After Hours

Ever since last year's Christmas party, my life at the office hasn't been the same.

The first few days after the "incident", as I've taken to calling it, I could barely bring myself to come into work at all. The following few weeks, I had tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible. I had to get used to the whispers whenever I frequented the ladies room, and the muffled laughter as I passed someone in the hall. I even grew used to the stares I received in the company breakroom.

A good piece of advice: never get too drunk at a company party, at least... not too drunk that you try and make out with your married boss, especially when his wife is sitting at the table beside him.

So, as you can probably guess, I wasn't filled with joy or excitement when I received the dreaded annual invite in my inbox. What I did feel was that all-too-familiar feeling of anxiety prickling at my stomach.

I let out a long breath through my lips, a technique I learned in my weekly therapy sessions. It did help. Somewhat.

"Are you alright, Trish?" That was Jessica, my coworker and one of the only friends I had left in the office.

I give her a reassuring smile, "Yeah, don't worry. Everything's fine."

She doesn't seem to buy it though, because the next second she's rolling her neon green swivel chair across the narrow hall and right into my cubicle.

"It's me, Trish. What is it?" she asks.

She doesn't even wait for a response, and instead leans over my shoulder to glance at my computer screen. When she sees the subject line of my most recent email, she winces sympathetically.

"Well..." she says, and I can see the gears turning in her head, trying to think of something positive to say. There isn't.

"Look, it doesn't really matter. I'm not going." I say, exiting my email with a loud click.

Jessica's brown eyes widen imperceptibly, as if she's really shocked that I would choose to avoid the chance to embarrass myself for a second time.

"But you have to go," she says, "what happened last year is old news. You can't just avoid every office party until you retire... or quit... whatever comes first. You have to face your fears at some point."

When I don't say a word, she shoves my shoulder.

"Quit it. I'm trying to work here." I say, shoving her back, "and why do you care, anyway?"

"Because," she whines, "I can't go to this party alone."

I roll my eyes, "Gee, thanks. Hey, why don't you ask Jeff to go with you?"

I can almost see the face she's making, even with my back turned. It's no secret that every woman in the office has a crush on Jeff Goodacre, the best consultant in our office. He has that perfect polished look about him; clean hair, shaven, crisp collar, great smile. He's clever and polite to a fault. Probably the best consultant in the whole damn company.

Sometimes he seemed just a little too perfect. But aside from Jess, he's the only one who's shown me any kind of compassion or civility since the incident last Christmas.

Jessica scoffs loudly, "as if he wouldn't already have a date. Or three." A sigh, "but... I guess a girl can dream."

It's now quarter past five, and most of my colleagues have already left for the day. Jessica pulls on her puffer jacket and her gloves, her long blonde hair draped over her shoulder.

"Are you coming?" she asks, pausing at my desk.

"No, I have to finish some of these reports first. I should be done within the hour."

She shrugs, and then blows me a little kiss, "get home safe."

"You too."

An hour goes by and the remaining few people working have long since left. Most of the lights on my floor have been shut off, and the glow from my computer screen now seems insanely bright in the relative darkness.

I'm always struck by how quiet it gets without all the regular chatter and work noise. The only sound that can be heard is the low hum of the air conditioning and the clicking from my keyboard.

A wave of exhaustion washes over me, and as I think about the forty-five minute drive ahead of me, I decide it's probably time to wrap up and head home. But first I need to use the restroom.

As I'm exiting the ladies room, I hear a sound coming from down the hall. It sounds like the staircase door being opened.

I step out of the little enclave where the restrooms are and peer down the dark hallway. It's empty. I worry for a moment that the tiredness is getting to me, but then I hear footsteps. Thud, thud, thud.

Someone else is definitely here.

I wait, listening. From the corner of my eye, I see a man walking through the row of cubicles. I catch sight of his face in the glow of my computer screen as he passes by my desk.

It's Jeff.

I breathe a sigh of relief, realizing that a small part of me worried it was an intruder.

I'm about to call out to him, let him know that I haven't just forgotten to shut down my computer for the day but was trying to finish up some work.

My voice falters when I notice the look on his face.

He's... smiling. But not a happy or even pleasant smile. It's mocking. Mean. And I know that I've become the office pariah this past year, but Jeff never saw me like the others did.

Or rather, I thought he didn't. Now I'm not too sure what to think. I watch in disbelief as he sits down at my desk and begins scrolling through my work. His shoulders are tense and his head is drawn low. His face contorts.

I can't help but jump when his fist comes crashing down on the keyboard. He begins muttering. Through a string of curse words, he mentions the party last year, our boss, my drinking. Calls me a tramp.

Instinctively I reach into my pocket to grab my keys, but my heart drops when I realize they're still sitting in my purse in the desk drawer, along with my jacket. Hopefully he doesn't notice them and realize I'm still here.

As if he can hear my thoughts, he spins around. I push myself flush against the wall, hoping he doesn't notice me. I hold my breath, blood pounding in my ears.

I've never felt this scared in my life. It's as if all the muscles in my body are wound like coils, just waiting to spring.

A few moments pass, and I hear the door to the staircase being opened again. I peek around the corner.

The office is empty. Jeff is gone.

I hurry back to my cubicle and collect my things, fingers fumbling to pull on my jacket as I head to the elevator. No way in hell am I taking the stairs.

I watch anxiously as the buttons light up on the elevator panel. Third floor, second floor, first floor... basement.

The elevator doors barely have a chance to open before I'm stepping off into the parking lot. A wave of relief washes over me when I spot my green Toyota Camry fifty feet away.

I reach into my purse to grab my keys, and falter. The pocket is empty. My keys are gone.