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A Trope As Old As Time

There once was a woman

Who hated a man

They worked together

At a thankless job

When they were young

And he slacked off

Avoiding his thankless responsibilities

And leaving her to do

His work


She’d yell at him

And call him lazy

And an asshole

And a prick

And a dumbass

And a fuckboy

And a bitch

She loved calling him a little bitch

All the while

He was indifferent to the work

And to her swearing

And to her hating him


She was 20

And beautiful

And he was 18

And handsome

Night after night

They were stuck with each other

He’d put in his headphones whenever she started to speak to him

And she did whatever should could do

Not to look at him


But her eyes

Her damn eyes

They started to search for him everywhere

She had to be near him

To tease him

To try to get some sort of reaction out of him

But he never gave her the pleasure


Weeks passed

And tension was building

She hated him so much

Hated his eyes

That never ‘lit up’

Like most peoples do

She hated his messy hair

And how he couldn’t stand straight up

But had to lean against everything

She hated that women would come in just to see him

Just to talk to him

And she hated that he never seemed to care about any of them


One night

It was just the two of them closing together

He was on his phone

Not doing his job


“Are you seriously not going to help me?”


“Nope.”


“You stupid little bitch.”


He looked up from his phone and smirked at her.


“Seriously? Just do something.”


“Make me,” he said to her.


“Make you? How?”


“Figure it out, genius.”


She walked over to where he was sitting and grabbed his arm, pulling him upwards.


He didn’t move, but glared at her instead.


“Holy shit. You’re heavy for being a skinny prick.”


“Thanks.”


“Not a compliment, dipshit.”


“One of us needs to go do our job.”


She grabbed a leg with the arm, and pulled him harder.


He fell out of his seat.


She fell on top of him.


“You’re really not going to do my job for me?” he asked, whispering to her.


“Fuck no.”


“But you always do?”


“I—. . . I don’t always do it.”


“Yes you do. It’s why I let you call me wild things.”


“Really? That’s why?”


She felt the warmth from his body on her skin.

She accidentally smelled him.

He smiled at her.


She pushed him down and got up.


“Don’t do that.”


“Will you give a hand up?”


He reached out for her.


She looked at it and scoffed. Then she grabbed his hand and tried to pull him up.


He yanked her back down, and she collapsed on top of him again.


“What do you think you’re doing?” she said through heavy breathing.


“I think I am doing this,” his lips met hers. And to her own surprise, she didn’t resist.


Instead, she met him with furious passion.


. . .


They fucked that night

Several times

All over their work

In lots of different ways


And all of a sudden

They didn’t hate each other

Now

They realized

That they

Loved each other

And always had.



CH 2/14/24



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