Good Pet

What I’ve been through in a week, most people go through in a year. I’m exhausted and amazed by this fact, but that quickly gets moved to the back burner when I see Tommy. He bolts out of the elevator, face red and covered in sweat. He appears to be hyperventilating, his expression is terrified and guilty.

He notices me watching him, but that doesn’t make him slow down. It only makes him run faster, with his head down and his eyes away.

“Tommy!” I shout, feeling panic well up inside me. I yank off my headset and move around my desk to follow him. I don’t know what it is, but I have this horrible feeling of dread inside of me and rising nausea. “Tommy, please wait! What happened? What’s wrong?” I’m shouting all these things at him, but he just moves faster and further away from me. “Tommy!”

I pick up my pace, literally chasing after him now, down the hall, through the coffee bar, and towards the stairs. He doesn’t answer me or slow down, but I keep going.

I don’t bother to say anything as we both run down the stairs, but my mind is going a mile a minute — fretting and panicking for him. What in the hell has happened? Whatever it is, it’s not good! Whatever it is it has to do with her, Vanacore, says my heart. That predator, says my soul.

As I burst out of the doors on the ground floor, still following Tommy across the parking lot toward his car, I shout, “Tommy, go to my car! Please! Wait there for a minute and calm down!”

At that moment, it occurs to me he doesn’t know my car from the other fifty or a hundred still parked in the lot, but I don’t care. Something about what I’ve just said has finally stopped him. Either that, or he’s finally exhausted himself or winded himself enough. Either way, he’s come to a stop, and it’s not far from my car anyway.

I catch up to him and take him under his shaking arm. It, like the rest of him, is still dressed in a frumpy, ill-fitting suit and tie. “Take a deep breath. Deep breaths, Tommy. Just relax, and let’s get in my car to sit and talk for a moment, okay?”

I know Tommy is in no mental or emotional state to really answer me, but I feel it’s important to get his permission and to get him on the same page, even if he’s not in the space for responding. I still need his consent. He manages something like a nod, and I take that as my permission to take him to my car, leaning him against it momentarily as I unlock both the passenger side and the driver’s side, and lead him to the former.

When he is safely in the passenger seat with the door closed, I head over to the driver’s side. Taking my seat and closing my door, I don’t question him about anything right away. I just let him sit there, try to catch his breath, and compose himself.

It takes several minutes for him to calm down and get his breathing under control, but finally, Tommy is able to talk, and when he does, they are just as devastating as I feared. “She kissed me.”

I heard him, but I didn’t hear him. “What?”

“She kissed me,” he squeaks, looking over at me like he’s the dirty, guilty cheater in all of this. “Ms. Vanacore. She forced herself on me and kissed me.” He looks at me like I might not believe him, like I might not understand him, like I might be judging him for being a victim.

“I don’t know what happened, she was just suddenly right there, suddenly on me.” He wipes at his face and nose angrily. “I don’t know what happens around her. I just freeze. I lose control or whatever, like I’m paralyzed. I don’t know. I just can’t get away. And I end up giving her the impression that I like it! That I want it!” He starts to cough and gasp now, growing more hysterical. I do everything to keep him calm and keep him from making himself pass out.

“It’s all right,” I said soothingly, “It’s all right, Tommy. It’s okay. You’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing at all, I promise,” I say, resisting the urge to kiss the sweat from his brow. I really want to, but can’t and won’t, given the circumstances. “You’re all right, Tommy. Just relax.”

Tommy shakes his head, his face scrunching up into even more sadness and sorrow or self-hatred and fear. “I don’t want it,” he says. “I don’t want that kind of thing from her.” He quickly sucks in a few breaths of air, like he’s drowning. “I don’t know why I can’t bring myself to just shove her away. But my body betrays me!” He looks like he’s going to tear his hair out, but I stop him. I hold his hand in mine. “And I shouldn’t be burdening you with this! I’m your boss! I should be the listener in this situation!”