Photographs of Graves

I shouldn't have consumed alcohol. Not when it was almost three. Not when I had work in five-ish hours. But I guess I was feeling a little angsty and rebellious at the time, so in short I was retarded.

My head punished me severely as I tried to roll awake. My stomach lurched with it, threatening to empty its contents upon the floor if I didn't find some water, food, and Advil.

Zoe remained in bed and kindly handed me a pair of sunglasses as I walked out the door to hide my bloodshot, squinting eyes that had gained their own personal vendetta against sunlight and all things good. My stomach let up on the roller coaster act it had been practicing all morning, but I took a Ziplock bag with me just in case.

I'm an idiot. I'm a fucking idiot. I'm going to get fucking fired.

At least I wasn't drunk. Just hung over.

Ana kept her hand extended to me for balance the whole way there and I gratefully accepted her help, walking in with her steadying hand in mine and Zoe's large, brown sunglasses securely upon my face. Mikael waved and handed me a cup of coffee. I grunted and drank the whole thing in one go.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Damn,” he replied.

I never said anything to anyone about Graves and his cocaine dealing. I'd never gotten around to messaging him back, either. I stalked over to my desk and booted up my computer with another grunt. Mikael understood and poured me another large cup of coffee, as well as a Mars bar. People were merciful to me today.

Both the Mars bar and second cup of coffee were gone in the next five minutes. Ten minutes later I was pouring my third.

I took a fourth Advil, although my supposed dosage was two, waiting for my nervous system to start sending spiking signals of malcontent into my skull.

I really needed to piss.

I went to the bathroom, did my business, and splashed water in my face from the sink after washing my hands. Upon returning to mine and Ana's desk, I found the soundbites that had been left for me.

Headphones plugged. Soundbites in. Insert into ears. Go.

I actually was getting through my work in record time. Possibly because no one really dared to distract me. Possibly because the story was really short and it only took about an hour to get through the sound clips.

The world cast in sepia tones, I printed my story and turned it in by noon. Looks like I might be getting off early today. Yippee.

On lunch break Mikael lent me his shoulder. I ate an apple and burrowed into the corduroy and the fuzzy material that made up the lining.

Bastion walked in somewhere in the middle of lunch, shying away from me with a dodgy expression and flickering eyes. I didn't care about him anymore. If it was for a scoop, he could do whatever the hell he wanted. I curled up against Mikael's right arm and closed my eyes, taking off the sunglasses for the first time today.

A couple minutes later I was nudged awake by a hand on my shoulder. I looked up groggily to Graves, completely put back together with blue eyes soft and expression resembling a puppy that, after being taken outside for peeing on the floor, wanted to be let back inside from the cold.

“Hey babe,” he gave a lopsided smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, “ I think you're leaning on the wrong shoulder.”

I grumbled and closed my eyes again. Again he nudged me awake.

“Still on the wrong shoulder.”

Damn persistent bastard.

I cracked open an eye reproachfully and regarded him. Upon second glance he actually didn't seem quite as put together as he originally seemed: His clothes were all washed and neat, he was bathed and awake, but his eyes were touched by redness from fatigue and he hadn't shaved this morning. His hair wasn't neatly brushed. I glanced down. Underneath his freshly washed jeans is socks didn't match.

He made a little beckoning motion, as if a look could coax me out of my hangover and anger. He did it again and tugged at my jacket. I didn't budge. He tugged again.

And what happens when an unstoppable force hits an immovable object?

One will eventually relent. Or, rather, the immovable object will, unfortunately, be surprisingly light, and easily picked up by the unstoppable force. Retaining the same shape I had been in on Mikael's shoulder, I was moved from my comfortable place onto Graves' lap.

Dammit. I had the sudden strong urge to crush his balls, but that would be unprofessional.

The asshole began to softly run his fingers through my hair and for a moment my anger was overwhelmed. Jerk face. I closed my eyes and released some of my tension.

I got about half of a longer article done in the second part of that day. I filed it away as I was packing up, feeling a lot better than I was before. Ana was talking to me about cute Russian girls and I was smiling and laughing with her. The day had gotten better. Zoe messaged me to meet her at the coffee shop and I told her I'd be there in a few minutes. I swore off early morning alcohol and walked toward the door.

I was stopped by hands gripping my waist, holding me immobile as I tried to leave. I pushed against him, but his grip had as much iron in it as his will

“Graves,” I growled, “I'm meeting someone down at the coffee shop. I need to go.”

“Zoe can wait. We need to talk.”

I turned in his grip, his hands finally relenting so I could move. I gave him a stony glare, which he returned with a deadpan stare of unrelenting determination. I could see easily enough that I wasn't getting out of this one. I pursed my lips, squirming a little under those blue eyes.

“I'm not going to give you up just because of a stupid misunderstanding. If you want to leave, fine, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to fight it.”

Upon his saying “not going to give you up” Rick Astley began playing in my head. I think I was just unintentionally Rick Roll'd. I sighed, relenting, and let him lead me back toward his office. He closed the door behind him with a soft click. I hopped up on his desk, sitting cross legged on the edge of its smooth surface.

Awkward silence ensued as he began to pace back and forth.

“Yesterday was an assignment -”

“That's not the problem. I figured out it was an assignment,” I cut him off. “I don't even care that you shot up.”

“So it's really all based on the fact that I lied.”

“Yes.”

“Murph, that's fucking stupid.”

Something in me flared up indignantly. I already knew it was stupid, but that didn't exactly mean I wanted him to say so. He was giving me a very level stare, daring me to flare up in anger. It just said, “see what I'll do if you lash out. Just try it.”

I kept my anger at an even boiling temperature, burying the fury down before I hit him or something.

“Why is that?” I asked tersely, voice very controlled with that icy bitch quality most girls fell back on when hotly angered. The sane girls, anyway. I'd prefer to be an icy bitch than look like an idiot for shrieking and trying to gauge someone's eyes out with manicured fingernails. I'd seen enough of those fights in high school to know.

“Are you honestly going to tell me you've never lied to me? Because that's bullshit. I know you well enough to know when you're trying to shut me out, and you've done it more than once in the last few weeks. There are things you don't tell me about or lie to me about, and if you say otherwise you're being a hypocrite.”

“Those things are personal.”

“So is this.”

“There's a difference between flat out lying and saying 'I'm fine' so we can move on.”

“'I'm fine' is the biggest lie of all, and every girl uses it against us guys. We got the hint.”

We were both glaring at each other and silently seething. Our voices had reached soaring heights and now hung in the air with a ringing noise.

This argument was stupid. It was fucking stupid. Honestly, we were kind of idiots with too many emotions and hormones for our own good.

“So. Do you feel like telling me what the hell has been going on with you?” he asked, his voice lowering back to a normal level.

“Not really.”

I know I sounded like a bitch. But I really didn't. I really, really didn't. Try to explain everything about my mom? My messed up childhood, my years of therapy, my creepy reoccurring nightmares? No. No I didn't really want to explain it. Really. I knew I would at some point, but today was not the day.

“Why not?” his voice was offended, cold. I knew it would be.

“It's a lot to explain and this isn't the place or the time.”

He paused, sighed to blow off anger, and nodded. I watched him warily, but his anger was beginning to boil away. His frustration was still there, but it wasn't about to shoot out through the ceiling. My own began to die down and I averted my eyes as he walked over to me. His lips pressed to my forehead.

“Are we done fighting?” he asked.

“I think so.”

“Good. Now take off your fucking pants. They're bothering me.”

Now that I could do.