A white-collar worker with a secret

Kirk tapped away, watching the pattern of lights on screen change. That grid of little blinking squares seemed to define his entire life sometimes. When the lights showed good things, Kirk’s life was good. When the lights showed bad things, Kirk drank more.

Right now, the pattern of lights showed that sales were down 6.3% this week. This wasn’t Kirk’s fault. Kirk wasn’t a salesman. He had nothing to do with sales. Unfortunately, the leadership of the small management software firm where he worked didn’t seem to have ever learned the phrase “don’t shoot the messenger.”

Kirk was the firm’s accountant. Kirk was the messenger. Reluctantly, he shot off his weekly email report to Rebecca, the CEO.

Kirk sighed, and leaned back in his chair, putting his hands over his head and stretching with a grunt. He looked to his left out the window; the sun was beginning to dip below the neighbouring buildings of the Miami skyline. He was supposed to have left the office at least an hour ago.

Sitting there, Kirk thought—not for the first time—about his lot in life. He wasn’t unhappy per se, though maybe a bit unsatisfied. He was an oddity, for one thing; a man without a single partner. Not even a fuckbuddy! Of course, in a way that was by choice. He could easily pull a dozen girls if he was willing to let out his secret, but that… that was a whole can of worms. Every time he thought about that metaphorical mass of invertebrates—about all the consequences that came with it…

Just wasn’t worth it, right?

He looked away from the window.

Kirk’s office was neither large nor private; he shared it with the firm’s marketing rep: a femboy named Riley. The halves of the office were both decorated sparsely, as per company policy, and the fluorescent lights had been on the fritz lately. His chair squeaked.

Kirk’s self pity was interrupted as an alerting knock sounded on the already-open door.