In the spider's web

Chapter 14

Since that night, I never let my guard down around Jim. I spent my days working and annoying him every chance I got. But as days turned into weeks, I felt myself slowly coming undone. Was my great revenge against my family's murderer, my legacy, really going to be annoyance?
I grew more irritated and frustrated by the day, and so did he. His mood swings these days were enough to give you a whiplash. But he held his end of the deal, and so did I.

At night, I found myself crying and screaming into my pillows. The loneliness had returned. The sense of purpose I had had was now gone, vanished, and in its wake was the gaping wound, that had never healed since my family passed away.
In those cold, lonely nights I often fantasied about taking out the gun, I knew was locked away in my desk drawer, and removing myself from this mess, I had created. The thought of seeing my family again, of finally getting some peace, brought tears of joy to my eyes.
There was only one thing holding me back. The thought of him winning. Just imagining that smug face of his, if he found out I had killed myself, was enough to keep me going. I was miserable, but at least I made sure, he was too.

....

Exactly four weeks after we had begun working together, everything changed. It was a regular Monday and the clock had just struck noon. I had left Jim's office to fetch a cup of coffee from the kitchen, and as I neared my dreaded workspace again, I heard the very last bit of a telephone call.

"...yes mother. Bye."

I stopped dead in my tracks. Mother. I barged into the room, dropping the cup to the floor.

"Tell me that wasn't just your mother on the phone," It sounded more like an accusation than a question.

"Frankly Clara, I don't see how that's any of your business" Jim shrugged, and turned his attention towards a stack of files on his desk.

My anger flared up, and I took a few angry strides towards him.

"It is my business Jim, because you don't get to have a family. Not after everything you've done. It's not right."

He threw his hands up in the air.

"So your mommy and daddy died. People die. Get over it Clara. To be honest, I really can't be bothered with your drama anymore."

"Drama? More like trauma! I watched my entire family burn to death in an explosion you made possible. Nothing but burned bones was left of them. I had to plan eight funerals! Eight! Can you even fathom what something like that does to a person?"

I sat down in the chair in front of his desk, and buried my face in my hands.

"Of course you can't, because you don't actually feel anything do you? I have to hand it to you though, you're a good actor, but the only real emotions you are capable of experiencing are a twisted sense of satisfaction, rage and boredom...right?"

I stood up and starred right into his darkened eyes, as I continued.

"Your emotional register doesn't even equal that of a dog. What happened Jim? Hm? Did mommy not like your drawings, when you were little? Did daddy never tell you, he was proud of you?"

That really did the trick. He immediately pulled out a handgun from his shoulder holster, switched off the safety, and pointed the barrel of the gun directly at my face. With his tensed muscles, clenched jaws and wild, black eyes, you could tell he was furious.

"Oh, looks like I struck a nerve!"

I took a couple of quick strides forward, stopping a few feet away from him. My anger, frustration and hopelessness reached new highs, as I grabbed the barrel of the gun, and pressed it to my forehead.