There must be some sort of balance in this world, he thought. Half of his belongings was about her. Or because of her. The giant whiteboard that took up too much room, the row of little Russian dolls that disappeared into one another, even the orthopedic foam mattress he got because she said sleeping on it was like sleeping on clouds.

How the hell would she know how sleeping on clouds felt like?

Everything she had said sounded stupid now, and over the top. He wanted to hit himself. He heard her yesterday, talking about him, not knowing he was there. The words she used, they stung like actual little wasps he wasn’t sure they were only in his mind.

“He has no taste. No taste at all.”

He didn’t have a clue she thought about him that way. Other words had been said. Painful words. Words you would use to trash someone you really didn’t like. Words you would use with friends, to talk about stupid office mates.

What does one do at a time like this? He felt like the poster boy for all things loserly. It’d all be cool if he didn’t really like this girl. If he didn’t think they had that little special something going on. Not romantically, no, just plain old.. friendship, the good kind. The kind they write books about. Like Sherlock and Watson.  

He returned to his desk like an automaton. His arms felt like lead and his feet—he couldn’t even feel his feet any more. Suddenly, quite suddenly, in the middle of this bustling office hubbub he felt like crying. Oh, but crying doesn’t do much for him, not really.

His seat mate, the guy with the dredds, began looking at him strangely.

“Hey, Dame, you okay?”

Dame, I’m a dame. My name is Damien, get it right, fool, he thought.

“What’s wrong?”

He snapped. “Leave me alone.” He gathered his things in a neat pile on his desk. He grabbed his keys and his bag and turned to leave.

Ride in the elevator felt like hell. He kicked the air then wondered how that would look like in the security cameras the building’s got installed around here. When he got to his car he felt like doing something stupid.

He knew her car. Of course, he did. She had asked him all sorts of things about car maintenance and brake fluids and driving styles. He doesn’t understand if all that had been an act. She looked sincere. Well, it was car talk, how insincere can you get talking about cars?

He drove around the parking lot. There’d been news about how there was this deranged guy going around ramming into cars, leaving no card. The owners would find out after work, before they get in, that they’d been hit. Where was the security? Unfortunately they thought co-building tenants can live in peace together.

Oh, I can live in peace, he thought. He spotted the pretentious little pastel purple Suzuki parked near a corner. It had little pink decals of unicorns and my little bloody pony he wanted to rip them out before doing what he had set out to do.

There was no time, though. The office people were going to start going home. But right now, there was not a soul in the parking lot.

It was time to put some balance back in the universe. He floored the gas.