Unbreakable smile

Chapter 3

Feliciano forces himself to the office, because it's not the Badger and he's, hopefully, still not on the blacklist. His brain pounds and his eyelids seems glued together. Maybe he can pry them open with tape.

Feliciano drags himself towards his desk and flops into the ergonomic chair. Takes a deep breath. Forces his eyes open. A pink post-it greets him, stuck on his old Dell computer. Feliciano peels it off and reads the neat handwriting three times. He might have nicked a sandwich from the fridge, which may or may not had Gösta's name on it. But it contained rostbiff. If you leave a rostbiff anything in the fridge, you'll have to suit yourself.

He saunters towards his boss office, knocks once for good measure and opens the door. The room is as cramped as the last time he poked his head in, full of important papers and drawings of stick figures. Gösta slumps on his chair, the pudgy face frowning at the computer as if it's coming with an unreasonable request.

"Are you breaking up with me?" Feliciano asks.

The gaze snapps towards him, with the confused apprehension usually directed at Feliciano.

"What are you on about?"

"We need to talk?"

Feliciano waves the post it while he leans against the door frame. Wait, hold up, he's crossing his arms - better to let them hang loose - there we go. First law of body language, don't cross anything. His boss glances at the piece of paper and sighs.

"Listen kid. It's nothing personal. But we are in a bit of a pickle."

Cazzo. He didn't think it'd happen so soon. Feliciano should have seen it coming, should have planed for it instead of fucking around with Blade.

"The city hall is a government facility. It represent this community." Gösta shifts in the chair, glancing at the computer. "We received some... concerns. The higher ups don't feel that it's quite proper for us to..."

"Keep employing me?"

Gösta fiddles with a stapler.

"Look, this is still new. We need the public to calm down. All I'm saying is, take a vacation."

Wait, hold up.

"A vacation?"

Gösta shrugs.

"A sick leave. A sabbatical. A career break."

He thinks of the promise he made when he took Jamie to this shithole. To this place where they care more about who your parents are than about your actual credentials. Don't worry tesoro. I got you.

His brain throbs and his eyes are heavy. Feliciano should have prepared for this, instead of losing sleep over people who aren't contributing to his household. Stupid. Pathetic. Some breadwinner he is. 

"Well, I got some vacation days left." Really? That's his response? The Feliciano of yesterday was right, he really need to gets his shit together. 

Gösta shuffles papers.

"We don't know how things will turn out. I'm just saying, don't get your hopes up."

A drawing hangs on the opposite wall. It's full of green swirls, something that might be a prehistoric tiger and a crooked stick figure. Somewhere out there someone's biggest challenge is to fit as many swirls as possible on a sheet of paper. He wishes he was five again, even if five year old Feliciano already had much bigger concerns than that. 

Feliciano returns to his desk - no, not his desk, but to the desk that's formerly known as the place where he planned great schemes. He puts on his coat, shoulders his bag, cradles the tiny succulent Jaime gave him for Christmas and leaves the only place he's worked at that doesn't have his family name in the logo.