Page 30 of Eternal Pieces
“I get that, but in my interview, you said it would be fine if I needed time to manage my pain. Now is that time.”
The look he gives me is more of a wince than a smile. Stuart takes his glasses off and sets them gently back down on the desk. He’s a weaselly-looking guy, not much older than me, but the lines around his eyes and the thin mustache he thinks he’s pulling off add a good ten years to him.
“What did you say was wrong with you again?”
“Chronic pain,” I reply through my teeth, trying to keep this professional.
“Oh, that’s right. The car accident. You look like you’ve recovered well. How long do you spend in the gym? I’d kill to have muscles like yours after what you’ve been through.” He chuckles halfheartedly, his grimace of a smile permanently glued to his face.
“Would you alsokillto feel like you’re about to collapse after every step?”
Awkwardly, he clears his throat and looks down at the open planner on his desk rather than at me. “I understand what you’re asking of me, Max. But as I’ve already said, it’s not fair to everyone else here if I give you accommodations. There’s roomto stretch by your desk for a few seconds if you need to, and I’ll allow you to keep your pain medication on you.”
“But you said—” I stop myself short. I need this job. If I have to be the bigger man, then so be it.
“You said I could step out whenever I needed to. I won’t be long?—”
He holds his hand up, silencing me.
I don’t hear what he says next. I can’t stop staring at his stupid little mustache. It’s pissing me off. My ears start to ring as that familiar rage inside me starts to bubble up.
Keep it down.
“No,” I say.
“No? You can’t just say no. I’m starting to wonder if you’re actually faking this whole thing, so I’ll make life easier for you.”
Nah, I don’t need this shit.
“You know what? Fuck this.” I stand up and head for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I fucking quit!”
He yells something about HR, but I ignore him and head for the elevator. When the doors close, I punch them until my knuckles bleed.
Fuck that guy. Fuck this job.
Am I acting entitled, thinking I’m too good for this place? Most likely. But when you’ve spent years having to relearn how to walk and questioning if killing yourself would be better than waking up to another day of pain, then you feel like the world owes you something.
All I want is to be with Violet. To always be by her side and to do the same for our children. I’m aware of how unhealthy a mindset that is, but the fear of one day turning around and her not being there is what keeps me up at night.
My lungs feel tight just thinking about it, and the longer I stay in this elevator, the more my rage builds. It stops at the next floor, and a guy in a suit similar to mine gets on. I think he asks me if I’m okay, but I can barely hear anything over the ringing in my ears. I press myself into the corner so I don’t end up hitting him, and he stares at me the entire time.
Come on. Come on.
The numbers above the doors count down in slow motion.Why won’t this thing go any fucking faster?
When it finally stops on the ground floor, I squeeze through the doors before they’ve opened all the way and barge past the people waiting. They shout at me, but all I care about is the exit.
Pushing open the door outside feels like pushing a stone block. My arms don’t feel like they’re part of my body anymore. All of me feels detached. But the hit of fresh air as I step onto the sidewalk feels good. Brings me back to life a little bit.
I stagger down the street. People avoid me, and when I catch my reflection in a store window, I see why. I look like I’m drunk. My face is covered in sweat, and my legs keep buckling.
There’s a park across the road. I can get away from everyone there.
I find a bench under a large tree, tucked away from the main view of the park, and fall back onto it. After a few minutes, I can breathe again. I grab at my tie, tearing it off and popping a few buttons undone. That’s better.
