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My jaw clenches under the assumption he’s just hurled at me, but I keep packing quickly and furiously.
“I bet you to really hit it off during the interview, didn’t you?”
I don’t answer, knowing he’s nothing but a troll, and that under no circumstances do you feed them. I keep jamming stuff in my box, but I’m shaking.
Some of the other guys with Ben have begun to agree with Crewcut over there. And in a very cruel way, despite the peace and harmony vibe, they all go for. It’s fake, just like everything else on this floor.
“What you want to bet that Tommy, here, gave her a fucking?”
I’m not sure who says it, but I don’t care. I keep packing, though I’m beginning to see red and black around my vision. I’m beginning to feel hot, cold, and sweaty.
“I’d blow my whole wad on a bet that he gave her something more than just a good resume to get that job,” says another guy.
“Hey!” That’s Crewcut. Against my better judgment (my judgments not all that good right now, considering I’m feeling hot and dark all over), I look up at him. I look him in the eyes, and this is all he needs. He immediately goes on the attack, bringing the whole rest of the office in with him. “Hey, everybody! Tommy here has just landed himself the most important job! Yeah! The most important job, with the oldest boss in the entire company, the cougar chaser.” He says this with such sweet cruelty, I can’t believe he’s human. He’s more like a demon. “And I bet my money he got that job because of a favor.” He pauses and stands up taller so I can see him beginning to pantomime fucking. “I bet you gave good old Ms. Vanacore some good fucking for that good job, didn’t you, Tommy?”
I hear myself growling at him, but don’t say anything.
“We all know you did, fatty,” he says.
Some girl giggles. “He must have. He’s so fat, he is not good for anything else!”
I close my eyes, talking to the animal that’s waking up in me — the beast meshing its teeth, telling me to lash out and go on the prowl for these people, my job be damned. It’s not worth it, Tommy. I know you want to pound their heads in, slam their heads and faces against their monitors and cubicle walls, but that’s going to cost you too much. Ms. Vanacore’s faith in you, as well as any chance of working in the free world ever again. And forget about working in law. You’re going to need a lawyer if you do that.
Still, my monster growls. It demands a tribute or a sacrifice.
The Granola Gang — Ben and his crew — stare at me. For the first time ever, they actually looked terrified of me, and they should be. I’ve opened my eyes now and have put big x’s over each of their faces and others too.
“Admit it,” Crewcut bates. “You fucked her hard! You took all that old cunt could give you, didn’t you piggy?” He pantomimes me again, though I’m too livid to see it clearly. “Then you ate her out, just yummed all of her cum like a good little dumpster, didn’t you?”
I don’t answer. Somehow, I have enough of a brainstem left to grab my box and find my way toward the exit — toward release from this hellhole, before I become the archdemon of it all and go berserk on everybody.
“Didn’t you?!”
Somehow, I keep walking. Though I can still hear myself growling and puffing air like an angry, frothing boiler.
“He did! Told you!” Crewcut laughs. He cackles like the jackal he is. “Look at him! Look at him run!” He whoops. “Shake that fat ass, boy! It’s going to be putting in more work over Ms. Vanacore’s desk than that precious brain of yours!”
Right as I’m about to snap, drop my box of shit I actually don’t need and go pound Crewcut’s face in for shit I’m not going to take, I get slammed from behind. I don’t see by who or by how many. I just know I’m down on the ground, my box of belongings scattered and shattered against the ground.
“Get down on your knees, fatty!” Vaguely, my brain registers that its Crewcut. But it’s also someone else. A woman. She goes out of her way to step on some of my possessions.
“In the dumpster is where you belong,” she says. “You don’t belong here. You don’t belong anywhere, fatty. Getting promoted and rubbing it at all of our faces!”
In some part of my head, I wish for Vanacore. I pray she had kept her word to accompany me instead of sending me down here by myself. But I quickly lose that in favor of an insatiable desire to break the bitch’s legs. Break it off and shove it up her ass, and at this point, I’m scrambling to get to my feet. I’m scrambling to get after someone, anyone, as long as I can land a few punches on them. Even with as close to murder is I’ve ever come in my eyes, no one is afraid of me. They’re laughing at me, commenting on how lumbering and stupid I look, even when angry.
