Easy As Feeling Very Sick.
by Angharad
part: 361

I’d just come back to my office to get my coat and bag, when the door was roughly pushed open and I was shoved into my desk.

“Just what do you think you are doing?” I was angry and frightened at the same time, he, the security guard was so much bigger than me.

“You stuck up cow! I’ve laid my life on the line for this friggin’ country, seen my mates killed by the friggin’ taliban, for what? So some stuck up bitch like you can lord it over me? And what have you ever done, except drop yer bleedin’ knickers for some rich bastard? You make me sick, bleedin’ parasites, the lot of you.”

I was leaning back against my desk, wondering what he would do next and how I might try and counter it. I had to remain calm, or it would excite him even more.

“As far as I know I have done nothing to you. It was you who started the insults and innuendo, why?”

“Because I can see you are a stuck up cow.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Pushin’ yer bleedin’ bike through the college, everyone else locks theirs up outside in the bike locker. But no, you ‘ave t’ bring it into yer bloody office. That pisses me off. One rule for the peasants, one for the toffs.”

“I see. I got permission to bring my bike into my office. It cost me a lot of money when I had very little. I am very fond of it.”

“I bet yer ‘usband, Little Lord Fauntleroy, bought it f’yer.”

“I had that bike before I met Simon. I bought it with my student loan. I only used to eat once a day to save money.”

“Go on, yer don’t expect me to believe that do you?”

“I don’t give a tinker’s toss if you believe me or not, it happens to be the truth–something you wouldn’t recognise if it perched on your leg and bit you on your dick. Now, I think you’d better remove both yourself and your prejudice from my office before I call the police.”

“If you say anything to anyone about this, including Sugar-Daddy Agnew, you’re dead meat, you got that? An’ yer fancy kick fightin’ won’t save yer, I could kill you in under a minute, probably less than that–that’s how long it took me to kill one of Saddam’s elite, an’ ‘e ‘ad a gun. These did for ’im though.” He extended his hands and I squeezed myself back against my desk. My hand closed on my paper knife, not a very effective weapon but better than nothing.

“If ever you come near me again, you moronic cretin, I’ll have you hanged drawn and quartered. Now get out of my office! NOW!” I screamed at him and my hand clutched at the knife.

“Is there a problem?” asked Neal poking his head around my door.

The gorilla like security guard pointed at his nose and sneered at me as he left. Neal looked at me and I dissolved in tears, at which he came over and hugged me. I wept on his shoulder.

“Was he trying something on?”

“Yes and no. He doesn’t like me because I bring my bike into my office.”

“That’s his tough shit, and none of his business. I think you ought to complain, the noise I heard, I thought he was trying to rape you.”

“No, I don’t think I’m his type, too stuck up apparently.”

“Bloody idiot if he can’t recognise a beautiful woman from Blutack.”

I looked curiously at him, ‘Blutack’ I mouthed.

“Yeah, stuck up, sorry it was a bad joke.”

Now I saw it and began to laugh, the relief flooded through me and I laughed like some demented banshee.

“I didn’t think it was that funny,” said Neal.

“It isn’t,” but I couldn’t stop laughing, not until I got hiccups and they made me feel silly, which started me off again.

“I think you should report this to someone, I’m your witness.”

“What did you see or hear, Neal? Nothing except me shouting at him to leave. It would be his word against mine. But if ever you see him near me again, please come quickly.”

“Of course I will.”

“Thanks, you’re a real friend.” I pecked him on the cheek.

Blushing, he said, “That’s all I can be, Simon got there first and I respect your relationship.”

I felt my mouth drop open and I gasped–he fancied me, my God. Was that the problem with the other guy, did he fancy me too but felt I was unattainable? Or did he just resent everything I stood for, from cycling to ‘Free Tibet’? I didn’t know nor did I want to. I wanted nothing more than to avoid any contact whatsoever with that oaf.

“Was he in the army?” Curiosity got the better of me.

“Para’s I think, at Basra or was it Afghanistan?” Neal scratched his chin. “He did mention it once when he was chatting about his war exploits. I was on the periphery of the group and wasn’t really listening, he sounded like something out of a John Wayne movie.”

“I’m going home, thanks again, Neal.”

“Any time, Cathy.” He winked at me and left.

I turned around to face my desk, the plastic handle on the paper knife was broken and my hand had been bleeding a little. There were a few drops of dark red on my blotter, I folded up a tissue and held it in the palm of my hand, which was now hurting. If he had come at me, would I have stabbed him? I didn’t know and besides he might have been so quick, I wouldn’t have had time to react. I could be dead now.

My hand was hurting even more and I was beginning to shake and felt sick. I went to the loos and heaved up my lunch, then had to sit and deal with the nasty taste in my mouth while the diarrhoea lasted. I felt exhausted.

I managed to wash out my mouth and drank some water, I keep a bottle in the car. Then with tears in my eyes, I drove home