CtrlC, CtrlV. CtrlC, CtrlV. #9
“Thank you.” I glance at him flirtatiously, but he still has such a look on his face that it makes me feel sick to look at him.
What bit him?
What do you mean? His level of orgasmic hormones has dropped, and he is back to being himself—the boorish Jan.
And what were you hoping for, girl? That you would give him a swallow-up blowjob, and he would turn into a prince on a white horse?
Oh, Maria, such things only happen in American romantic comedies and Harlequin romances.
I step outside and a blast of cold air hits me. God, the wind is pretty bad. Snow up to my ankles, whiteness everywhere and still coming down.
I pull out a pack of cigarettes from my jacket pocket and give one to Jan.
“You first,” he says.
He doesn’t have to say it twice. I want a smoke to die for. I pull out a cig, fire it up and inhale, almost hitting my diaphragm.
Oh, how good. The first drag is the best. The second one would probably be great, too, but unfortunately, I’m not given a taste of it because Jan takes the cigarette from me and puts it in his mouth.
I watch him squint his eyelids as the smoke enters his eye, then take a drag, hold the smoke and let it out through his nose.
Oh, my. He can even smoke sexy.
“Not good,” he states. After a moment, he inhales again and tilts his head back, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
“I can see how bad you think it is,” I snort, pulling a new cigarette out of the pack and lighting it up.
“I’m leading you down the wrong path. Ten years of abstinence, and you’re falling off the wagon.
And this on a day when people are trying to stay in check.
You know what they say: as Christmas Eve goes, so goes the whole year. ”
“I don’t believe in superstitions.” Jan looks at me, and I see a shadow in his eyes. “But this one just seems to work.”
“Not really.” I let out a puff of smoke. “If it worked, the entire year would have brought arguments with my parents and getting drunk unconscious on the couch. And I only spent half of it that way.” I laugh; however, he is still serious.
He looks at me and takes a drag on his cigarette. It’s maddening to me what’s in that head of his.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
“About you.”
How nice.
“And what did you come up with?” I take a drag.
“That I have to fire you.”
I start choking on the smoke.
“What,” I cough. “You can’t be serious?”
“And how do you imagine it going forward?”
“Easy.” I clear my throat. I have a bad taste in my mouth. “As before.”
Jan lifts his eyebrows.
“Do you really think that after I took you from behind, under the window, in the office… After I fucked you hard in your sexy mouth, in the corridor, in the office… After I fucked your tight pussy with my tongue, also in the corridor, in the office, we will be able to work normally, day after day, for a minimum of eight hours each, in the same damn office?”
God, what is with him and the office? I understand it all, but there’s no need to be so blunt. I bite the inside of my cheek because besides knowing what Jan means, I also have to admit that he is right. Nothing will ever be normal again. Everything is fucked-up.
“But you can’t fire me because of that.”
“I didn’t mean a radical dismissal.” He frowns, as if thinking about something. He looks serious now, mature. He inhales, lets the smoke out and watches it rise higher and higher among the billowing snowflakes.
“Meaning? What exactly did you mean?”
He picks up my gaze.
“I can no longer be your direct supervisor, Maria.” His voice sounds almost like he regrets it. “After Christmas, I will recommend your candidacy to the head of the R&D department. Just as you wanted.”
I feel a stab between my ribs. Just two months ago, I would have jumped with joy and applauded.
But I am not at all cheerful. The R&D department is on the second floor, ours on the thirty-third, and that means I won’t be seeing Jan at all.
Given the way my boss (soon to be ex) works, the chances that I will see him again at all are slim.
Well, unless I make trips to the financial branch to consult on some pressing matters.
I am pulled from my thoughts by the sound of a horn. A passing cab driver does a facepalm, seeing some drunk staggering by the curb. Only now do I notice that the street is empty, oddly quiet and peaceful. Strange, after all, as we are almost in the center of the city.
I look at the dark windows of the deserted office buildings. And suddenly a light goes off in my head
Holy crap, Christmas Eve at my parents’ house! I’m patting down my jacket looking for my phone, but I only have cigarettes, a lighter, and gum in my pockets.
“What time is it?” I ask Jan.
He puts the cigarette in his mouth, lifts his hand, pulls up the cuff of his shirt and, squinting from the smoke, looks at his watch.
“Seven twenty-three.”
“Oh fuck.” I throw the cigarette on the ground and rush to the door.
Damn it! I’m late.
I run like a bat out of hell into the hall.
The warm air makes me hot. In a wild rush, I decide to jump over the gate because I obviously don’t have my fucking card with me, and then the voice of reason screams, you’ll kill yourself, you’re wearing a skirt!
I ignore it. I’m already getting ready to throw my leg over the bar when I hear Jan’s voice behind me:
“Hold your horses, Maria.” He walks towards me calmly and lazily removes the card from his pants while I’m fidgeting as if I want to pee.
“Well hurry up, for God’s sake,” I hiss.
Jan places the card on the scanner, and as soon as the lever drops, I squeeze through the gate and then move ahead as if shot out of a catapult.
The clatter of my heels drowns out the beating of my heart, and the sound of Oh Come All Ye Faithful, coming from the reception, accompanies my quick steps.
I rush past the Christmas tree, on which huge baubles are hanging and lights are twinkling, then in a few steps I cross the hallway, reach the elevator and press the button on the panel.
“May I know why you are in such a hurry?” Jan stands beside me and slips his hands into his pockets.
Sure, chill out, you slacker. All he needs to do is start rocking on the balls of his feet.
“You may not have noticed, but it’s Christmas Eve today,” I remind him, staring at the door, which slides open slowly, as if full of Christmas goodies.
“Anyone waiting for you?”
His question causes an unpleasant pressure in my throat.
Waiting? Good grief. I’m sure the whole family has started without me.
They’re probably already gobbling mushroom soup and grumbling that Maria, the big corporate lady, is late again.
The career has gone to her head! And she earns only peanuts there.
In fact, I don’t have the faintest idea why I’m even in a hurry to go to this fucking Christmas Eve supper.
After all, I don’t have the slightest desire to see them, eat supper with them, give each other unwanted gifts and pretend we’re a happy family.
I am torn apart, totally conflicted with myself.
But some strong inner compulsion tells me to spend this evening with them. “Why? God only knows.”
As if on cue, a voice reminiscent of a priest’s sermon from the pulpit rings in my head:
Because it’s tradition.
Because it’s a family holiday.
Because it’s the time to forgive.
Because it is the time of love, peace and unity.
Christ Almighty. Shut up, damn preacher, because I’m ready to puke.
One day a year and what, suddenly everything will change as if by some magic wand? I’m supposed to just forget all the snide remarks, sour faces, lectures I’ve experienced for the entire year, throughout my damn life?
Didn’t Jesus teach, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself?” Today is the eve of His birth, when one should take His wise words to heart even more strongly.
Meanwhile, my parents care for Jesus’s commandment of love just as strongly as they care that there are fifteen pits in the dried plum compote instead of five.
They never loved me. I never felt that I was important to them. I was always a Maria who wasn’t as successful as her brother was.
I feel a horrible pain between my ribs. I would gladly trash this Christmas and show them that I don’t need them for anything.
They gave me life, raised me in their twisted, judgmental way, and that’s where their role as parents ended. So, why don’t I just ignore them?
Because I’m just a coward who fears further moralizing comments. I know they’ll spew them anyway, regardless of whether I am an hour or an hour and a half late, but at least I won’t have to listen for the next year that I didn’t bother to bring my dear ass to the Christmas Eve gathering.
Good. I’ll go there for the sake of sanity, have dinner and get home as soon as possible. Fortunately, I missed the beginning. There’s nothing more off-putting than fake wishes and insincere kisses, and on a day like this.
“Let’s say someone is waiting,” I reply to Jan and enter the elevator. “How about you?”
A grimace flashes across his face, as if he got a carp bone stuck in his throat.
“Have you finished the report?” he changes the subject. I think I hit a sensitive spot.
“The one that was completing itself while you were fucking me?” I respond, as if this was a joke.
But Jan is not smiling. Not even a corner of his mouth twitches, not even an eyelid blinks.
“You said it would be ready today. I’m counting on you to keep your word,” he declares with his relentless boss tone and pushes a button on the panel.
My eyes get big as saucers. Good Lord, he’s not kidding. What a dork!
“Are you serious?”
“And am I giving you the impression that I am not?”
The number 33 is displayed on the illuminated dial. The elevator moves up, and I feel like strangling this fucker with my bare hands.
“Jan, it’s not even an option for me to finish it today. I’m going to my family for Christmas Eve. The report is almost ready, I just need to add some charts.”