Disloyalty

- oops -

Something had shifted, and I couldn't deny it. Yesterday had left its mark, a subtle but undeniable change in the air between Andrew and me. 

It wasn't monumental, barely even noticeable if I really thought about it, but still, something had clicked.

 It was like a crack had appeared in the wall I'd built around my feelings for him. A tiny, stubborn crack, but enough to make me question myself.

 Did I hate him a little less today? The very thought felt like betrayal. Of course, I still hated him—didn't I? That simmering tension between us, the years of rivalry, the constant power struggle... that wouldn't just evaporate, would it?

I got ready with more care than usual, taking my time. Today, I actually made an effort—something I hadn't done in a while.

 I put away my cowboy boots after the blisters they'd left me with and slipped on a pair of loafers I found at the back of my wardrobe. Practical and polished, just like the version of myself I unusually wanted to project today.

The streets were quiet as I drove through the city, early enough that the rush hadn't started yet. I pulled into the parking lot at work, my mind still buzzing from the morning's strange, unfamiliar calm. 

Cheryl, as usual, didn't bother with a greeting, but Andrew's customary pile of files waited on my desk. Strangely, they didn't irritate me as much as they usually did.

Could things actually be becoming... bearable?

The thought hit me harder than I expected, almost making me question my own sanity. Was I seriously allowing myself to find this place less soul-crushing? Or was I simply being too good to myself, letting my guard down when I knew I shouldn't? That sliver of calm from earlier now felt like a double-edged sword.

I worked my way through the sheets on my desk, tapping away at the keyboard, finishing a few things on my computer. It had been a productive morning—surprisingly so. I checked the clock. 11:30 AM. Time to hand the files over to Andrew.

I stood up, gathering the pile of documents. As I walked past Cheryl's desk, I noticed something odd—she wasn't there.

Strange. 

She was always glued to her station like a watchdog. But I didn't dwell on it. She was probably in the bathroom, not really my concern.

I reached his office and didn't bother knocking. It wasn't like I'd ever knocked before. I pushed open the double doors, fully prepared for the standard stoic Andrew Graham, glaring at me from behind his perfectly organized desk.

But what I saw?

Well, it wasn't that.

No, this was something else entirely, something I shouldn't have seen. Something I wished  I could unsee. If only I could rip my eyeballs out and throw them into a pit of flames. The sheer horror of it all froze me in place.

I dropped the stack of files. They hit the floor with a loud, echoing thud, the sound almost symbolic of my shattered expectations, This time it wasn't intentional.

Andrew's head snapped up from where it had been tipped back in his chair, his eyes wide, mouth slightly open in shock. 

My gaze, however, was fixed on something far more horrifying, Cheryl.

 I could tell it was her, despite the unfortunate positioning. Her head was moving in a place it had no business being—right between Andrew's legs, moving up and down in a way that left no room for ambiguity.