I came so close to breaking down in front of him. Nice going, Lucy.

I could have done better and saved myself the embarrassment. God knows I avoided Alexander like the plague for at least two days straight after that, even if it didn’t quite work. I was his secretary after all, and even keeping things strictly professional meant talking to the guy multiple times throughout the day. 

What had happened in his office didn’t faze him, though I would never know whether or not that was truly the case. 

Perhaps it was the paranoia talking, though I could swear Alexander’s demeanor suffered some subtle changes whenever he happened to be around me.  He seemed calmer. I welcomed that change with open arms — once I stopped chastising myself for that faux pass. 

Alexander was thrown into a shark tank without experience, yet somehow survived long enough to become part of the same crowd that was poised to eat him alive. It changed him, as it would change anyone else, for that matter. It made him into the self described asshole he thought he was. Perhaps he was right, though there were rare moments in which his other side slipped through the cracks of his tough guy facade.

The seventieth floor could get eerily quiet, especially in the morning. The slightest noise made me jump, always catching me off-guard despite my vow to be more alert each time I had a mini heart attack..

I heard the elevator climb up to my floor and craned my head towards its doors, waiting to see who would come out of it. There was nothing planned on the schedule: Alexander didn’t like surprises.

Out came a frail, young man wearing an oversized suit. A stuffed manila envelope in his hands, carried with the utmost care as though it contained a treasure map.

“For mister Harris, it’s urgent,” He announced, his voice wobbling. I thanked him and flashed him a courteous smile before watching as he retreated back into the elevator. Interns.

I reached over for the intercom and alerted Harris. I felt slightly dumb for not knowing the protocol, though it never hurt to be sure. 

Five silent minutes passed by. Harris may as well have been dead for all I knew, I couldn’t hear anything coming from his office. Sighing, I waited some more before attempting to contact him a second time. Still nothing.

The intern mentioned how the matter at hand was urgent. While the meaning of that word varied wildly depending on whose mouth it came out of, I decided it would be best to get it over with as soon as possible.

The office doors were a mix of tradition and technology — metal frame, ebony panels and a key card reader. I knew for a fact Harris hardly ever locked them, so all I had to do was push.

Alexander Harris stood in front of an easel I had never seen before. On it rested a canvas, though I couldn’t see what had been painted on it.

He turned around, startled, clutching a paintbrush as if he wanted to brandish it as a weapon. 

His piercing eyes shot wide open as he stared me down, jaw clenched so tight I thought it would pop off. “You shouldn’t be here,” He hissed through bared teeth. I had never seen him in that state before. Downright furious, because I dared disturb the peace and quiet of his sanctuary.

Somehow, I wasn’t scared of him. “I’m so sorry, sir, but you weren’t answering,” I apologized, lowering my gaze to the ground. “Somebody dropped this off for you, said it’s urgent.”

I peeked back at him, both out of curiosity and to determine if I was going to die or not. In that moment I saw a completely different man.

His face bore not a look of hate, but rather embarrassment. I could almost feel the heat emanating from his cheeks, even if he didn’t blush. He tried to hide it, and failed miserably. 

I smiled and took a step towards him, using the envelope to shield myself against an attack I knew wouldn’t come. Alexander stared at me, probably confused as to why I wasn’t scared. I was, at first. Until the strings that held together his mask came undone for a fleeting second, allowing me to peer into the the eyes of the true Alexander Harris. A normal man, after all, with a passion for art.

“Leave,” He resigned. No trace of anger left in his tone, he simply sounded tired. 

I shook my head and placed the envelope onto his desk before turning to face him, my gaze focusing onto the canvas he was trying to hide.

“Did you paint this?” I asked, peeking behind him. It was no easy task due to his height and overall build. I took it as a challenge.

Alexander sighed and took a step to his right, giving me an unobstructed view of the canvas he had been working on.

A beautiful shot of a forest, with trees taller than the turquoise sky they pierced. At first glance I didn’t see anything too outstanding about it, but as soon as I focused on the minute details I understood what it really was.

It was unmistakably a reproduction of New York’s skyline, or at least the portion of it that could be seen from that window. While normally one would describe the city as a concrete hellscape dotted with LED lights and endless traffic, what came from Alexander’s brush was entirely different.

Each massive tree represented one of the skyscrapers. Standing tall and proud, a testament to nature’s unrelenting force prevailing against all odds.

I turned around to face Alexander, and found him sitting cross-legged on his leather chair. A defeated look of acceptance replaced his usually stoic expression. I wasn’t supposed to see this. Maybe no one was.

“I started it back when I was handed this damn job. Thought it would help me relax. After a while it just seemed… Pointless.” The not-so-thinly veiled apathy had me wonder what “it” was. Perhaps I was reading between lines that barely even existed. Alexander’s intentional vagueness left me with more questions than answers.

“The painting or…?” I confronted him, leaning against his desk. Alexander took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling abruptly in what sounded like a drawn out sigh, possibly one he’d been holding back for God knows how long.

His silence spoke volumes, though he eventually broke it. “I’m not sure, honestly. Just as I’m not sure why I’m even talking to you about it.” 

I let out a humorless chuckle and shook my head lightly. “You could have thrown me out of your office. But you didn’t.”

“I did tell you to leave, didn’t I? Was I supposed to physically throw you out?” For a second, Alexander’s voice was touched by a hint of warmth. Just for a moment, before he looped right back to his deflated state.

The thought of him  getting physical with me had crossed my mind a few times, albeit not in the way he described. I’m only human, with needs that hadn’t been met in a long time. A starving dog in front of a succulent, yet unreachable steak.

Giggling nervously, I averted my eyes from his. Those damn emerald pools could read me like an open book under a magnifying glass. 

“I’m thankful you didn’t,” I confessed, though I kept the rest of my confessions locked tight. “And for what it’s worth, I think it’s beautiful.”

He bowed his head ever so slightly. “Thank you, Lucy.”

My lips pursed to form a weak smile. Alexander Harris was more than he let on, perhaps even more than he thought himself to be. I turned on my heels and left, my footsteps echoing across the massive open space that was his office.

I leaned against the heavy doors after closing them behind me. Ear flat against the ebony surface, waiting for him to prove he wasn’t just a pretty face with a shitty attitude.

His chair creaked painfully, and a short set of heavy footsteps followed. 

I smiled.

The sun began to dip down just as I was heading out of the building. 

The bus ride home gave me time to reflect on my thoughts, which essentially meant blacking out and almost missing my stop. It happened more times than I was proud to admit.

It had been an interesting day. Started out slow and boring, as always, but ended on a note I couldn’t have seen coming if I tried. Alexander’s expertly hidden true self, perhaps.

I couldn’t be too sure yet. Alexander was and will forever be an enigma, a beautiful paradox of a man who couldn’t be defined. Quiet and reserved deep within, even though his outward appearance didn’t match. He defied labels with ease. Alexander was running from something, that much was clear — but what? 

Every question that appeared in my mind added to the mystery of his character. 

I came to my senses just in time to see my stop approaching, and thanked my lucky star I wouldn’t have to walk back home.

All the lights were off in the house, meaning Brianna hadn’t come back yet. I got used to it, and frankly didn’t mind in the slightest. In fact I tended to enjoy those rare moments of peace. I loved Brianna, though sometimes everyone needs some time to recharge their social batteries.

I laid on the couch, staring at my blurry reflection on the black television screen. Boredom was starting to set in at an alarming pace. I forced myself to push through it.

I closed my eyes and flashed back to earlier that day, in Alexander’s office. Only this time things were different, far too different. 

His hands were on me. I crumbled under his touch, mirroring a sandcastle hit by a tsunami wave it never saw coming. I was his. Unquestionably, incontrovertibly his.

Alexander pushed me onto his desk rather unceremoniously. I let him, encouraged it even.. I felt his hot breath on my lips, just as a similar warmth began spreading between my legs.

I wanted him just as much as he wanted me. He knew he could have me whenever he damn well pleased. Just as his lips were about to touch my neck, a loud screeching noise pulled me back into my living room. Brianna was home.

She had forgotten her keys. Usually I would chastise her for it, but that day I couldn’t be happier about it. Getting caught doing questionable — yet completely normal — activities on a shared couch was extremely out of character for me, and I intended on keeping it that way.

Alas, the very thought that someone could push me in such a way was unusual at best. Was I falling for him?

I needed to clear my head.  

My usual remedy for those situations wouldn’t work, however. The house was spotless, my mental state not so much.

The smell of gasoline clung to the fresh air. It wasn’t the cleanest, though that hardly mattered to me. I just needed to get out of the apartment for a while. 

Darkness fell. The beauty of New York — or its worst side, depending on who you ask — lied in the city’s permanent lack of quiet hours. I didn’t mind the noise and I had even grown to like those obnoxious billboards that pestered certain parts of the city. It was a melting pot of every culture on the planet, often merging to create something new.

That was the magic of the city I lived in, the kind of magic that shattered the monotony of the everyday grind. Every corner could lead to something one had never seen or experienced before. It didn’t quite work too well that night. I walked along the sidewalks, lost in the thoughts I was trying to repel. And I found myself staring back at what used to be Shaw’s coffee shop.

I hadn’t been there in little over a month. Inside, construction workers had already begun tearing the place apart. Seeing it like that was comparable to getting kicked right into the heart.

The memories began flooding in as I stared, mindlessly, through the dirty glass panel that was the door. Just a metal frame and a sheet of tempered glass I remember cleaning every single day.

I dug my hands into my pockets and turned around to leave, deciding to leave the past behind me. There was no going back to it, unfortunately. 

My fingers hit the cold metal of my keyring. A light bulb went off in my brain. A stupid, stupid light bulb.

Shaw had a copy of the back door made for me, in case I needed to take out the trash. I never gave it back — and I still have it. I giggled like a schoolgirl as I circled back, coming up behind the shop to find the rusty dumpster I threw so many trash bags into. Some even broke as I did so, prompting me to spend way too much time cleaning up. It was empty, perhaps for the first time since it had been placed there.

Right next to it stood the wooden door that could hopefully lead me inside. I didn’t know why I wanted to get back in there, though in retrospect, I just needed some closure.

The lock hadn’t been changed. I walked in, my footsteps as soft as those of a cat. The thought of someone being there did cross my mind once or twice, but it was far too late for me to back out.

Each step made clouds of dust rise from the ground. The floors and even parts of the walls had already been gutted in brutish fashion. That place didn’t bear much significance for many, sadly. It did, for me and Shaw. It hurt to see it in that state, on what essentially was its deathbed.

I walked around a bit, retracing the steps I had taken countless times before. From behind the counter, with the aid of darkness, things didn’t seem all that different. Alas, they were, and deep down I knew it would one day happen. 

Sighing, I drew a rudimentary heart on the counter, the dust as my canvas. I hoped Shaw would see it, though I knew he wouldn’t. 

I wasn’t sure if that trip down memory lane helped me. It could have possibly made things worse, for all I knew. Shaw’s coffee shop would soon turn into something else. A rebirth of sorts, if you will.

I began heading out, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a rectangular shape resting against the naked frame of the wall. Curiosity got the best of me and I approached it. Even in the darkness I could make out the details. Malcolm McDowell’s face stared at me, sporting a devilish grin born from the good old ultraviolence that Alex, the character he portrayed in A Clockwork Orange, was fond of.

Shaw loved old movies. Out of the many posters that littered the walls of the coffee shop, that one was the sole wounded survivor. I carefully slid the poster out of the shattered frame and headed outside through the same door that let me in.

In the end, my little adventure served its purpose. The ghost of Alexander Harris stopped haunting my thoughts — at least briefly — replaced instead by a cheesy montage of all the memories formed at Shaw’s.

The poster I carried under my arm, rolled up into a tube, would serve as a memento. 

It was somewhat ironic still. I went out to escape one Alex and came back home with another one, albeit made out of old, yellowed paper. 

Thanks, Shaw.