Our eyes would meet across the office every day and I would recall the moment we had shared. We shared an email, or several, mainly made up of random work requests, but, as the days passed, the emails became more personal. We even got a little raunchy, giving the IT department some lunchtime wank material, as we worked out more info about each other. About six weeks after you had started our flirting had increased to a daily ritual. We dropped in as many inconspicuous comments as we could get away with. I became bolder with my actions; I felt totally at ease when you were around. We stood in the kitchen making drinks. I stole a quick glance at your ass as you bent over to look in the fridge. You sighed. “No juice left.” “Sure I could find you some somewhere,” I said. You gasped and I wished I could take it back. “Don’t tease me now,” you said. “Because I’d love some of your juice.” You turned to face me, flashed me a seductive smile and sauntered out while I stood there gaping. A. Father was outside on our porch enjoying a fag, whilst reading the paper. He had a distraught look on his face. His face was wrinkled with worry and his brows furrowed as if to focus closer on his reading. I approached him and tried to make small chat. He gestured with his hand that my company was not welcome. I never really paid any mind to his solidarity because in a way I understood it. I had hellish thoughts that enveloped my consciousness, but a man ought to bury those sins deep in his heart and forget them as father would have said. Later that day, Katherine was out in our back room bathing. I was lying on my bed reading Dostoyevsky, completely hypnotized by his literary cunning, until I heard my mother screech. It was faint and muffled, it had a familiar sound and I knew I had heard it before. Only this time it was more than just barely audible. I with a calming surreptitious stride walked to my fathers room and peered in. There my father with a fistful of mother's hair was.
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