Suspect Heroes Chapter One
John sits proudly at his desk as his first day begins. He is unsure of what to do, who to talk to and whether he should already know these things or not. One thing for sure, it feels cool to have a desk. Graham, his new Boss, thus far, seems excellent. His face is one of consistent glee- not once has John seen Graham’s mouth droop towards unfulfillment. Traditionally, John is wary of these sorts. The ‘perma cheerfuls’. A fundamental lack of trust has plagued his life, losing his wife and many close friends in the process. A relentless fear of disguised motives. He sensed something different in Graham though, his eyes sparkled with genuine intrigue. John, now in his early thirties, felt his paranoid days were behind him. Finally, he had found someone he could work for out of respect and not simply an obligation.
“You getting on alright, aye?” Said a yet to be known colleague.
“Aye, man, not bad, just a bit tricky getting used to the software but should be….”
“John! My main man. Ignore Luke. He is a troublemaker. A real fucking panty sniffer.” Graham interrupts.
John freezes. Unsure whether to laugh or cut all ties with this newly founded pervert. A shake of the head and a smile sufficed. A quick move of the mouse and a perplexed expression dampened the social etiquette. John was pleased with his characterisation so far. Aye, he is up for a joke, but then BOOM, right back to pretending to work. “Did Luke ever actually sniff a pair of pants?” rummaged around his brain. How does one garner that sort of reputation?
“Oh Graham, sorry I forgot to say. I noticed we’ve started selling GH-5s. Coincidentally I did my….”
“Will you be looking to book any holidays come August, John?” Graham interrupts with a smile despite the implied worry attached to the question.
“Em, not sure, Boss. Still quite a while away.” John laughs. Silence. He is just busy, John ponders. Busy and stressed. Brownie points can wait until lunch.
If I leave the office and go get lunch, will I definitely come back? Surely John, JOHN, you will come back. You’re doing well thus far, not spoken much, but you are working. Graham probably likes you, maybe even sees potential in you. I wish I could throw my brain into a train, watch my insecurities manifest somewhere else for a bit whilst the bod, the glorious bod, takes over.
The workday is almost over. It has gone well. John cannot say so yet, but deep down, he knows there are no complaints. However, a colleague did see him drying his sweat marks with the hand drier in the bathroom, but it was such an awkward encounter that all involved would be forced to keep quiet. The man knows what John is doing; it is beside the point, whether he has done it himself before. This mutual awareness of the facade, the ever allusive desperate tranquillity, allows the memory to fade.
A catalogue titled “GH-5” sang to John in the distance. Tunnel vision as approval is only a few steps away. He gets up from his desk, picks up the catalogue and notices Graham sitting in his office. A black tailored suit, a white shirt buttoned almost to the top, and a loosely tied tie. How approachable. An attire suited for GH-5 chat or, if he wants, the suit may rope out the story of John’s divorce. The massive cock John found on his wife’s phone fills his eyes, or instead, thirds his sight. Massive cock, GH-5 catalogue, Graham’s face.
“Hey John, I’m just heading out; what can I do for you?”
“Aw, sorry, boss, I was just going to say that I did my dissertation on the GH-5 prototype and….”
“Yes, I fucking know that! I remember John. Well done. I remembered when you tried to shoehorn that into our conversation earlier on. Once again, a big fucking well done. Do you want to know what I did my dissertation on? Do you? Because I don’t. I don’t fucking remember that shit. Do you know why? It is done. I got my grade, and I moved on. I am not, and will not, be impressed with your petty bullshit uni career. No one here will care either, John. Don’t even think of bringing it up casually whilst trying to avoid staring at Tracy’s tits! Move on. Good day.”
Graham took a big deep breath as the veins sunk back into his head. He storms by John, leaving him alone in the office.
You suck in that water rising in your eyes, John. Do whatever it takes. It didn’t happen, it didn’t happen, it didn’t happen, it didn’t happen.
John envokes his inner Daniel Day-Lewis and manages to escape the building without so much as a blink. He gets in the back of his uber, laughing to himself as he dreams he’s just been fired from The Apprentice. It would be easier if he was fired, and he could flip off Alan Sugar when he sees him on TV, the simplest of revenge. But here, in real life, John has to meet his master the very next day with a huge smile and a demented disposition.