The Hating Game

“Who’s your source?”

His eyes are getting darker. The pupil is eating the blue, and I think of his elevator eyes. Murderous eyes. Passionate eyes. Crazy-person eyes.

“Inside source? Like magazines have for celebrities? Are you a celebrity, Lucinda?”

“I don’t know how you know so much.”

“I’m perceptive. I know everything.”

“You know I have roses in my bedroom because of what, body language? Mind reading? You’re so full of shit. You probably look through my window with a long-range telescope.”

“Maybe I have the apartment opposite yours.”

“You wish you did, you creep.” I’m beginning to feel the first prickles of sweat on my spine. If he did, I’d probably be the one sitting in the dark with binoculars.

“Well? Are they?”

“They wilted. I had to toss them out this morning.”

His hand slides down my arm, slowly, softly, pressing the goose bumps flat. His hand is so cold I glance up at his face. His face is set to a default frown.

“You’re pretty hot.”

“Yeah, but that’s common knowledge.” I’m sarcastic as I pull away. The bus jolts around a corner and a little wave of dizziness blurs my vision and nausea turns my stomach over. I’m not getting sick. My body is probably reacting to the stress of the job application process, the kiss, and the murder-glint in Joshua’s eyes.

“Looking forward to being annihilated?”

I manage the best retort I can.

“I’m going to destroy you. The Hating Game. You versus me. It’s the only way this can possibly end.”

“Right,” Joshua barks abruptly, standing up and kneeling in his seat to address our colleagues. They all reluctantly stop talking, and I sense mutiny is afoot.

I kneel up too, and wave at everyone. They all smile. Good little cop, universally despised cop. I notice the Gamins are sitting to the left, the Bexleys to the right.

“There will be a total of six challenges today,” Joshua begins.

“Seven if you include him,” I add and get some cheap laughs. He scowls sideways at me.

“Six teams of four. Each challenge you’ll be in a different group. The aim is to get to know your colleagues in an outdoor, active environment. As teams you’ll come up with strategies to get the flag first.”

There are blank faces, and he sighs heavily. “Seriously? No one here has ever done paintball? You will be trying to get the flag before the opposing team. Main rule is no paintballing the flag marshals. Or each other’s faces, or groins.”

Darn it, that’s all I’ve been dreaming about.

“Marion, Tim, Fiona, Carey, you are flag marshals. You are assessing the team participation from the vantage point beside the flag. Scoring people, if you will.”

I’m slightly impressed. I was a bit concerned imagining those four heaving their heavy, pain-riddled, aging bodies across a paintball course. Carey and Marion nod to each other self-importantly as Joshua passes back four clipboards. I wish he’d discussed all of this with me. He’s in complete control and I don’t like it.

“After we finish, we will convene up on the deck for coffee and to discuss what we’ve learned about each other today.” He slithers back down into his seat.

“Any questions?” I look around and a few hands are raised.

“Do we get overalls?”

Joshua says something under his breath that sounds like fucking morons. I’ll field this one.

“You’ll each get a protective suit and a helmet to protect your eyes and face.” I feel Joshua’s sigh at my hip sink through my T-shirt.