I sat in front of my television, waiting for it to magically turn itself on and start showing me something that didn’t piss me off.

I didn’t know why I kept one in the first place, I hardly ever used it. Hell, I was hardly ever there. 

My office had become my de facto home, considering how much time I spent there. I could keep lying to myself and say I didn’t mind, though I was sick of it.

That job came with a host of issues I hated just as much as the seat I had to fill. I found refuge in the limitless supply of scotch the world had to offer, though even that couldn’t do the job anymore.

Painting seemed to work. It used to, at least, back when my life was simple. My art reflected it, in some way. I was the farthest thing from a pretentious asshole, but I took pride in what I did.

The painting Lucy saw was old enough to be able to speak. I remember starting to work on it on the second day, after staring out of that damn window for what must have been an hour, perhaps even more.

A beautiful view, there was no denying that. Still, it wasn’t mine. It wasn’t what I wanted from life, but rather what I had been forced to accept. That reality, my reality, had been placed on top of me like a crown on the head of a reluctant king. 

In a fit of terrible predictability I tried to distance myself from it all. I succeeded, to an extent. The result was a gaping chasm, an uncrossable void that stood between me and what I should have been. I had no drive and it showed, ask my investors.

That endless, dark expanse had to be filled with something. That’s usually when most people fall victim to self destructive behaviors, be it drugs or gambling, or God knows what else.

Mine was a mixture of genuine detachment, scotch and hired pussy. It got the job done, but at a price.

The meaningless sex felt good in the moment, sure. Then it got stale. Old. Even with new women there was no improvement. It turned into a recurring monetary loss that gave me no satisfaction whatsoever. I saw no point in continuing.

The alcohol, though, that was a different business altogether. In my defense I did try to quit once or twice, with less than desirable results. 

I was at my wit’s end and waiting for an epiphany, something that would drag me out of that hole. Getting out of it would have been way easier if I didn’t always keep a shovel handy to dig it deeper. I couldn’t seem to grasp that concept.

Sleep played hide and seek with me that night. I lost.

The elevator doors opened and I stepped out of it, greeting Lucy on my way to my office. I was well past her desk when I realized it was too early for her to be there.

I spun on my heels and retraced my steps.

“How come you’re this early?” I asked, trying to mask the sleep — or lack thereof — in my voice.

Lucy shrugged. The hint of a weak smile shone briefly on her lips before she spoke. “Got an early start. Hardly slept, actually.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. I’d take the day off if I could,” I admitted, rolling my eyes.

She paused for a moment, her gaze shifting on the computer monitor in front of her. A couple clicks later, Lucy’s eyes narrowed as I heard her scroll through what I assumed was my daily planner.

“You could,” She declared. “There’s nothing special for today, just a meeting with the R&D department. I can reschedule it, just say the word,” Lucy nodded, her fingers ready to type an excuse.

“Ah, the nerds,” I chuckled. “It’s alright, don’t worry. Should have hired you sooner, though.” I meant that, genuinely. Her presence made coming to work somewhat better. She actively tried to help me, instead of being a glorified notebook.

It was her turn to roll her eyes at me.  “Should have spent more time with my father, then,“ She fired back, without missing a beat.

What once was a sore subject now seemed fine to discuss, and I tried to test the boundaries. “How’s Francis, by the way?” I asked, leaning against her desk.

Lucy sighed. “Dad? He’s… Fine. I guess. Still not happy with…” She paused, waving her finger in a circular motion.“…This. He’ll get over it, eventually.”

Her bitterness bled through, despite her best attempts to hide it. Being torn between family and work is not the easiest of situations to be in. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Sometimes people just need some time to adjust to change, that’s all.”

“I guess you’re right…” She trailed off, her gaze cast off into nothingness.

Giving myself a little push, I turned to face her. “Trust me, it’ll be fine.” 

Lucy nodded weakly, snapping out of whatever trance she’d slipped into. “I know, I know.” 

I nodded my head at her and began to walk away. “Atta girl.” 

I marched on towards my office, leaving the doors wide open behind me. 

I didn’t know why I did that, to be completely honest. Perhaps I wanted to ward off the relentless loneliness that assaulted me in that damn place, or maybe I just didn’t want to break that singular Ariadne’s thread that led me back to Lucy.

Either way, it was new for me. I used to keep those doors closed at all times, and I rarely even ventured out of there. I naturally felt trapped at first, though the longer I spent there, the more I came to terms with that resignation to solitude.

“Sometimes people need time to adjust to change…” I muttered to myself. I drew a weary breath and slumped down on my chair, closing my eyes for just a moment.

I fundamentally agreed with the sentiment, though not every change moves things towards a positive direction. Some did, thankfully. I had been on both sides of the spectrum — first with the company, then with Lucy. I couldn’t tell in which way my life was headed, yet I knew I would either be complacent or burn everything that stood in my path to get back to what it once was. No gray areas.

That attitude could have been the end of me, or ultimately made me thrive. Perhaps change truly was needed. One of those changes I kept talking so much about despite knowing so little about.

Once more my thoughts bounced back to Lucy. She was my secretary, nothing more and nothing less. Or was she? I couldn’t quite tell amidst all that chaos, the very same chaos she kept so ordered and organized. 

I had heaps of questions swirling in my head. One by one they would force themselves under the spotlight, trashing any possible answer formulating in my sleep deprived brain.

I opened my eyes. Two hours had passed. 

I rubbed the sleep off of my eyes, or at least tried to, before forcing myself to stand up. Feeling somewhat renewed I sauntered over to the easel I kept near the window, hoping inspiration would finally come to me.

It had been a while since I added anything to that painting. The New York jungle, as I referred to it, was far from being complete. I spent an excessive amount of time just staring at it, waiting for something to happen. 

When Lucy barged into my office, tablet in hand, and caught me brush-handed, I almost fainted. In retrospect, there was no need to keep my hobby a secret from anyone, much less from a woman who knew exactly where I was and what I was doing at any given time. 

In truth, there were days — weeks even —  in which picking up a brush felt like a monumental task. I could almost see the black cloud hanging overhead, sapping my creativity away to benefit a job I never wanted to begin with.

On the rare days in which its influence wasn’t as strong as it normally was, I still couldn’t bring myself to paint. I would stare at the canvas, wait for inspiration to strike me like a lightning bolt and promptly give up hours later, after wasting time doing nothing.

Yet, things did change. In a positive way. I didn’t want to admit it at first, though the facts were undeniable: Lucy had been the catalyst, the only different variable in a world of constants.

I entertained those thoughts for far too long, finding myself about to give in to old habits. Forcing myself to act, rather than wait for a sign from above, would be infinitely better than procrastinating. 

I took a step back about three hours later, just to admire the progress I made.

The jungle looked far more vibrant, the emerald greens of the leaves melting into the rich brown tones of the wood itself, against a sky littered with soft white clouds.

I was satisfied with it, happy even. It wasn’t done yet, naturally, though I couldn’t recall the last time I felt like that about any of my paintings. Perhaps before I took over the company, though those times were long gone.

Life is unpredictable, despite one’s best efforts to maintain a stable course.

I set the brush and palette down on my desk and made my way towards the doors. I wanted a second opinion on the progress, mine was far too critical to be taken into consideration.

There as a weird smell in the air, vaguely resembling lemon or, at least, the idea of lemon. Its source was quickly revealed — cleaning products, which Lucy had been using.

“Everything alright there?” I asked, poking my head out of the doorway.

Startled, Lucy turned around in a split second. A look of pure panic on her face, which faded as soon as she realized she wasn’t in danger.

She clutched her chest, breathing heavily, while shooting me a glare that could have killed me. I grinned.

“Yeah, yeah,” She nodded, her face becoming flush. “I just like to keep everything tidy.”

I exited my office and calmly made my way over to her.“Did the cleaners miss your desk or something?” 

“No, I…” Lucy trailed off, throwing the wet rag she held in her hands on the nearby desk. “It relaxes me. I know it’s weird, but…”

The corners of my mouth curled into a smile I hoped she didn’t misunderstand. “I see, I see. You should try painting, I hear it helps,” I joked.

Lucy’s eyes lit up when I mentioned painting. “Speaking of which, how’s yours going?” She asked, a hint of badly concealed excitement in her tone.

“I actually wanted some feedback on it,” I confessed.  “If you’re not too busy cleaning this perfectly clean desk, that is…”

She chuckled and rolled her eyes, as I noticed she always did whenever I would make a joke. Not in a bad way, though. I found it endearing. “I’d love to help.”

Lucy stared at my painting, and in turn, I stared at her.

Arms crossed on her chest, she brought a finger above her lips and held it there. Those plump lips, clad in noting but a dark shade of red lipstick, almost bordering on brown.

Her gaze scanned the canvas, taking in every minute detail I put into it just as I did the same to her body. I couldn’t help it, and I couldn’t deny the fact that I liked what I saw.

I had never stopped to truly look at her. Past the work-related boundaries, down to the very basic roots of who we were: a man and a woman, originally pitted against one another by a rivalry we never cared about.

“It needs more life,” She nervously remarked after what felt like a year of silence. Lucy tapped her lips once and then twice with the tip of her finger, before exclaiming her final answer. “Birds, definitely!”

I nodded in agreement. “You’re right, I could add some critters here and there…” 

Lucy’s eyes widened, expressing a joy I had never seen before. Perhaps she thought I wouldn’t value her opinion, or maybe she was afraid I would dismiss it. Adding living creatures to the jungle would, in fact, improve it, and considering it was meant to represent one of the busiest cities in the world, it made sense to have it populated by more than just trees.

I bowed my head slightly. “Thank you, dear. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” She winked. “I’m always just a few steps away.”

When Lucy left my office, we both had the same dumb grin plastered over our faces. It could have been a hint, one of those I was so bad at reading. Or an omen. 

Deep down, I like to think we were both starting to realize there was something buried just below the surface. Dying to emerge and thrive. 

Alas, life is unpredictable. All we can do is try to steer it towards our goals and dreams. It’s a hit or miss, really, and even the best laid plans can go up in smoke in less than a minute.

Sometimes, however, the stars align perfectly. It’s a rare occurrence, one I had yet to experience. Something told me I soon would, despite the constellations themselves being shaped like someone I should have hated.