DEVIN
Monday
I can’t even focus right now. Saturday night was a whole thing in and of itself. Sunday, we avoided each other as much as possible. So much so, even Logan kept asking if things were okay between us. I am glad that she's letting me stick around a while until I can find somewhere else to go. It feels kind of awkward being in there knowing we ain't together no more. But anyway, I try to keep a positive attitude while at work. Personal needs to stay personal and professional, professional.
Walking past Clayton's office, I quickly look in out of habit.
“Devin, can you come here a second?” He says it so nicely. I ain't got time for games today. I'm already pissed off as it is.
“Wassup?” I stand at his office door, files stacked in my arms. He pulls out a piece of paper with a bunch of scribble on it.
“I need you to pull these from the file room in the basement, will you?”
I walk in to take the paper from his hand. I look at it. A list of needed files in alphabetical order.
“Sure.”
I go and drop off my stack of folders first to my cubicle and then take my time going to the basement to get the requested files for Clayton. I reach the file room, minding my business as I always do. Joon, the Asian intern, comes out of the room and stops me. His cheeks rise high, closing his already slanted eyes even more with that cheesy grin he gives.
“Hey Devin, how are you doing?”
I nod and smile. “I'm doing good, Joon. I'm doing good.”
“Good. Getting some files?”
I mean ain't that the only reason someone would come in here?
“Yep. I've got a few things I need to get out of here. Clayton gave them to me.”
He leans in and whispers. “Between you and me, he's a douche bag.”
“Believe me, I understand where you're coming from. Your secret is safe with me,” I chuckle. He steps aside while I enter the file room, beginning my search.
“Let me know if you need any help. I could use the extra work.”
“Will do Joon. Thanks.”
Okay, where do I begin?
“It's taking you long enough.” Clayton comes from around the corner into the file room. I lift my head from my search.
“I'm sorry, but a lot of these files don't even exist. Did you know that?”
“Yeah they do. Look again.”
“Clayton…I've been looking down here for almost an hour now. I've doubled checked. You have a long list of files you need, which for some reason I just think you gave them to me just to—“
“You callin' me a liar?” He steps in a little closer.
“I'm not calling you anything. I'm just saying, I don't see any of these files. I don't know what you want me to do.”
He wipes his nose and takes a step closer once more. It's just me and him in this basement and no one else around. Lord only knows what's bound to happen. But I keep my cool, flipping through the folders of the ones I did find. Three out of twenty-five. Who really needs all of these files for real?
“You got a problem with me?” He asks. His eyebrows connect as he stares me up and down. I remain in my same position. If he comes at me in any way possible, it's over. That's a promise.
“I think we both know the answer to that.”
He goes over to one of the cabinets and pulls open the drawer violently. He looks at me with the evilest glare he can give and reach down into the cabinet and picks up an armload of folders, dropping them all to the floor. The contents scatter everywhere. My blood pressure rises to boil.
“I don't even know why you're here in the first place. People like you don't deserve to work here,” he says. I blink slowly, lips drawn in tight.
“You think you hot shit huh? You think you gonna mosey your little way in here and not feel my wrath?”
“Aye Clay, go head moe. I'm not in the mood for real.”
The dissension rises in me to get ready to fight. He smirks and fixes his mouth to say more.
“I heard you're not the good guy anymore, Devin. You've been playing Faith all this time.”
Now he's just trying to get under my skin. Did she run back and tell him we broke up? Because otherwise he wouldn't know anything about that.
“That's not your business. Me and Faith are fine.” I don't need him thinking he's right. That'll give him too much satisfaction.
“Yeah…okay. I already know all about it—you getting back with your ex. What's her name? Oh, that's right, Mia. Yeah, Mia. She's a crack head right?” He continues to taunt. My heart picks up the pace and my hands now balled into tight fists. I keep my gaze on him, refusing to back down.
“Told me all about it. Oh, and that wrist of hers and that black eye she got, I know it was you. What's next? Steal from her? Rape her? What?”
“Clayton, for real, I'm not even trying to go there with you. You better stop while the stopping is good.” And I mean every bit of it.
“And what you going to do about it?”
“I'm just telling you now, don't try nothing stupid.” I'm so close to killing this dude. I swear I am. Forget everything I'm working for. What he's not about to do is disrespect me and ruin my character. That's not going to happen.
“That lil’ girl of yours. Where is she now that y'all broke up?”
I remain silent.
“Ahhh, cats got your tongue now, huh?” He laughs. He turns around and closes the door behind him, just barely leaving a crack in it. Then he walks over closer and gets in my face.
“Let me tell you something lil’ nigga. I know all about you. I know about your record. I know about your dealings. I know about Mia. I know about it all. There's nothing you can hide from me. Remember, I have friends in high places, so if you're even thinking about doing something crazy right now, I promise you, you will be back in those grey cells where an animal like you belongs. I'm not done with you, contrary to popular belief. I haven't forgotten anything. So if you want to keep this lil’ job you got, I suggest you do what I say. Keep your nose clean with me.”
Our eyes standoff. The heat of his breath swirls around me. Then he backs away and opens up another drawer beside me, lowers his arms into the file bin and grabs a whole sloth of folders again and drops them to the floor. They smack hard. The wind from the crash brushes against my pants. I look down and then back at him.
“You think that's supposed to do what to me?” I say.
“Try me.”
I laugh, drag my hand down my face and turn away to gather what I did find and hand them to him. He smacks the files out of my hand causing those contents to scatter too.
“Do something,” he says. I roll my lips into my mouth refraining from speaking. At this point, I'm ready to grant his request. I need to. My fists ball tighter and tighter, but then I remember my little girl. I'm here for her. That's all that matters. Punching him would give me great pleasure but in the end, I know it could cost me, so I keep my hands to myself.
“I don't care what you try to do to me man, it still ain't gonna help you get Faith back. She don't want your sorry ass.”
Hit him where it hurts. I know this has everything to do with her breaking up with him. Hell, I'm mad too, but he don't see me going around harassing people and pouting about it. He scoffs and then licks his lips with the slightest bit of embarrassment on his face.
“You big mad or little mad? A homeless dude wrapped your girl, took her right from under your nose. That's what this is.”
He thinks he can taunt and tease me without getting it back? He better think again.
“Clearly you ain't have what it takes. I gave it all to her. You hear me? All she wanted,” I emphasize my exaggeration. Even though Faith and I ain't never got the chance to go down that route, still he don't need to know, and right now it's really fun to watch him squirm.
“But anyway, what I'm not about to do is sit up here and beef with you over something I had no control of. You mad at her, you take it up with her,” I say and move past him, but he catches me at the chest, his hand pushes me backward. I stumble a bit over my steps.
“Watch it,” he says. “I can make up anything about you right now, and they'd believe me. I'll have them down here so quick you'll wish you had never said anything to me. You'll wish you had never met me a day in your life.”
“You better come through on that threat, son. I swear to God.”
“Get my files,” he says staring me in my face like I'm a troubled child. I laugh.
“I ain't getting shit.”
He chuckles, then slides his arm across the top of the file cabinets and knocks over the extra's that were set there.
“Pick the shit up.”
I laugh at the thought. He gets into my face again and sticks both his index fingers into my shoulders and says, “Nigga, you ain't shit. I will kill you.” Then he backs away.
For a second, a stillness comes over the both of us, but he turns back around and steps to me once more. I wait for him to say something. Instead, he spits in my face. Lands right by the side of my mouth. Okay, as if I'm already not mad about Faith breaking up with me and now this.
Suddenly, movement—like a supernatural force—morphs me into a beast fit with rage and fire. He wants to make me out to be a monster, that's exactly what he's going to get. I charge into him, ramming him into one of the file cabinets from behind. A loud thump hits the wall, and I raise my fist, driving it into his face. His head swings to the right. I do it again as he tries to pull me away from him. I can't stop myself. I don't want to stop myself. But he finds an opening and drills a one-two to my head. We tussle across the sharp edges of the file cabinets.
Aaghh.
Our limbs tangled in violent twists. The edge of the cabinet stabs me right by my spine. He pins me against it as hard as he can while he reaches for my neck. I keep his shirt locked in my hands, arms stretched long to keep him from trying to choke the life out of me. He stops and snatches my collar and swings. Bam. Ringing in my ears. I return the same kind of swing, punching him square in the nose. Crack. I hear it. He lets me go, grabbing his nose and stumbling over himself. Both of us break apart, breathing heavy like we just ran a violent bloody marathon. I take my chance again while he's still unable to catch his balance and grab his shirt once more from behind and throw him to the floor. Just as fast, he rolls over before I can stamp his face with my fist. He wrestles me to the floor—all two hundred and something pounds of muscle pressing down into me—his fist now slamming into my face harder each time. The cracks of my cheeks making note that I'm losing and I'll keep losing if I don't find an exit soon and go in for the final kill. He wants me dead. This I know. I can feel it as he kneads his knee into my ribs. He's crushing me. I lose my breath for a second. He won't stop either. My head hits the floor each time. He raises his hand again to give me one more pound but I catch it mid-air and toss a sloppy one at his face, barely missing him. I got that nose again though.
He rolls off of me. Just my luck. I get up, staggering, checking my lip. Blood seeps from the deep cut he's given. I can admit this dude got hands, but I won't let him know that. I'm not giving up until I know he can't take no more.
“That's all you got?” I yell.
He tries picking himself back up. My foot goes flying into his ribs.
Oomph.
He collapses to the floor again. Get em while they down.
“I told you don't mess with me.”
He wants to make a demon out of me and put blood on my hands. He got the right one.
He moans, bringing himself to his knees and crawl over to the chair in the corner. That pretty little face ain't gonna be so pretty no more. My foot slams into his face over and over until he plops heavily to the floor in surrender.
Okay, stop Devin. That's enough.
Tears pour from my eyes as victory for me has been availed. I step back and fall against one of the standing cabinets. I'm not all the way satisfied just yet, but this will do. It hurts like hell. I hate this side of me. I ain't felt this kind of rage since back at the motel when I left Mia the first time. And seeing him lay there in pain brings both relief and sadness. Relief that maybe this is actually over. Sadness cause’ I hate being pushed to this point. It's a miserable and inexplicable concoction of regret.
I bring my knees up to my chest, rests my arms on them, sniveling and wiping the draining blood from my bruised and cut up face. That hatred now simmering down, I sit here and wait for someone, anyone to come. He gets up and staggers, wipes his chin and holding his nose. The breaths I've stolen from him he tries to regain while holding his right side and looks me dead in the face and says, “You're going to regret every bit of this.” He leaves out of the file room, limping.
I already do.
“He's down here,” Clayton says. Him, Spencer, two police officers and a group of others come rushing into the file room.
“This is the guy who assaulted me, officer. Arrest him.”
I remain seated. Ain't no need in fighting against it. He did say it's his word against mine.
“Devin Wilhite, you're under arrest for the assault and battery of Clayton Osmond. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do, will be used against you in the court of law.” The officers happily throw the cuffs around my wrist. I can't even cry no more. Not even an ounce. Another loss I've gained within a matter of days.
“Can someone please tell me what happened here,” Spencer says. Clayton looks at me, ice covering his nose. I remain quiet as the officers continue the Miranda rights.
“Devin…what happened?” Spencer asks me. Everyone is looking at me—the Ceo, the President, the secretaries, Joon, and anyone else nosey enough to leave their desks to find out what went on, but all I do is hold my head down and let the officers walk me out. As we get to the elevators, Spencer hops on, still asking what happened.
“It was my fault,” I say. I might as well take the blame. “I attacked him.”
His eyes shift to the officers. “Don't say anymore.”
I nod and look down in shame. Yep, whole life is about to be over now. I'm sorry Pastor Vincent. I'm sorry baby girl. I have failed again.