Phantom Window

(AN: Story has henceforth moved to Hentai Foundry, and is no longer confined to the CHYOA format! http://www.hentai-foundry.com/stories/user/ArdesCadaver/22050/Phantom-Window )

This is not my day. Ever since I got here, I've had a feeling it would all go to shit. I'd love to revel in my ability to accurately predict what's coming, but I just can't be arsed. Here I am, standing with my figurative pants around their figurative ankles. What the fuck was she thinking? I'm never gonna date a co-worker again.

Okay... Slow down. Breathe. Just recount what has transpired. Maybe you'll get some ideas of how to resolve this.

I didn't mean to piss her off, I just wanted to let loose for once. She acts as if she owns me. What was she hoping to achieve by pulling a trick like this? All I did is go to one little party and maybe kiss a few chicks... Maybe get a blowjob or two... Alright, I admit, I might not be the most reliable person in the world, but she could just have broken up with me. She didn't have to do this.

I'm sitting in my cubicle in a random office building in downtown Manhattan, this shite paper-pushing job that I managed to land fresh out of university, staring at this... This fucking waste of paper fresh off the company printer, which says:

Lewis Edam is A CHEATER!

...And features a dashing color photo of me getting head from some bimbo whose name I'd be damned if I could remember. Judging by the occasional chuckles I hear from all around the room, just about every person in the building got their copy. Turns out one of her friends was there and snapped it when I was too drunk to notice. I'm only twenty-two years old, I don't deserve this. Or maybe I do. I don't fucking care anymore, I just wish we could all be just a little bit more mature with our missteps, instead of resorting to this porn garbage.

I stand up and squeeze the letter-sized sheet in my fist until it's a tiny ball, shoving it into my pocket, and prepare to take the day off. If I had known this would happen, I wouldn't have come here in the first place. I'm sure my boss will understand; he's always seen me as an honest, hard-working man. Who knows if he still thinks so of me or not. I'll have a private talk with him later to see if he could help, or...

No... Why bother? This will never blow over. While I make for the elevator, I witness accusing and ridiculing glances all around me from people I was previously quite comfortable with. I swear I'm gonna go fucking crazy. Then, I see the icing on the cake:

OUT OF SERVICE

The second piece of paper to betray me today. The barricaded elevator door informs me that I have to walk all the way down this ten-story-tall building, running into God knows how many dickheads waiting to make me into the highlight of their day. I swear it wasn't broken when I came here, what caused it to... Never mind. Just never fucking mind.

I wish I had never been born. My life has been nothing but a series of disappointments up to this point: always being bullied in school, half-assing my later education, mismanaging relationships, never finding any real friends. I was clearly never meant to be. What is a man to do in this case but weep?

And weep I do. I crawl into a ball onto the floor in front of the broken elevator and break into tears. Self-pity at critical levels, I wish the earth would simply swallow me up and never spit me out. That I could just vanish into thin air. To become nothing, like I think of myself.

Such thoughts dart through my brain as the chuckling continues around me. Laugh away, just you wait until I bomb this whole fucking place. I don't really mean that. Maybe I do. I don't know.

Five minutes pass while I console myself, until I notice the giggling has stopped. I slowly get up and catch a glimpse of a mirror reflecting my reddened, swollen face and stained light-blue collared shirt, the very same one I had on at the party. My heart skips a beat as I notice nobody's looking at me anymore, even though they couldn't stop staring before. I guess they had just about enough. I'm not even good for entertainment anymore.

I take the stairs, intending to leave, but not down. Up.

A sudden peace dawns upon me as I ascend the stairs. The roof isn't far away anymore. With resolve, I know exactly what must be done, and aren't feeling like screwing around any longer. I push the service door open and see some of the workers of the building's other floors having a smoke break as they lean against the railing, talking about something innocuous I bet, and even though as they laugh among each other over something funny, I can't associate the sound with anything but spiteful mockery anymore. I walk right past them and climb over the railing, standing an inch away from the ledge, watching the cars drive by underneath me.

Snippets of my life replay in my head as I contemplate how I got here. Trouble with my family, trouble in school, trouble in the university, trouble at work, trouble with girls. I'd say trouble's my middle name, but that carries an another meaning entirely that's so not suited for me. When I met Chelsey a couple of months ago, I finally felt like my life was getting somewhere, only for it all to go down the toilet later.

Well, that bitch will never be able to hurt me again. The wind is cool and refreshing. At last, a wonderful note to leave off on.

Lift one foot forward, prepare for liftoff...

Wait a minute, what the fuck? Put that foot back.

How come those guys haven't even lifted an eyebrow at this guy right next to them who's clearly about to off himself? You'd think they'd at least look at me, but they're acting as if I'm not even here. Whether it's to try and stop me or to yell 'do a backflip', I expected... You know, some reaction.

I carefully get back on the roof and approach the two smokers, a third person with them who's enjoying some sweet second-hand exposure. They're making quips of how hellish shopping has been this season. One of the smokers, a woman, apparently has three kids, and has to buy presents for each of them. That's right, it's almost Christmas, I completely forgot. Not surprised that wasn't on my mind. I wave my hand in front of her face. No reaction from any of them. I pick the cigarette up from between her fingers and toss it over the ledge. Again, no reaction. I cough a little and waft the smoke away, trailing off into: "Hello!? What do you think you're doing?"

The mother of three looks at me and responds: "Sorry, is something wrong?"

The three of them have paused their conversation and are all now looking at me. I continue: "Finally. I feel like I just turned invisible or something. Did you not see me standing on the ledge, there?"

She calmly clarifies: "Yes, we did." -and then looks at her friends, a man and a woman in 'casual' business clothing like mine, continuing- "Didn't you guys?" They both nod and hum in agreement.

I put my palm to the side of my head and half-yell: "Well, what did it look like I was about to do?"

They think for a bit and then the guy says: "It looked like you were about to commit suicide."

I stare at him like he's gone mental, not really noticing the irony of the situation, and continue my rant: "...AND!? Do you not feel like that's something of note? Something to respond to or talk about with-" -I wag my hand at the other two- "-your buddies?"

"Well, it's your business. I don't see why we should care."

Something is severely fucked up. Either all three of these were raised in really 'unique' families and/or cultures, they're all on , or this is the company's idea of a funny prank to get everyone involved in. They seemed sane and sober, though, besides the uncanny nonchalance. I have never heard of any place in the world where a suicide would be treated as something that's not even worth noting. I give up with them and head back downstairs, hearing them resume their conversation behind me. I intend to get to the root of this. Let's put that whole 'killing myself' affair on hold for now.

That whole situation was creepy as all hell. I return to my cubicle to plan for my next move with slow, careful steps. Still hearing no chuckling where I had previously tolerated it, I dodge some people who I actually recognize. I don't know many of the folks who work on the other floors, but here on this one, 'we all work together', as my boss often pep-talked us. Still, no gaze meets me. I'm being ignored just as much as I was on the rooftop, even though my face is still a little red from that outburst I had in front of the broken lift. I stand in the middle of the room and yell to no-one in particular: "THIS ISN'T FUCKING FUNNY!"

The shout echoes throughout the room. No response. I see Bob, a smarmy suck-up of a guy I never liked, walk past me. Too angry to care, I tap his shoulder to get him to stand still and then punch him right across his fat face with a satisfying smack, causing him to reel back and hit the wall of the cubicle behind him. Adrenaline giving me a high, I stand there with my legs apart, staring at Bob while his head is spinning, wondering just how fired I am. That ought to garner some kind of reaction. To my absolute disbelief, he simply stands back up with wobbling legs, straightens his tie, wipes off the drop of blood running down the corner of his mouth, and continues on his way to wherever he was off to. After a few deep breaths, I calm down enough to ask a lady sitting down at her assigned desk who saw the whole thing: "Hey, I threw a haymaker Bob's way. What do ya think of that?"

Mary, as I recall her name to be, takes a sip of her coffee and crosses her legs, replying with a blank expression without even turning to face me: "It made quite the sound."

"..."

What is there to do in a situation like this? Pinch myself? I already have, several times. It's a bad habit that kicks in whenever I'm stressed. It's very clear that Bob would never agree to taking a punch to the face from anyone, even for a prank's sake. To be frank, how many people would? And that stunt Chelsey pulled; is it somehow related to this? It has to be. Only a matter of figuring out how. I see one of the prints featuring the drunken blowjob on Mary's desk, which she has ceased to pay any attention to. Strangely, the picture is also starting to bother me much less than before. I crouch down next to Mary and take the paper in between my fingers, showing it to her while dangling it right next to my face, asking her: "So... What do you think about this, then?" She finishes typing something and then looks at the picture on the sheet, then at me, and then back at the photo, not even flinching over the pornographic imagery. She takes a moment to think and then says: "Oh, that. I saw that when I came in. Looks like you had fun, Lewis."

I put the paper back down on the desk and stand up, wondering what else to say to get an idea of what limits there are to this, if any. I quip: "Yeah, it probably was, if I could remember it. Incidentally, would you mind doing that to me right now?" Fully expecting her to laugh and decline, I smile and shake my head over how stupid this all is. Instead, I quickly find her unbuckling my belt.

My hands are braced over Mary's table while her plump lips glide over my member, her tongue working the shaft and occasionally stopping to massage my glans. My teeth clenched and my mind all sorts of fucked, I can hardly form a coherent thought. Just a few minutes ago she was slaving away like everyone else in this building, but now she's on her knees and blowing me in broad daylight, right in the middle of the office, instantly after being asked and without missing a beat. The pleasure is too much to comprehend, her abilities far more than I could have ever expected from who has always looked like a fairly conservative and reserved woman to me, so I end up blowing my load while frantically jabbing my hips forward and grabbing her head from behind, my tongue splayed, moaning in delight. Cum flows into her maw while I groan, feeling her swallow every last spoonful of the warm product. After she feels my dick quit its throbbing, she pulls her head off it and licks it clean, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. With one final gulp, she smiles and turns back in her chair, returning to whatever she was working on like nothing happened. Everyone around us seems just as oblivious to our extremely unprofessional behavior.

Wow.

My cock's still hanging out of my pants, but I don't even see a reason to put it back. No one seems to mind. In fact, no one seems to mind anything I do or ask. What in the everloving fuck is going on? I laugh like I've gone mad, and I probably have. I probably successfully killed myself and am now in limbo or the afterlife, or perhaps I failed the suicide attempt somehow and am now in a coma. Regardless, I have just found a new reason to live. I feel like a god. From zero to infinity.

I finally pull my junk back into my pants and zip them up, running down the fleets of stairs keeping me from kissing the earth in gratitude. I just have to see how far this extends. Standing in front of the company building's facade, I watch people walk by me. If they're about to walk into me, they do dodge, so I suppose it's fair to guess that everyone knows that I'm here. Not that they care unless I somehow inconvenience them. I see a snack stand by the side of this busy street and walk over there, checking for cars before crossing the road. I have a feeling that even if the drivers were to stop when they saw me, there could still be accidents. Approaching the stand, I grab a delicious-looking sub out of the display window and tell the cashier: "I'm just gonna take this. Hope you don't mind." His voice cracks: "No- ahem. Not at all, sir." -and scans the area for any ne'er-do-wells. Too bad there's one right in front of him. Then again, if I'm really not of bother to anyone, am I really that bad of a person..?

I begin unwrapping my sub and take a bite out of it, watching the teen organize the stand's inventory. Amazing. First a blowjob no-questions-asked and then a sub on the house. So it's not just the workplace; no one cares what I do. I bet you my balls that I could walk straight into the oval office and declare myself the next President of the United States and the whole congress would take me seriously. But why would I do that? Not even a president has as much power as me. I can get away with literally anything.