The thin line [Complete]

Chapter 1

Kong's POV

269. That's it. Just 269 more days before this torture is officially over. 269 more days is all I have to bear. 269 days of trying to not pull out my luscious, gorgeous hair. 269 more days of not plotting a particular person's brutal murder. 269 more days before I can finally stop fantasizing about stray pianos falling down the sky right on top of him.

Oh God, I am so not surviving 269 more days.

Let me start at the beginning of my sob story. But be prepared, it definitely is a tear jerker.

A little over two years ago along with my crisp, fancy new degree, fresh of the printing press, I joined my father's company in the finance department at an entry level position all determined to prove my worth before climbing up the corporate ladder. Which lasted all of three weeks. Cause then I had my first meeting with him.

The head of product design and development team and overall the star of our company. And since no one from my department ever wanted to tell the superstar about budget restrictions, they happily sent the newbie CEO's son right into the lion's den. For two straight years now we have constantly butted our heads and I have basically exhausted my supply of curses I can mutter towards him. In fact on the weekends I have actually taken up learning cuss words in different languages. But there aren't enough words let alone languages on this planet to describe the pure evilness oozing out from him.

Where was I? Yeah, two years of weekly tortures of meeting with him where Mr. Einstein would come up with some insane proposal and me, the rookie, would be left to deal with him. And then three months ago someone decided that the nightmare I was living through for an hour every week was simply not enough, and that someone from the finance department needed to move to product development for a year while the new product was under manufacturing. What is even more unbelievable that my best friend May actually volunteered to move departments with me. Volunteered. Can you even imagine how insane that sounds? Now I don't have to control my intense anger one hour on Friday mornings. I have to do it every freaking day. All the freaking time. And call him boss in the process.

269 freaking days more till we finally reach the deadline!

I should have known this year wasn't going to be easy, but I didn't expect that 13 weeks in I would already have a huge calendar pasted in my bedroom, religiously crossing out one day after another. Should have guessed though, when the minute I stepped into the department he greeted me with an enormously flashy grin, holding a large roll of yellow duct tape that immediately made a shiver run down my spine. Pure evil, I tell ya.

Apparently, in one corner of the production floor was his precious prototype developing machine that no one was allowed to go near without his permission. So as a welcome gift to me he made a 5ft wide yellow boundary around the machine and if anyone crosses it even by mistake gets a not so pleasant punishment from him. And then very gallantly he placed my table exactly 6ft away. Which meant that atleast 5 times a day for three months he has been shouting across the room every time even my pinky crosses that fucking stupid yellow duct tape.

And I swear he stays up every night to come up with new 'punishments' for me. Like once he made me do a coffee run for the entire department, with specialized orders for each of them. There are bloody 83 people in this freaking department. Or like this one time he barred me from using the calculator the entire day. I had so many numbers running around in my head that day that I swear I was mumbling long division in my sleep. And that is nothing to say about the number of times I have needed to stay way past any reasonable hour to actually manage to do the work that I get paid to do.

I really wish this was the extent to his torture. In fact the more I defied him the pettier he got. Case in point, yesterday he had changed the ink refill in all my pens into pink glittery ones. No worries. All his budget rejections will atleast now look very cute.

But c'mon, I am a grown ass man. He is a grown ass man. I should not have to go through bullying just cause someone has decided to cement their dislike for me for no obvious reason at all. Sure I deny him pretty much any money he asks for, but that is my freaking job. And in any normal situation I would have marched right up to his boss complaining about down right abuse of power. Except his boss also happens to be my father. So I really don't think that card is going to have too much weight, especially when every dinner I sit down with dad since years has my dad singing his non-stop praises. And here I used to idolize my father thinking he had brilliant insight about life. Turns out he is just a terrible, terrible judge of character. Actually, so is the rest of the company. I swear, the lot of them need to get their head checked.

I let out an exaggerated sigh as I shut the last file for the day. 268 more days to go. I can do this. I can survive. They are all harmless, annoying pranks. Nothing to get worked up about. If he wants to be childish then that's his problem. I am going to be the bigger man. And count down to 268 with all my might.

It was close to 11 when I finally got up from my chair and jumped over my table, since that was pretty much the only way to avoid stepping over the yellow border and made my way towards the exit where he was still sitting there pouring over some papers. The last soul still wavering on this deserted floor.

"Leaving already?"

"Yup."

"Have a good night then."

I just snorted in return to his broad smile, which was a far cry from being pleasant. Good night my foot. I can't remember the last night that wasn't remotely miserable since he has stepped into my life. Ignore it Kong. Simply ignore all of it. Don't get worked up. It's not good for your health.

I drudged my way to my bike, thanking the stars that today was a Friday and that atleast I wouldn't have to see his face for two more days. All I needed to think of was what language I wanted to explore this weekend. So I absent mindedly took my helmet and placed it on my head when I suddenly felt cold, wet, mush all over my head and the sides of my face. I was momentarily stunned at the alien feeling before the ketchup in my helmet slowly started trickling down my face and neck.

This fucking does it!

No more Mr. Nice Guy. If it is war that he wants then that is exactly what he is going to get. It is high time he realizes he messed with the wrong man. Let the games begin.