With a Dash and a Shrug
an excerpt

Betrayed by the Sisterhood
By
Annabelle Twilley
It had started as a normal day at work for Melissa. As usual she got in early, processed half of what was there and waited quietly for the torrent of mostly silent abuse from her co-worker about the remaining tasks. She had a mental plan that each day the remaining work would be divided in half, equally shared and happily done.
However it was never actually divided in half as he then waited for her to take half of what was left, and he never actually verbally abused her if she didn’t, but the comments were muttered day by day. Though his lessons from whoever on snide comments about work performance was growing longer by the day. Melissa said nothing at these comments however. He was handicapped after all, and the salt shaker had definitely been left out of the picnic basket with this one. Besides if she did snap a short, sharp rebuttal that he couldn’t respond quickly to, she would be taken aside by her superiors and reminded of the fact that he was special and needed to be treated with respect. That workplace equity had stringent codes in place and common decency should rule. The sisterhood had initially supported her, until the rumours of her sexuality began reverberating back to her. The sad thing about gossip is that it’s usually idiots who are the ones to spread it and this one was the idiot of all idiots and a leader in the sisterhood. He did it, began that rumour, Melissa knew it, so did the sisterhood. But the sisterhood had united and the only thing to get between their thighs was going to be a penis. Naturally enough the greatest achievement any of the sisterhood had ever achieved, Melissa acknowledged, was being able to open those thighs again and pass a baby through. Apparently this gave the one who had spread her legs to begin with, greater intellect and superpowers. Melissa wondered frequently if they were saving their intellect for a rainy day.
Melissa did get another job, well she went for it, but it had been directly after another torrent of abuse from her co-worker, who had then made an official complaint about her criticisms and, as they told her, they couldn’t really give her a good referees report considering her appalling record with equity.
Her co-worker smirked, and told her that she would never be the success that he was seen to be and would she pull her finger out of her arse and do some work. She had already done some fifteen jobs that day to his three.
Sighing softly she picked up another file.
Sighing so loudly that he brought five people over to see if he was all right, glaring at Melissa while one went to make him a cup of coffee.
He smirked at Melissa as she began the job, while he sighed loudly again electing a little more sympathy and shoving an extra file towards Melissa’s pile.
She watched as he struggled to his feet, the dramatic slow movements didn’t fool her anymore. She’d seen him getting out of his car and the speed he could walk without his frame as his unusual stance elected the odd gasp or double takes as people stared. He loved it. The attention. Melissa had lowered herself in the passenger seat of her mother’s car, throwing her mother’s cardigan over her head, but still managing to watch him almost jogging down the road. His return jog had her mischievous streak taking control and as he looked around for various people, anyone, even those in cars to see him walking, no, running, she ripped the cardigan off with a flourish. She smiled as she had wagged her finger at him. He thrust his finger up at her.
It had been a mistake. From that moment on, Melissa’s life wasn’t worth living in the office.
His fear of intimidation never happened and on realising she was keeping his very limited handicaps her own secret, he began a campaign to remove her. To his mind it was better she go on the dole than even one person not pitying him.
Melissa had come to terms with her appalling working conditions by that last day. She had been expected things to reach a head, but not that that and not just then.
Had he thought, used his brains for once, considered the ramifications of his actions, he probably wouldn’t have cared anyway. He already had the entire office eating out of his hands. From the pitying women to the men with whom he lowered his voice a little, as though somehow he had been mentally scratching his balls before calling to every man who stopped near his desk, or were caught and forced to stop to respond to the ever present call of “Hi Mate, how you going.” Melissa smiled at the mental image of cave men and continued working.
Then came the last day.
The office was empty, most at lunch, only his staunch male supporters were present but far enough away to claim ignorance.
He’d shuffled painfully back to his seat, Melissa rolled her eyes mentally, for some reason keeping the eye contact he’d begun. He didn’t break the contact, simply watched her, picked up his headphones, pushed the dial tone, without looking and pressed an installed number. Melissa wondered at his crippled hands that couldn’t straighten … the fingers small and tapered. “Hi, Mate,” the voice gravelled as the mental ball scratching began in earnest. “I just want you to know that all women are holes. The only thing they’re good for is plugging.”
Melissa was left with a mental image of having sex with a gargoyle as the phone call continued. “Yeah, well, I’ll see you later,” and hung up. He glared at her and she turned away.
Ten minutes later he vanished. Melissa knew that that was her last day.
Two days later, Melissa still hadn’t spoken to him, apart from the work question that she’d responded with the comment that if he didn’t know this after four years perhaps he was in the wrong job. She didn’t see his sneer as she left … she didn’t have to.
Pulled into the office she was told that he’d made an official complaint because she no longer spoke to him. Saying only that he’d been offensive she was still prepared to discuss work the boss was satisfied.
The sisterhood watched as Melissa nearly broke down and finally chose to go on leave. But not before admitting his words … or the fact that he was playing with himself at their desk when people couldn’t see him. Melissa sighed. There were never any witnesses. Never.
Returning to work she found herself allowed to work unsupervised. However the damage had been done. He’d been told he’d been harassing her sexually and it was to cease. So he took his poor bent body that he could barely move to all the women in the building, convincing them he didn’t have ‘urges’ like other men.
None of the sisterhood asked how she was, welcomed her back or asked about her holidays. None asked why she had been moved or what had happened. Apparently they heard what they wanted to.
And Melissa smiled within as she realised that this was the only ‘plugging’ he was probably ever going to achieve without actually paying a hooker. The sisterhood was being screwed, well and truly.
She worked a few more months, going through the motions slowly letting the rot sink in as she did even more than two thirds of the work because she felt too intimidated to do anything else.
He talked a lot, he loved the sound of his voice, it droned in a single monotone, always loud enough to be heard unless he was being politically incorrect. Funny how the sisterhood turned their backs on that bit of knowledge, and Melissa dreamed of a new job, if only she had a chance to fill out the paperwork.
The women continued to refuse to hear why she’d been moved, deciding his story the better one anyway and they didn’t gossip, they gleaned truth, and they didn’t really want to make decisions and Melissa sometimes thought back on that last day. The day the sisterhood had still counted her as one of their own. Just.
Annabelle pressed the full stop and read the story back, smiled with satisfaction. A bit of work and maybe it would be passable. She certainly felt better having written it. She took one of her homemade biscuits and dunked it, raising her eyes mildly. It wasn’t half bad, maybe her mother was right.