It's well put together, like the elusive object of desire, or the Ferrari. But the problem with fiction at this length is making something happen, which it doesn't here. So we're left with a guy in a place he shouldn't be who isn't yet even thinking about getting out. No mobile phone from Morpheus being delivered here.

I don't think this one is going to turn into some other story. I think you should leave it for what it is. There will be another one around the corner.

-- By CasidheMcClone - 29 Mar 2016

This is fiction, loosely based on a story a grad told me, and a first year associate's rant. The names are fake.

Jennifer left O’Malveny & Smith more like a runner than a dissatisfied employee. Her two-week notice came in early May, but there didn’t really seem to be any warning. She simply shifted her stance, and accelerated into a memory.

Patrick believed he was the only one who kept that memory. There was a period of water cooler discussions in early March, suggestions that she couldn’t quite cut it or that she probably wouldn’t have gotten that far anyway. To Patrick, even this period seemed brief, and he was surprised when his coworkers stopped talking about her altogether. It wasn’t even a week before Jennifer’s departure was considered old news. Patrick couldn’t help but wonder how long his coworkers would have discussed his departure.

With a breath of vexation, he reclined away from his computer screen, and absently gazed at the calendar on his desk. It was mid-July; Patrick had been at the firm for around a year now. His girlfriend of two years had left him last October. He couldn’t remember the details of the final argument, but it had something to do with loans, and work-hours. After she left, Patrick had dared to hope for something with Jennifer... She seemed so together...

“Look alive, kid.”

His musings were interrupted by a nauseatingly energetic presence, and Richard Martin clapped a pair of heavy hands onto Patrick’s shoulders.

“Can’t be zoning out on the clock. Client pays for your full attention.” The older man flashed an intimidating set of teeth. “If you don’t provide your full attention, how can we charge full price?”

Patrick felt a faint splitting sensation in the back of his skull. His temper burned, and retorts rose to the top of his mind. Yeah, he was on the clock, but it wasn’t like he was actually contributing anything. He was staring into documents he barely understood, and was utterly failing to find connections between them or to the client’s case. He and Richard both knew that all he was giving the firm at the moment was a wad of billable hours. Nobody actually cared whether or not Patrick zoned out.

That is, they wouldn’t care until performance reviews rolled around. And if he wanted to move up the ranks... With a barely audible grunt, Patrick swallowed his anger and straightened his back, pulling away from Richard’s hands. He had an inner image of a man who was comfortable with the work in front of him, and he wanted to look like that man. But his correction in posture did little for his ego. When he spoke, he was caught off guard by his own high pitched and apologetic voice. “Yeah,” he replied, “just thinking.”

Richard leaned forward to squint at Patrick’s computer screen. “Well, think productively. You’re still going through receipts from the Grant case? Gotta pick up the pace, kid. We just got word from Oxy that something big is in the pipeline. Get it? Looks like we’re going to have ourselves a little fire drill.”

“All hands on deck?”

“All hands on deck.”

All hands on deck didn’t necessarily mean “all hands” so much as “your team,” but it did mean “Patrick,” and “work over the weekend.” He wasn’t allowed to protest. If he had weekend plans, he wasn’t allowed to mention them. He was allowed to groan, but not frequently.

Patrick groaned. “I haven’t gotten anything about it. When did you find out?”

Richard tapped his ear as he started backing out of the room. “Just heard it from Mr. Walden, right after he got off the phone. You’ve got an email on the way, don’t you worry.”

“Alright, I’ll look for it.”

“Do what you can with that in the meantime,” Richard added, indicating Patrick’s computer. “It’s less of a priority, but we’ll be there next week.” Richard blissfully rapped his fingers against the door on the way out. He was gone too quick to notice that the noise had made Patrick flinch.

With Richard gone, Patrick sighed and leaned back again. He was uncomfortably aware of how much space his body was taking up. He hadn’t been running in weeks. He had a vague feeling of immobility, and was self-conscious about being touched. He couldn’t shake the sensation of Richard’s hands on his shoulders. Some ghostly weight was holding him back against the chair, too close to his neck...

Rubbing his eyes, he tried to remember if he had any plans he’d need to cancel. “Shit.” Dinner with his brother. Well, Jim would understand, they’d done the same dance three months prior. Although, that time, Patrick had at least been able to spend the weekend with Jennifer.

With a sigh, he wondered what she was working on. He’d seen some facebook posts of her a few weeks after she quit. Looked like something in the District Attorney’s office... or was it the Attorney General’s office? There had been a picture of her, beaming besides the government seal in her new building.

With what he hoped was a discreet movement, he opened facebook on his phone and glanced down at it. After a second unfruitful search, he frowned and locked his phone. Had she deleted her account? Why would she do that? The mystery of her new life annoyed him. It teased him. A small muscle of envy flexed in his chest, and he glanced out the window at Mr. Walden’s Ferrari in the parking lot, low against the asphalt, angry and tense as a loaded weapon.