The Doomed Job: My Fucked-Up Past

i had no one to proof-read it, so i did it myself (it's a really tiring job), and i know a few errors might have gone unnoticed. I've tried to use good English, but then again, some errors might be there. Don't be a grammar nazi. Bear with me. Most of you will find the first part irrelevant, which is true. It is just an insight into the life of Joseph Nelson. This part is the foundation stone for the rest of the story, which is why it's important. The next parts', i hope, will be interesting. The story has been told from Joseph's perspective. Lastly, do vote and comment what you think. Don't fuck with my patience in the comments section. CHEERS

This could have been one of those normal mornings for us – my girlfriend, Stella, and myself; lying on a king-size bed with the sheets draped royally over our half-naked bodies, feeling the pleasant light and warmth of the morning sun filtering through the curtains and falling upon us, showering our faces, and the sheets and the mattress, with a golden-yellow glow, commanding us to get ourselves out of bed, but our bodies too close and too tempting to be ignored, wanting to experience the tingles of just one more moment of such sheer intimacy, as could be shared only between two individuals drowned in each other’s love. Yeah, it could have been - if I hadn’t chosen to be an arrogant, proud jerk over two weeks ago. God, I really hate to think of the day.

Until that awful day, and for the past one year and a half, I’d been working as a consulting agent in an insurance company. I kinda hated my job, which actually was to fool people into investing in our policies, and fucking them in the ass (a more violent expression for backstabbing, coz I’m really angry right now) when they really needed THEIR money back, but I carried on. The pay was good, and I thought I finally had a well-settled life. To top it off, I met Stella Perkins a year ago and fell in love with her.

I still remember the exact scenario – meeting her at a club I frequently visited, catching a glimpse of her beautiful face and well-proportioned body clothed in a sexy, red knee-length dress, and gathering my guts to go talk to her. I remember how she’d been sitting alone at the bar counter, watching the animals inside the people unleashed on the dance floor, with a drink in her hand, and how after many self-reproachful sermons which had nearly come to questioning the significance of my existence, I had gathered the courage to talk to her. I remember how the introduction had been easier than I thought it would be, and how we’d then talked for hours - she was an easy talker -, then danced to some songs, and eventually ended up in my bed fucking the life out of each other. I remember how she had been a fucking machine - never exhausted and going to work as if her life depended on sex – and had only stopped after I was sure my dick couldn’t function any more.

In our post-sex conversation, she’d told me she worked in a publishing house, and that she was not satisfied with the pay and was looking for something else to do. I’d told her the same things about my job that I told you earlier. She’d laughed at my comment, and that beautiful laughter, combined with the rosy blush on her cheeks, was what took my heart away. I’d told her to get dressed, that I had something to tell her, and after some reluctance, she had dressed again. I’d taken her to the terrace of my apartment building, and going down on one knee…

**Flashback: More than a year ago**

"Sweet, sweet Stella Perkins, forgive me for this is not the best place to say this, but I could not think of a more romantic arrangement at this time of the night than that under the light of the moon and the stars, to say that I am in love with you, and all that you are."

She’d stared at me like I was a rare insect, and in that time I’d thought of the worst replies she could give me. But instead she’d blushed and said with a smile, "God, I was wondering what took you so long to say this." I must have manifested a confused expression, for she had instantly replied, "I love you too."

We had then kissed and danced under the moonlight, and she had moved in with me three days later.
This was a sweet memory, one I'll never forget.


Now comes the bitter one.

Nearly two weeks ago, some influential son-of-a-bitch sued me for not making him aware of the complete details, the terms and conditions of his insurance policy. It hadn’t been my fault. I’d told, no, warned him to proceed only after he had thoroughly read each and every point stated in the documents. The bastard was too busy to follow. The consequence: "You’ve failed to carry out your duties the best you can, and in the process defamed the institution you work for, Mr. Nelson. In light of the recent events, you are permanently relieved of your duties."

I was fired. My boss wouldn’t tolerate a blot on his company’s reputation because of the "laziness and inefficiency of a minor employee (sic)."
I wish I could say that Stella was very supportive of me in those few days when the wounds were fresh, but that wasn’t really the case. She sometimes sympathized with me, but that wasn’t enough. Her meager salary from the publishing house wasn’t enough either. The sex reduced, in frequency and in enthusiasm and satisfaction. We started having fights over petty issues. The summary was this: in less than two weeks after I lost my job, our relationship turned sour, and the love felt like it was never there.

I didn’t completely blame Stella, though she was insensitive sometimes. I had asked her to move in with me, so it was my (kinda) responsibility to take care of her, and here I was – with no job, and no idea with what to do next.

So I decided to apply for jobs - any job. I sent my CV to various companies, and I was sure I’d be rejected the moment they read it, because my references told I’d been fired from my previous job. Amidst the clouds of hopelessness, a ray emerged.

I received a mail.

The mail said that I was to be interviewed for a vacant post at a law firm, that I had to report to the given address the following morning, if interested. Of course I was interested, you motherfuckers. I broke the news to Stella on the phone, and she said that she was happy for me and wished me luck. That’s it. Nothing more. I sensed the absence of enthusiasm in her voice, but chose to ignore it. I hoped things would be back the way they were once I got the job.

We had sex that night. It was disgusting, half-hearted sex. No foreplay, no kissing. Just me pumping into Stella’s cunt like a beast, without a moan of appreciation. She hardly looked into my eyes. I came, and we slept. That was last night.

And now it was past.

Today is what matters. And today is my interview.

I wake up to what could have been one of those normal mornings for us. But it isn’t. Those mornings are past. The sunlight sifts through the mesh of the curtains, and falls on our faces. I glance briefly at the divine face in front of me – Stella, her beautiful alabaster skin glowing in the sunlight, her round cheekbones, and the perpetual pink of her cheeks. I might as well have been the luckiest man on Earth in the good ol’ days. But then the events of last night play in my mind, and I taste acid in my mouth.

Before I could get distracted with the shit my life is, I hurl these thoughts away. There’s no time for this bullshit anymore. I get out of bed, and leave Stella to enjoy her peaceful sleep. I brush my teeth, gargle with a mouthwash which renders my breath fresh as mint, and head to the bathroom. It is 7:35 AM right now, and I have to be there for my interview by nine, so I have enough time for a good, thorough shower. Before I shower, I shave my overgrown beard and mustache, so that I no longer look like Jimmy Page from 1972. I then head straight to the shower. I take a satisfying bath - my body looks fresh and clean, and my long, blond hair smells of shampoo. As I get dressed, I take a look at myself.

If my life wasn’t such a mess right now, I’d actually have been quite proud of my body and my looks. I stand 6’2" tall, with a muscular frame – not very, just enough – the type women like, and my face, with the prominent jaw line, reminds women of Jamie Dornan from Fifty Shades, I’ve been told many a times. My golden-yellow hair is long enough to fit into a pony tail, or else to remain unkempt and messy, to transform me into the rockstars of the 70’s.

I choose black pants and a white cotton shirt. I apply gel in my hair, comb it back into a neat pony, apply cologne, take a last look at myself in the mirror – appropriate – and leave. I wake Stella up, tell her I’m leaving, hear her mumble something in her sleep, which is assume is "just leave already", and am about to get out of the door when she actually wakes up.

"Hey! Joseph! Wait, Jos-," she reaches me, panting, her lingerie-clad body tempting me to rip our clothes off and take her right there on the floor. I resist the urge.

"Yeah? Be quick Stel, I’m getting late," I reply. I am not really happy with her.

"It’s just…I…all the best. I know we’re falling apart and I don’t know where we’ll end up with this, but that doesn’t change my opinion of you. I know you’ll nail it."

I find it hard to believe it’s the same Stella from 2 weeks ago. I process in my mind what she just said, and realize that wherever we end up with this relationship doesn’t change the fact that she’s a good human being.

"Thanks. I’ll call you," I say.

She stands on her toes and kisses my cheeks.

"I’ll wait. Bye."

With a smile plastered on my face and my confidence soaring new heights, I leave our apartment.

[i]That’s how much you affect me, Stel. That’s how much you affect me.[/i]

The Doomed Job: My Fucked-Up Past