Breaking the Mould

Rachel

A hot shower in the morning is the nicest way to wake up. I stand under the powerful stream and just let the water pound into my shoulders. It’s five am and I don’t have to leave for nearly two hours, but it’s so worth waking up early just to shower.

Flicking the water off and wrapping a towel around myself, I step out of the shower. The bathroom is full of steam and the mirror is completely obscured by it. Tonight is the social event for the company and with it being Wednesday; it is the most ridiculous day to have an evening party. My dress is already in its plastic dry cleaning bag with the shoes around the hanger. It’s black with a halter neck – absolutely gorgeous but cost a packet. Half the office get completely trollied at these annual events and the other half end up leaving early with their noses up in the air at the drunken dancing that occurs by about nine o’clock. Last year’s photos are still up on the notice board and though I wasn’t here, it looks like it was a good night. There’s also a photocopy of an arse with a thong with a large question mark on it. The disturbing thing is that it looks like that particular derriere belongs to a man!

I open my wardrobe and grab a black skirt and white blouse. I hate dressing for work; the clothes are so plain and it’s not like I can come in wearing a banana yellow top and blue skirt. Not that I would, I’m just saying, there’s a complete lack of colour in a work wardrobe. My phone buzzes on my bedside table and I look over at it in total confusion. Who the heck would be texting at this time of day?

I glance at the clock and see that it’s only ten after five, so dropping my towel and striding naked across the room I pick the phone up:

OMG did you see the guest list for tonight?! Can’t w8 2 show you at work!! A xx

Typical; only Anne would be up this early to do her CTM routine – cleanse, tone & moisturise. I throw the phone on the bed and switch the news on, getting dried and dressed for work. The cats are contentedly asleep on the sofa as I leave the house, travel mug full of tea in hand. Walking to work sucks most days, but it does allow time to think. Sometimes, this is a very bad thing as I end up dwelling on where I was a year ago, or five years ago, or where I wanted to be by this year. It’s not particularly productive, I’ll tell you that. I don’t want to think about last year, or the year before. I’m generally all about what’s to come. Mind you, if I had the power of foresight I’d find it easier.

I walk past a couple of shops with lurid pink displays and see that they are advertising Mothers Day, which is in two weeks. Ooh I must get a gift sorted for my mum. Not living at home of course has its advantages but at the same time I do miss just sitting and jabbering away to my mum of an evening.

I’m first in the office today, which makes a change. Usually The Boss’s Pet is in first to open up. I have rather an overactive imagination and so being in a darkened office makes me wonder if there are murderers, paedophiles or the very worst – monsters – lurking in the shadows. I bang on all the lights and switch the heaters on, shivering. God, the temperature in this office in the morning could make my nipples cut glass. Adjusting the heater so it hits directly at my desk, I wander over to the window next to my desk, pressing my face on the cool glass.

There are windows that span almost a whole wall of the office and as we’re on the fourth floor the view over West London is pretty much the nicest view you can get for an office. Of course, you can’t see the Thames or Tower Bridge or anything, but you can see all over Acton, Gunnersbury and most of Chiswick. The skyline looks like all soupy; as if I could just scoop up the haze of pollution with a spoon. Heathrow is directly ahead of me, and planes are taking off in all kinds of directions. I always look at the planes, squinting to see the airline stamped on the side. I wish I knew where they were going, even more that I wish I could go too. I desperately need a holiday; it’s been about five years since the last one.

The office door nudges open, making me leap out of my skin and bang my forehead against the window, and a very dishevelled Office Hotty stumbles into the room. I’m a little surprised, given that there’s still an hour to go before work starts and he’s usually impeccably dressed. I watch as he takes off his coat and sits at his desk, resting his head on the cold wood. I don’t actually think he’s seen me standing there and I try not to giggle – I know I’m about to frighten him.

‘Hi,’ I say softly. He in turn, jumps out of his skin, almost upending the cup of water on his desk.

‘Holy shit, Rach you scared the hell out of me,’ Office Hotty says, sitting straight and looking toward where he thinks I’m standing. He looks awful – his hair is matted, eyes with massive black bags under them. Definitely hung over, either that or he’s been in a punch up and now has two black eyes.

‘Good night last night?’ I smirk, wheeling a chair over to the side of his desk. He groans in response and puts his head back on the desk.

Anne and I have been perving over Office Hotty ever since we both started at Hell. The only good looking man in the office, he is one of the Saffa lot and he has the most fantastic belt collection. The only problem is you can’t tell him you’re admiring his belt as it definitively looks as if you’re spending time staring at his crotch. Which we usually are, but that’s not the point really!

‘So what did you do last night?’ I ask leaning my elbows on his desk. I’m half wishing he doesn’t tell me he met some hot, leggy blonde and that was what he was ‘’doing’’ last night. Office Hotty looks at me bleary eyed and coughs.

‘I think there was a bar, I know there was beer. My kitchen isn’t there anymore because I drank it. And no medicine in the world is ever going to shift this headache!’

I frown at him. Looks like an avenue for gossip right here.

‘Why did you try and drink you’re body weight in alcohol? What happened?’ I ask him this gently. I don’t know Office Hotty all that well, but you don’t know until you ask, right?

‘Dumped. Ended. Over. Finished...’

‘I get it I get it; you split with your girlfriend then?’ I stop him before he gives me every word under the sun for being dumped. I’m also not the best person to talk to about lost loves at the moment.

‘It’s just so hard,’ I see his eyes welling up. ‘He was the best thing that ever happened to me!’

I pat him on the shoulder, understanding blooming in the little gap near my heart that’s been there since Robert and I split up.

‘I know it’s hard, I can promise it does get ea – wait – he!?’ I stop mid-pat, looking at him with a horrified look on my face. I quickly mask it with a look of confusion. Inside I’m screaming NO!!!!!!

Office Hotty rubbed a hand childishly across his nose and looked at me, nodding.

‘Daniel. My best friend. I thought he was my soul mate. We had been together almost three months! I can’t believe he decided to end things. Why does this always happen when I sleep with someone new?’ Office Hotty began to sob. Loudly. Tears splashed his collar and I slowly hand him a wad of tissues from the box on his desk.

I sat, dumbstruck in my chair, staring. Office Hotty. Gay. The two phrases just didn’t match in my head – this was the hottest man in the office. The tall, handsome and funny man who came over and brightened my day was gay. My tummy was going to fall out of my arse; my heart was going to burst out of my chest. Then it hit me: what the hell is Anne going to say!? She had been itching to land him since he started in the office. This was not going to go down well.