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Dignity. He supposed at one point it mattered very greatly to him. He supposed at one point he had it. Now, standing pleading through misty eyes down at his much shorter brother who made him feel no more than two inches tall, made him again the little girl, the little sister he worked so perilously to grow out of, any speck of any disgusting dignity left in his heart shattered at the impending tone of a timer placed in his mind.
“It’s not time.” His mouth curved up toward his eyes only slightly, feeling a slight desire to laugh. Laughing, which typically enclosed his victory of carefree nonchalance in the office, now, would envelop him in the burning sensation in his throat itching nearer towards his tear ducts and he wouldn’t dare let that happen. He wouldn’t cry in front of Zack if he was on his fucking death bed.
“...the saddest thing is that you know it…” He was listening. In any and all instances, in front of David or Jo or Poppy, in front of his dad, in front of a judge swearing him into absolute honesty, he’d say he wasn’t. Listening meant following along meant agreeing meant Mythic Quest was going to die at the hands of his brother who was grinning with a glee in his eyes that only further pushed the tightening around his throat and oh god, he was going to throw up.
“It’s not my birthday.”
“I know.” A swing of the door and a slam and tears welling up in his eyes again and deep breath, breathe, breathe, four seconds in, hold for five, out for six and breathe, breathe, breathe.
He brought up Kate.
Dignity was not a concept familiar to Brad Bakshi of 4H, beaming at the sight of his little friend, his little pet. Kate entered his life at an age where he talked to himself more than his classmates, and where his papa served him glares of daggers instead of warm food. Kate made his little feet slide into shoes falling apart at the seams to trip his way over to the fabric store, where he’d blow loose hair out of his face and flash his little smile at the cashier, asking for her best and comfiest fabric for a little piglet’s dress please. Money, a word that typically accompanied the sounds of harsh breaths and raised voices at home now served as his smile booster as the lady held in her delicate fingers a fabric he could already see Kate’s little body modelling. He wished the lady a great rest of her working day and practically skipped his way home, brushing off the stares of the neighbourhood’s gossips taking sight of their poor neighbour’s daughter trailing home with handfuls of baby pink silk.
Kate was not quiet - he liked to tease her with a grin so bright he wasn’t sure if she would understand him through it, that she was his little alarm clock. He memorized her sounds, knowing exactly when his concerns were valid versus simply a worry caused over a very hungry pig running around his room. Soft grunts and breathy pants fluttered his heart after he’d run home from a long day at school, while stubborn grumbles only left him slightly annoyed as he’d argue over his side of the bed with the little monster. He had become accustomed to Kate’s sounds - she was not quiet.
Around him.
Around his papa and Zack, she shut up. Brad would frown in surprise as he brought her into Zack’s dim room day after day promising him the sweetest little sounds, supporting her stomach and assuring her little legs that he wouldn’t drop her. The minute the two friends entered the first time, Brad felt Kate tense up in his little arms.
She stayed silent, no matter how many tactics, smiles, or promises of treats came from Brad. He’d stopped trying after the fifth time. Not on his own terms, no, he’d stayed determined. The sharp accusatory label of an attention seeking liar slapped onto him was enough of a heartbreaker for him to tell himself through tears that maybe Kate only liked him, that was it. He was just special.
Zack began to call him sensitive.
Brad never told him that he knew he was only trying to be like papa.
Papa asked him how 4H was going.
Zach answered for him.
“It’s getting pretty fat already.”
“Good.”
He should have known then.
He only thought she was getting healthier.
He fed her lots of good food.
Everything the internet told him was good for prepping the pig. Whatever that meant.
Kate was not quiet.
Around him.
The front door swung shut, Brad wincing at the sharp sound - though nothing could match the sudden, heart wrenching squeal from the back of the house that felt like ice down his back. Brad squeezed the silk in his hand, a cool sensation that stuck with him in his nervous state as he made his way to the back room. The squeals grew louder, more painful with each noise. Kate never, ever squealed like that. Soft, bossy grunts filled the buzzing silence of his room each night. They were happy, peaceful, stubborn. These sounded pained.
“Kate?” He cried. The silk had left his shaking hands some time ago, though he didn’t have time to look behind him to check when and where it had fallen down. Kate was in pain, and the door to the back room was only metres away. He cursed the solid walls of the typically vacant room, squinting at the screen door that would lead him to the scene ahead. His eyes focused on the dark room, allowing him vision of a silhouette holding some sort of sharp object in one hand. In the other -
“NO! No, no, no!”
The screen door nearly broke with the distraught force of Brad’s trembling hands as his worst nightmare took place in front of him. His mouth was open, but he couldn’t get his words out. Zack grabbed Kate with a strength Brad would never dare approach her with. He sobbed as the scene unfolded.
“What are,” hiccup. “you,” sob. “doing to her?!”
“Killing the fat sow.” Zack’s voice held so much nonchalance Brad nearly screamed. His legs gave out beneath him, and he didn’t dare open his eyes. “You knew it was time.”
In one shuddered, horrified breath, Brad choked out, “Time to k-kill my Kate?”
Zack scoffed. “Open your eyes.” He didn’t. “Do you want it to live?” Brad nodded profusely. “Beg me.”
“What?”
“Beg me not to kill your pig.” Brad didn’t have to force his stinging eyes open to see that she was barely breathing.
“Please, Bhaiyya. Please don’t kill my Kate, please, please, please-”
One final squeak echoed in the damp air around them.
Brad didn’t remember driving home after Zack left. He didn’t remember turning his key into his apartment, or collapsing on his bed with his mind screaming at him. He didn’t remember waking up and brushing his teeth to clear the taste of his last meal in his throat or pouring black coffee into a to-go mug that didn’t protect his hands from the heat of the boiling liquid inside. One hour of labored breathing later, he remembered the elevator dinging over the sounds of his mind, and the piercing shouts of ego clash inside Poppy and Ian’s office, and the empty stare he was giving them that they couldn’t see over each other, and the acid in his throat, and-
“Brad!”
-David.
“Hey, belated birthday boy! Feeling any older?”
“No. I’m not.” He knew his voice lacked any usual bite. He prayed David wouldn’t pay mind to it.
“Ah. Hungover? You look like it. Birthday shots?”
“No.”
David’s mouth twitched, like he wasn’t sure what to say next. Nothing would be fine. “Well, hey! Lucky for you, we’ve got the day off. Meeting free.” He articulated each syllable, accentuating the words in an exaggerated attempt to get a smile from Brad.
“What? Why don’t we have any meetings?”
“Poppy and Ian’s orders. Something about a rest day to prepare for the new release.” He flailed his arms a little as he spoke, perhaps to entertain Brad before the inevitable “They ordered their boss to take a day off and tell everyone about it?” that never came.
“That doesn’t make any sense. Ian’s never done that before.”
“Look, Brad, I know you’re probably overwhelmed by all the emotions of yesterday,” You have no idea. “which I get! I mean, I don’t really, you know, only child and all, but you’ll see your brother again soon! For now, don’t throw yourself right back into your work just yet. Go sit down, and I’ll bring you something to eat.”
Brad almost relaxed. Almost. If he wasn’t able to catch onto the crystal clear source behind knowing about his tendency to throw himself into his work to distract himself from his emotions, or what the sudden promise of food meant, he’d relax - but those were Zack’s words.
Zack knew about his gravitation to work in situations of high emotion. His co-workers and David knew he liked to work and earn money and work some more. Zack knew about his… food issue. It wasn’t an issue. His co-workers and David knew that lunch was for losers.
“That doesn’t look like sitting down.”
“What?”
“Jeez Brad, how drunk did you get? I said go sit down. Do you want a blueberry muffin or a sandwich?” He almost sounded concerned.
“Neither. I have to finish some paperwork from last week. Don’t bother me today.” David’s mouth twitched under his moustache again, and Brad couldn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes at the older’s painful obliviousness.
At some point, hours after his last touch-up on his paperwork - he hadn’t lied about that; Montreal was up their asses about finishing touches and secure finances and whatnot for the new expansion - Jo had walked into his office. Her ponytail swung back and forth like a metronome over her beige cardigan. Brad furrowed his brows at trying to recall anytime he’d worn a cardigan since stepping foot into the monetization department. She gripped her laptop close to her protectively, and Brad scanned for any sign of damage from it being slammed into the hallway trash can all those three weeks ago. It was pristine, nearly shiny. He knew Jo didn’t carry that sort of easy money.
“Do we have any meetings today?” She grinned and tilted her head. The acid in Brad’s throat was starting to creep up again.
“Nah. Ian and Poppy are giving us the day off. You can stay in here in case I need anything.” He breathed. The acid disappeared as his expected tone returned with a dash of finality.
“Ah, that’s nice of them.” She delicately twisted the blinds closed. Brad faltered.
“Yep.” Jo loved meetings.
Brad couldn’t deny that David’s advice had helped - the part about sitting down, at least. His mind had started to quiet down with the dull sounds of typing acting as a white noise above the calm quiet and muted lighting. Within the hush of his office, he found himself losing track of time as the clock on the wall ticked further towards his dreaded freedom. Work had always been an escape, physically and mentally. It allowed his walls to surface, the eyes around him filled with fear and respect. It made him stand up straighter and ignore the pit in his stomach, adjust his gaze and lift his mouth into a smirk. Work made his eyes shine a little brighter and gave him a purpose. He held his status as the Scary Office Asshole proud on his weak shoulders and allowed himself to push his thoughts deep, deep down and ignore how cold his hands were these days. It allowed him to hide out in the bathroom with his arms crossed to hide the growling in his stomach that sure seemed to work well enough as David told him it explained a lot that he didn’t know who Brené Brown was, while he drew closer to Brad as he went on and on about vulnerability and allowing yourself to be-
“You pissed on your dress.”
Jo had come and left with David.
Brad splashed a pool of cold water on his face, and returned to his desk with spots in his vision.
The bathroom had become a sort of safe haven when the office heads had returned from remote working. He had grown used to the one thing his lonely home had to offer; solitude. The fifth floor interns rarely used the bathroom anyway - most of their friends inhabited the second floor still after the lucky ones had been promoted upstairs and they would often take elevator escapades when they thought Ian and Poppy wouldn’t spot them.
The bathroom was always empty.
It became a pattern for Brad to step in, exhale, then grip the edges of the sink as he stared into himself, allowing his worries to become affirmations. He hadn’t been caught once, unless David strolling in mid-song counted. It didn’t, Brad had decided.
After what the clock whispered was three hours after Jo closed the blinds and settled into that unfamiliar silence, Brad had noticed a dizziness fogging up his thoughts. Numbers were beginning to meld with letters and he was reading the same graph over and over for some semblance of understanding. Three hours after Jo closed the blinds in his office lined up with lunch. He wasn’t worried about Jo; she hadn’t once questioned the confidence in his tone when he’d remind her that lunch was for losers, and for that he would remain eternally grateful. He knew she didn’t follow the phrase herself, and for that he was also silently thankful for. Jo brought her own lunch, just like everyone else on the fifth floor. Everyone else.
“I’m gonna go grab my sandwich.” Brad nodded stiffly, biting his tongue to fight off half his mind telling him to just follow her, idiot. The half he preferred held a steady tone as it instructed him to stay put and wait for her to leave. “I started cooking.” She wasn’t leaving. “I'm really growing into an independent woman.” Brad hummed. Didn't have time for this. “I'm sure you can relate.”
Click.
Jo’s ponytail swung in tandem with the shutting door as Brad’s body became rigid. Whatever statistic was previously holding his attention and sanity left his brain the minute the last syllable left Jo’s mouth, and suddenly he was standing and his eyebrows were knit together and the door was opening to sounds of laughter and togetherness and Jo was tap, tap, tapping her tea mug the same brisk pace it was taking for Brad to step past the interns to the kitchen and when did they hire so many fucking interns anyway and ask Jo for a fucking coffee, black.
“Woah, everything alright?” Poppy, bless her, bobbed her teabag up and down with one, no - two sour patch kids sticking out of her mouth.
“What’s in that?” Brad shifted his gaze down to what he recognized as the colour-changing Raven’s Banquet mug from last year’s release party. It held just over two cups of liquid and could serve as a good stabilizer until Jo came crashing back with his coffee.
“Three sugars, milk?” She shook her head as she spoke.
“Oh. No thanks.”
“I didn’t offer you any, dick.” Right.
He heard Jo’s flats sneaking up beside him before she handed him the small mug. It was black as he asked; the bitter taste itching in his throat as it went down.
“God, how do you drink that?”
“Coffee?” Poppy made some sort of vague one-hand gesture with a look of disgust - sans sour patch kids - she had chewed them down at some point.
“Black coffee. It sucks the fun right out of it.”
“The fun out of giving myself energy to do my job?” He knew it was a slippery slope. Poppy shouldn’t be questioning his food habits. Food?
Coffee habits.
“Some of us like to enjoy our lunch.”
“Brad doesn’t eat lunch.”
“Jo-”
“I know.” Poppy deadpanned. What? “But if he’s going to replace it with coffee he should at least add something to it.” What????
Brad needed to leave, now. “Well, this has been fun. Bye.”
Through his wide eyes, he set target on the testers' room. He needed to speak to Rachel. They would understand. They were too afraid of Jo to cuss her out, anyway. Eyes set forward. It was a little fuzzy, but at once the door ahead was completely clouded. Something had blocked his way, something almost as fuzzy as the door at the end of the room.
“Brad?” Okay, someone.
“David, I need to get to the testers-.”
“No,” he laid a hand on Brad’s chest, who nearly faltered at the light touch. “You don’t. Sit down.”
“Dave,”
“Brad, you look five seconds away from fainting. Please just sit down.” There was a dark look casting over David’s face. Brad could feel his heartbeat through his headache; it was getting too much. His hand found David’s wrist and somehow, he ended up in their old shared office.
“Sit, I’ll get you something to eat.”
Through his cloudy vision, Brad muttered out a “no,” but even he knew David wasn’t that dumb.
“All I have left is this apple, I-I’ll order something or I can go out or hell, I can get Jo to pick something up, or-”
“Apple’s enough.”
“Uh, right. Actually, I spotted a BLT in CW’s hand this morning, I could go get you-”
“Please don’t.”
“I-okay. Suit yourself, man.” He didn’t push.
When Brad joined Mythic Quest, he knew exactly what he needed to do. He prided himself in his ability to learn quickly; pick up all the right information and apply it to all the right numbers. He knew how to look the part, knew how to be the head of monetization. He knew how much to talk, and what to say. He knew how to instill just the right amount of fear in his coworkers, knew how to be the guy who cared more about money than people but scratch that, he knew how to own people.
Lie.
He knew how to love people.
He loved harder than his papa had ever taught him to, more than Zack had ever done. He loved harder than he could handle, and that was dangerous.
He loved his coworkers, and David.
No.
No.
He owned his coworkers, and David.
It was easy. He had mastered the part years ago. All there was to do was replace a couple words. He loved Mythic Quest, so he owned Mythic Quest. He loved helping Rachel get Dana back, loved seeing the smiles the two shared. He loved knowing he got back the reason Rachel came into work each day. He owned Rachel, and held it above her to know that he could do anything he fucking wanted. He could get Dana back, and he could get her fired. He held the power to deprive Rachel of her happiness and she needed to know that.
That was why he got Dana her job back.
Brad loved owning people.
He absolutely loved them.
“I should go.”
“Ah. Actually, could you help me with something real quick?” David was blocking the door, one elbow uncomfortably supporting him against the glass.
Brad shifted in his seat. “Sure?”
“Great!” Clapping his hands together, David’s grin matched the elation in his eyes, and for a second Brad deemed it worth it to stay and indulge in the older’s proposition.
“Scooch over. I’ve got this date tonight and,” Second over. “I need help deciding what to wear. She’s got a bunch of matches, or, at least that’s what it looks like. She, I mean. That’s what she looks like. She’s very beautiful, and she takes a,” David took his eyes off the Ipad in his right hand to - presumably purposefully - appear lost in thought. “...a while to respond.”
“Do you have a date with her?”
“Shut up. She takes a while to respond but that’s okay! Ol’ Davey’s gonna leave the competition in the dust!” He finished, incredibly confidently.
“And… you’re asking me to plan an outfit so your date with Miss. Popular doesn’t fall through and get mixed into all the other men who want her?” Brad spoke slowly, finding a flicker of amusement in the familiar bickering between the two.
“Right you are.”
“This is going to go terribly.”
“Oh, like you can talk.” Pause.
“What?”
David readjusted himself on his side of the couch, his smile diminishing, if only slightly.
“I mean,” a chuckle. “With Kate and all.”
“What?” Brad breathed. Maybe. He thought he was breathing, though he also couldn’t feel his hands. He inhaled to confirm that, yes, he was breathing, and David just said Kate.
“I don’t mean to embarrass you or anything,” he placed a reassuring hand on Brad’s shoulder, which caved at the contact. “Zack told me about her.”
Now he definitely wasn’t breathing. “Zack told you about… Kate?”
“Hey man, relax. You’ll get over it.”
“Get over it?”
“I mean, childhood love and all. It passes.”
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
“I’m just saying. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Brad’s voice was low, a hollow tone allowing priority for the gut wrenching pain in his chest.
“Of course.” He was looking everywhere but at Brad, a tight smack of his lips pulling him back towards his original topic. “So will you help me?”
Brad didn’t remember stumbling out of the office, or the confused muffled shout he heard from behind. He didn’t remember Jo standing within earshot of the room because of course it wasn’t soundproof or Poppy holding a lollipop in front of his face or collapsing into his office face fucking first on his desk in full sight of the entire floor because Jo had opened his blinds but it didn’t even matter anymore. He didn’t remember watching Jo skip into him and David’s old office, grinning her way towards the man and he didn’t remember her opening her mouth. He didn’t remember slamming his head onto his desk or the hot tears washing his cheeks in distress wishing for May 21st 2021 to be taken off all calendars. He remembered laboured breathing and short hidden whispers of deep breaths, of it’s fine and don’t let him break you and eventually, eventually he remembered straightening up and rolling his shoulders back. He remembered his headache dissipating and locking eyes with an empty office across the hall and Jo and David on different sides of the main room. Okay. He was okay.
It was just a rough day. Just one rough day.
Two.
He’s handled two rough days before.
This would blow over.
The day Zack came would become a fuzzy memory for the office, and Brad would rightfully reclaim his title as the Scary Office Asshole and he would be fine.
Ping.
Ping.
Jo’s phone, sitting just out of Brad’s peripheral.
Ping.
He shouldn’t. It wasn’t his right, and he shouldn’t.
Ping.
Fuck it.
Zack
Change of plans, Come over in an hour
Zack
Tell her you have a dentist appointment
Zack
She's legally not allowed to question you.
Zack
You’re making the right choice.
If the day Kate died was the worst day of Brad’s life, it was a weak nail for the day Zack came to visit to hammer into, splitting it in two and shattering it in millions of tiny broken pieces of metal. Today? Today used that hammer to pierce tiny pieces of metal into Brad’s heart and gather the leftover bits to create a knife strong enough to kill a softly grunting pig dressed in soft baby pink silk. If the shattered metal in his heart didn’t kill him, Brad supposed holding his best friend close to his heart as she was killed would end up finishing him off.
Jo was going to leave him just like Kate did. Though, Jo wasn’t like Kate.
No.
Jo was like Zack.
Draped in silky tears, in all his misery, Brad realized then. Jo was going to devour him, just like he had told her to. Zack had killed Kate just like papa had told him to. Both were a decision made not by the gods, not by fate. Brad told Jo what to do, and she was going to do so.
It was over, and Zack won again.
One final sob echoed in the damp air around him.