air in the fire escape calm my nerves.

And then I realized I was bored. I glanced at my watch. 3:44. I had fourteen more minutes. So, I set to analyzing myself.

Everyday, every morning, the same routine; except for of course, today, which had gone wrong. But this almost obsessive preference for routine of mine meant that I was reliable. And loyal.

I wondered if it was possible to be too loyal.

I cast that thought off and then analyzed my looks.

I was small, standing at 5’4”, in size six shoes, a thin frame and an A-cup. Pathetic. I owned one pair of jeans, which I wore whenever I traveled back home to visit my parents in Boston. The rest of my clothes were dressy, picked out whenever the stores decided to be generous and have wonderful sales.

I never straightened my hair, always leaving it down in disheveled curls or putting it up in a ponytail, attempting to evoke some girl-like charm.

The outfit that I’d been wearing that day was a perfect example of my efforts to make myself attractive: the white sweater, dark green plaid wrap skirt, black high-heeled ankle boots, sheer black tights underneath the skirt, and hair sloppily embracing my head and falling past my shoulders.

I’d meant to look attractive and make David happy, but sitting there slumped against a wall and thinking about it showed me that I’d put too much effort into my outfit and I probably looked like a very off-putting snob.

The doorknob twisted, and so did my stomach. I forced myself up and adjusted my skirt again, trying to put on a relaxed air.

And in walked David. My millisecond forced composure crumbled.

He looked at me, and shut the door behind him.

“Anette, there you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

I didn’t say anything, I just looked at him with wide eyes.

There was an awkward pause, in which he adjusted his glasses and averted his gaze away from my face.

“So…did you sleep well?”

“No.” I realized I sounded like a petrified little girl. “And you?”

“No, not really.”

He looked at me again and then sat beside me.

“You look nice.”

I’ve always fallen easily to compliments; my mouth tugged into a smile. “You look sheepish.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I look sheepish?”

“Yes. And you’re acting sheepish too.”

“How exactly does one act sheepish?”

“You’re fluffing me up.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Sheep are fluffy, they don’t fluff other people, or things, up.”

“Yes they do. They make things soft.”

“Am I making you soft?”

God, we were corny.

“Uh huh.”

It was freezing in the fire escape, and looking at David from the corner of my eyes reminded me of this. I looked at his hands crossed loosely in his lap; his legs jutting out comfortably, as far as they would go. The urge to be held was excruciating.

Gently, I crawled onto his lap.

He laughed. “What are you doing?”

“Sitting on you.”

His arms wrapped around my waist and I leaned my head back against him, nausea gone, contentment and a vague thirst for feminine vengeance replacing it.

I felt him tense slightly under me, and it was this discomfort of his that spurred my interrogation.

“Mindy’s looking rather…healthy today, isn’t she?”

His voice hitched up again. “Mindy? Oh yeah, sure. She’s nice.”

“She implied that I looked dead today.”

“You? Dead?” He gave a short, nervous laugh. “Seductresses can’t look dead. She clearly needs to have her vision checked.”

“Oh yeah, she needs some glasses, like you. But I’m sure she already has some thick, plastic black rims at home, just like yours. Since you know, she likes you so much.”

He coughed against my back. “Anette, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“David, I was hiding behind the rubber plant during your little exchange.”

I could almost feel his breathing rate drop. “You…were?”

Instantly I regretted making such a bold move. I should have ignored it and sat there in his lap, giggling about sheep. My cheeks grew hot with shame.

Seeking a safe way out of this newly formed predicament, I twisted in his lap to face him.

“Yes, I was.” I kissed his cheek and wrapped my arms around his neck.

“And you know what? You are so cute when you try to avoid office-skanks picking you up.”

David was motionless although I was wrapping myself around him.

“So…you’re not…panicked?”

Honesty was, and is, the best policy.

“I was. I was horrified that you told her you were single. But, that was the practical move. You were only protecting ‘us,’ I know.”

He relaxed a little and I felt his fingertips graze the slight skin of my midriff that was exposed by my sweater, which was slipping up.

“Anette…you’re odd.”

I nodded against him, relief finally settling in.

-

Thankfully, nobody interrupted our snuggling session in the fire escape.

I got off of at 4:45, and David at 5:00.

We agreed that since our evening plans yesterday had ended so tragically, we’d have dinner tonight at a well-to-do French café. I’d changed into a little black dress and hurriedly formed some curls with a curling iron before rushing to grab our reservation for 6:00 (David said he needed to run to the store to get something and take a shower).

He arrived promptly at 6:07, about a minute after the waiter had brought me my iced tea (which I was trying my hardest not to drain).

I grinned at his flushed cheeks and cowlick.

“Hi,” I said chirpily.

He grinned back.

“Hey. I bought you something.” He held up a gift bag. “Here, open it.”

I reached across the table as he sat down, adjusting his glasses and looking nervous.

The couple at the table briefly glanced at us as the tissue paper rustled loudly, and I pulled out a Barbie doll.

I blinked.

“You bought me a Barbie doll?”

“Yeah. You know, because it looks like Mindy. So now you can throw her against a wall if you ever get upset.”

I blinked again. “David, I’m paranoid, not psychotic.”

He grabbed the back of his neck nervously. “I know…I just thought you might think it was funny.”

I looked at the Barbie again and abruptly started giggling.

“She got a makeover! Look, she’s put on some weight!”

“That’s on account of her age.”

“What does Ken look like?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see him.”

“Do you think we’ll end up like them? The model couple, aged and out of style? You know, in the future?”

David regarded me in silence, and it was then that I realized the implications of my statement. I bit my lip, wishing I could take it back, but then he smiled at me.

“No. We’re classy Anette; secret lovers never go out of style.”

-

We were sharing tiramisu when the depths of my affection for him began to dawn on me.

He was talking about a movie that was coming out next week and how excited he was for it, and I watched how his eyes sparkled beneath his glasses.

I giggled, stupidly, wondering how amazing it was that I’d actually snagged a man with real tousled black hair.

“What?” he asked, perplexed.

“Oh, nothing.” I smiled at him apologetically.

He smiled back before taking a breath.

“My mother’s throwing one of those big, rich snobby Christmas parties on the 22nd. Will you come with me?”

He wanted me to meet his parents. It came as a relief to me to know that he was thinking about the future and us, that he wasn’t thinking of letting me go anytime soon.

“Is a party really a party if I’m not there?” I asked lamely.

“Yes,” he responded seriously. We laughed a little.

“David…”

“Yes?”

A wave of fear hit me, and I experienced that feeling of doubt, of looking at a long-term commitment, of panic that so many people get when they’re about to confess their feelings to the individuals whom they harbor tender passions for.

“David, I love you.”

It all came out in a rush and I looked away to the painting on the wall next to us, of a girl playing a piano. My cheeks burned with uncertainty.

He was silent, and my stomach flip-flopped terribly.

“Anette, I love you too.”

I looked back at him, a big smile beginning to creep up on my face. He reached across the table for my hand.

“I love you, and your stupid paranoia, and your borderline OCD, and your refusal to have sex on weeknights, and the way you’ll start laughing hysterically whenever you’re panicking, and bake obsessively when you’re upset, and dance around in your black lace underwear after we have ice cream, a-“

I blushed. “David, not in public, please.”

He laughed. “I was wondering when you would stop me.”

I kicked him under the table as the waiter came by with our check.

-

swat this fly with a flyswatter, and give me a review folks.

-mishiema