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Bitter Truth	By : InnocentIntentions Category: M through R > The Office Views: 5313 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The Office (U.S.) © adapted by Greg Daniels; produced by Deddle-Dee Productions, Shine America & Universal Television. I do not claim copyright or ownership of the characters, show-related content nor am I profiting in anyway.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Bitter Truth

Notes:
I'm so pleased this story already has so many views. Enjoy!

Copyright:
The Office (U.S.) © Adapted by Greg Daniels; produced by Deedle-Dee Productions, Shine America & Universal Television. I do not claim copyright or ownership of the characters, show-related content nor am I profiting in anyway.

Chapter 4: A Kite Against the Wind

The world was dark and silent like an undiscovered tomb, hushed and motionless. Fragments of light penetrated the dim atmosphere, drawing the cataleptic into brilliant consciousness. The comatose state shed like molting scales, drooping from shut eyelids. Awakening disheveled, Jim blinked. Creaked eyes were greeted by the imposing interior of a barn. Wrapped in murky smoke, silhouettes of rakes, neatly stacked hay-bales, horse stalls, numerous instruments and agricultural tools lined the walls.
A sharp ache racked his brain. Reaching to soothe his forehead, his hand was immediately brought down. In reality, it had not even budged. An expression of surprise flitted across the adult’s handsome features as he struggled to stir his limbs. No lee-way was achieved for multiple cords of rope looped about his ankles and hands, entwining under his armpits and around his torso. The twisted three-strand material chaffed against his wrists, posing the question of how long he had been fastened to the wooden chair he was seated upon.
Though his mind was clouded, Jim fondly recalled David Wallace’s furniture modeled with an identical design. Concluding that this was probably the exact brand Dwight had admired so much ruined his appreciation for the artistry. Sight traveling up from the carved wood, Jim spotted the tail of his blindfold. It had slipped from his eyes onto the bridge of his nose, still in the way of speaking but now spilling onto his chest.
As he sat strapped in the gloom, the only preoccupation available was to stare at the thrushing floor strewn with hay, clumps of earth, and animal droppings. The smell of manure and fresh produce hung in the humid air, increasing discomfort to the senses. Groggily, his vision adjusted further, shifting into focus on a darker spot residing in the corner. He squinted, creasing his blue eyes in order to survey more intently.
Follicles along his nape began to rise, his body signaling that someone or something was stalking him. From his vantage point, Jim realized he was a sitting duck, bound and helpless out in the open without the ability to hide. Everything was shrouded in a haze of dust which filtered throughout the gloom. But then, particles formed, morphing into a full figure waiting in the shadows.
Jim peered forward, eyes narrowing in the dark. Then the shadow moved. Startled, the man gave a faint cry of fright when the swollen visage of Dwight K. Schrute illuminated in front of him. Suddenly hyper-aware of the thick leather and coarse ropes strapping him into the chair, Jim jostled in his restraints,
“You! W-what is this?” Muffled by fabric, the accusation sounded pitiful. Hovering close to the fettered prisoner, Dwight was silent. Gazing at him, unblinking and refusing to answer. Soon, a thin, yellowed row of teeth broke into an eerie smile. Initiated by the allegation, an unreadable look encompassed all within Jim’s direct line of sight.
“What’s so funny?” He demanded, spitting the tie away from his moth, “Seriously Dwight, what is this! Are you playing some kind of sick joke?” His tone, no longer limited, rang clear and angry.
“No, silly. A joke would be humorous. Do you see my face?” The disturbing smile disappeared and was replaced by Dwight’s usual scowl, “I’m not laughing.”

“You must be wondering why I’ve brought you here.” Steps fell, one after another in a sluggish fashion, spinning in slow circles about the barnyard,
“Well…if you must know,” Pivoting, the man fumed in an acidic flavor, “This is payback Jim! For all of those petty jokes and unreasonable pranks; the pile of felonies you masterminded specifically to cause me years of humiliation, constant stress and ridicule!”
“Wait, what are you-” Cut off, Jim watched as the spouting individual dashed towards him,
“Shut up! You know exactly what I’m talking about!” Dwight yelled, banging his fist against the chair’s backing as spittle flew from his screaming orifice, “It’s because of you that I am never promoted! Did you know that I’m unable to progress in my career because of you? I’m not even taken seriously in the office anymore! And, why do you ask? Oh I’ll tell you why!”
“I didn’t ask.” That did it. Taking a step back, Dwight dramatically gripped a fist of his victim’s honey-tinted hair in the process. Agonizingly, he pulled at the strands, his rage winding out of control,
“You purposefully undermine my authority every chance you get! You are the source of all my pain. My dreams have been dashed because of you!”
“Dwight, I think you’re taking things a-a little out of hand,” Jim winced, his head wretched to the side by the irrational being looming overhead.
“You know, I don’t think so.” Hot liquid splattered across his neck, clinging to his skin in a disgusting manner. The spit sickened Jim, causing his ears to burn at the disgraceful offence. Apparently Dwight thought the insult was justified, declaring as if he were a heroic underdog,
“Your shenanigans have gone on long enough. Even when Michael was in charge, you abused your charm and wit. Now it’s just the same between you and Robert California! Can’t you understand how frustrated that has made me?” His breath ghosted close to Jim’s face whose eyes were open like a doe’s despite the tension brutalizing the roots of his hair.
“I’m most upset about one thing though,” Dwight announced, gripping tighter to strain Jim’s neck out, “You tarnished my highest achievement. Yes, you prevented Michael from recognizing me as his rightful second in command! But you’re nothing. I am the Assistant Regional Manager.” Though ruffled and spitted upon, Jim could not help but joke,
“Assistant to the Regional Manager.” Imprudent, this wise-crack sent his bitter associate into a flurry,
“Oh you’re such a funny guy, you know that? False! I’ve had it with your sass Jim; it’s time to enact my vengeance!”
Stinging blows fell rapidly upon unguarded cheeks the second Dwight released his fist. Unblemished skin began to swell, puffing up with each strike. The flat of a hand bearing a university ring slapped dangerously close to an eye. Jim remained still and took the punishment, having learned that resistance often motivated opponents to further acts of aggression. Besides, there was little he could do in his trapped predicament. In a few minutes, bruises would form purple and grotesque. Yet a few marks were nothing to be concerned about.
A sudden punch to the stomach lurched Jim’s wandering mind into focus, causing him to wheeze as air escaped all too rapidly from his lungs. Hit after hit pelted his abdomen which was presented to his captor, outstretched by the chair that forced Jim upright.
“How’d you like that, pretty boy?” Dwight taunted, seeming to dance as his forearms darted into his prisoner’s side, each smack harder than the last.
“What a-f-fair fight,” Jim grunted, the swing of Dwight’s arm unrelenting, “If you… were the warrior you-think you are, w-we’d be fighting for real.”
“We already have. Or don’t you remember our war?” Momentarily pausing, Dwight’s eyes shone at the choice opportunity this conversation led to.
“What war?” One particular blow split a bloated lip, warm blood dribbling down his chin as Dwight hoisted him forward by his collar,
“It’s pointless to even fight with you. Sad really. I’m a master at Goju Ryu karate so you’re not even on my level. But even if you did practice the sacred art, I’ve already beaten you once before. Even if you could best me at any skill set or activity it doesn’t matter. I am far greater because I know you’re afraid of me.”
“No I’m not!” Jim laughed outright, eyes shining with mirth, “You’re just a big baby with weird hobbies that no one cares about.” The site was almost comical. Under pressure, the situation was like a blacksmith observing stubborn iron bravely challenge an anvil during the process of converting its frame into scrap metal.
“Say what you will,” Not impressed by Jim’s bravado, Dwight stated, “But in the end, I know it’s true. Classy Christmas ring a bell?” Eyes widening, spread in very real fright, Jim stiffened. Spying his growing anxiety, Dwight reminisced brazenly,
“Remember a Christmas, long, long ago? A little boy assumed he was clever. So he decided to smash snow into the face of a passive citizen…aka me! Declaring a snowball fight, he thought he would win. But oh, he was wrong. He was dead wrong!” A crazy spiel of laughter bubbled up, chilling Jim to the bone.
“I never accepted your plea for surrender. You refused to attack your wife thus you lost-” Briefly, Jim retorted,
“I don’t regret it,” He shook his head, remembering the bizarre request that may have enabled him to achieve an armistice, “If you were married, maybe you’d understand. Besides, you wanted to watch me hit her in the face! Who in their right mind would do that?”
“No matter. There is an unfinished snowball fight left to wage. And this time, I’m no longer using snow.” Calmly, Dwight began to pat Jim’s discolored cheek. Breath hitching at the change, Jim twisted away yet he was unable to avoid fingers pressing into his mottled flesh. Biting his lower lip, not caring that the slit opened wider, Jim concealed the pangs that shot through his jaw as Dwight mentioned,
“How poorly you fared. Now that I think about it, you look similar to that day. Yes, that’s right! I bloodied your nose then too.” A thumb slowly traveled over onto his bottom lip, toying with the open wound.
“You were no match for the snowmen army that had lain in wait for you that night! Oh the Christmas party was a huge success too, one of the best even. Hah, can you believe Pam even had to drag you halfway outside the office just to get home?” Playing with the cracked skin, Dwight knew that Jim was trying not to express any signal of weakness. So his reverie continued,
“I remember how scared stiff you were, bashing defenseless snowmen left and right. You thought I’d pop out of one like last time, no doubt. But I wasn’t there, was I? I was on the roof.” Jim shot his usual look of pensive confusion, eyebrows entwining,
“You…were? What for?”
“To instill fear into your heart.”
The indicative reply transported Jim back to that fateful winter’s eve. Horror gripped him, the flash back reminding Jim how terrified he was all day, not knowing when to suspect an ambush. Countless times, Dwight had mercilessly bombarded Jim before his co-workers’ judgmental eyes. They had just laughed. Others blamed him for their disruptive antics, although he only wanted to keep Dwight’s rampage at bay. Morning had been the worst besides their final encounter that evening. He was to meet Dwight outside for their battle, stationed at noon in the parking lot. The second he stepped outside, instinctively he sensed something was amiss. Turning, Mr. Halpert was shocked that the handles of the building had been locked by iron chains without him noticing. Whipping around, Jim was unable to avoid the stack of ice firing his direction only a few meters off.
The concrete had been frozen. He knew because his body had curled in submission to the ground due to the relentless volley of hard-packed snow. After crouching in the parking lot, shivering yet fearful to rise, Jim had remained in the fetus position at the Scranton branch’s doorsteps. Dwight had stood with one leg atop him, as if he were an exotic game trophy brought down during an imperial hunt. A half hour ticked by. However, Jim could not gather his bearing although Dwight had departed speedily afterwards to plan his next attack. After regaining his breath slightly, Jim hobbled upwards. Brushing snow from his dark winter coat, he ambled into the upstairs office. Eyes glazed, Jim did not realize that his bleeding nose had stained the blue collar of his shirt until he was back at the party.
“Ah, I see you remember now.” Dwight murmured with a dark glint in his eyes, “I recommend you engrave that sensation of fear into your brain. Otherwise, you may experience something less than pleasant.”
“Oh like this is enjoyable?” Cynicism hinted that Jim’s usually reserved and kind nature had become dismantled.
“Okay, you know what? I cannot have a subordinate trying to make me look stupid! I did not become a Lackawanna County volunteer sheriff's deputy to make friends or babysit losers. And by the way, I haven't done either.” The prior trance broke, Jim unable not to chuckle.
“Don't make me do this the hard way.” A palm rose in warning yet rebellion had already set in.
“What’s the hard way?” Jim snapped, revolted at Dwight’s very presence, “Everything you do annoys me. Just let me go. Why bother putting up with this when we could go back and act as though none of this even happened?”
“Correction. It did happen. Furthermore, all those years of pranks and foiling my plans to deteriorate Andy’s happiness with Angela have consumed me. I burn with wrath. Revenge shall be mine!”
“You sound like a broken record-vengeance this, rage that!” It was truly Jim’s turn to snigger, gloating at his co-worker’s lack of social protocol, “When are you going to join the twenty-first century?” To this, Dwight did not have an answer. His lip quivered for a second indecisively, torn between answering and opening himself up to another sly comeback. He chose against giving Jim the opportunity to make fun of his quirky nature, shifting the conversation to a former point in their relationship,
“Once you told me we were strong. You said we’d be unstoppable because we had formed an alliance. But you broke my trust; and I’ve had to pay dearly for your betrayal. Countless times I have been made the fool due to your treachery but no longer! I have become strong Jim, stronger than you!”
Circling prey like a leopard creeping through the slopes of Burma, feral eyes locked onto his target. Gaining ground, a hand simultaneously drifted up to his shirt’s front pocket and retrieved a miniscule object. Curiosity drove Jim to question what it might be. Waiting was not required for without another moment, a thin blade chinked in the darkness.
The slow approach was excruciating. Apprehension and a myriad of terrible possibilities shirked Jim as he sat rooted to his post. Dwight finally drew up besides his captive. Shooting a defiant glare, the young man was utterly oblivious to the knife’s intentions.
“I’ll soon rid that smug look off your face.” The scalpel flashed, here, there, gone and back like vapor twirling before a fire. Rip! A jagged slash split the seams of Jim’s casual polo. Soon the long sleeves lacing his forearms were to be mutilated with stripes as well. Often, the tip would closely nick beneath, tearing portions of pristine white cloth but never puncturing the skin. Nervously, Jim analyzed how long that status would last.
Legitimately concerned, Jim froze in position with baited breath, fearing that he would end up on the evening news like one of those homicide victims stolen by some lunatic. Currently, his situation was not far off. Dread started to surface into reality with each progressive slice.
Not being able to look elsewhere, Jim silently watched as his shirt was carved to pieces, the cold blade finally making contact with his body while it trailed up his torso. Dwight held the handle steadily, choosing to skim over visible skin which was no longer shrouded by white cloth. The German offhandedly drove the razor lower, wondering what response the pressure would receive. As if delighting in the shallow intake of breath issuing forth, the sharp edge dug further into the man’s left bicep then to his scapula before flying away.
Spongy and wet, a tongue dipped into an incision at the breastbone, the organ wildly flinging about. The sensation, unfamiliar and cruel, evoked a hiss. Blood suckling may be considered a seductive tactic perhaps, yet Jim felt nothing but humiliation and shame. Exactly the emotion which was sought.
“How can you do this to me?” Anger surged from the one impaired, flaring up in a warped expression, “This is so wrong. I’ve known you for over five years! Have-have you no morals?”
“Justice and the Baha'i Faith of which I share do not relate to this issue.” Dwight offered, delving deeper into the tissue. Groaning, Jim could not quell the sting. Stuck under the mercy of an unforgiving blade and a searching tongue, he shook.
Filled of the metallic liquid, Dwight smudged the remains with the back of his hand while sadistically winking at Jim. The victim’s head tilted, his lip curled back in disdain,
“You’re sick.”
“And you’re stupid. It was all too easy to snare such an ignorant buffoon like yourself into the trap I’ve had planned for half a year. By the way, I gave ample heads up. I can’t believe you didn’t catch on! In the very least, I expected you to think my behavior yesterday was out of the ordinary.”
“I thought you had turned a new leaf and that…” Embarrassed to admit his partial hopes, especially considering the circumstance, Jim still chose to confess, “Well, I thought that we finally became friends.”
“As if! Once I vow to ruin a man’s life, I do not go back on my word. And as I have you already in my clutches, your family is the only thing left to destroy.” The revelation was too much. Congested, Jim’s heart thudded heavily within its cavity.
“You-you would commit murder?” The question fell heavy as iron, answered by steel,
“I am not that ruthless. However, I can destroy your precious life in other ways.” Wiping his bloody hands on Jim’s front, staining both skin and torn cotton, Dwight stood haughty before him,
“Who knows? Maybe I’ll console Pam through this trying situation.”
“Leave Pam out of this!” Jim warned, his threat sounding empty as he could not back it up physically at the moment.
“Your devotion to mischief at the office is to relieve boredom, is it not? Pam assists too, don’t think I haven’t realized her affiliation with a trouble maker like you.” A headache for an entirely new symptom arose as he implored,
“She’s not involved, I promise!” His perspective was waved off by a hand,
“No? Here’s proof: listing absurd medical conditions, causing me to believe my credit cards have been compromised, posting my resume online asking for an Alaskan relocation amongst numerous other infractions! It’s a wonder I don’t go after her as well. It might even out the score.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.” He sounded thoughtful, as though inspired by some epiphany, “Come to think of it, with you out of the picture, Pam would be devastated. She’d be in need of someone whom she trusts. A loyal friend to soothe her. A warm body to replace the gaping void in her life. The hole which was once filled by a husband who instead abandoned his wife and child. A man who is nowhere to be found.” Growls slipped from a constrained throat, the man transforming into a rabid dog foaming at the mouth. Dwight chuckled, his hand fanning out as if he saw a grand vision shining in the near future,
“I can imagine it now-little Pammy all alone and depressed because of the desertion of her darling pickle. That’s your stupid nickname, right? Anyhow, she’ll be overwhelmed with grief.” He turned enthusiastically to address an invisible audience,
“At first I will be a model gentleman, nothing but comforting and supportive. Delivering baked lasagna and Grandmother Gorch's famous casserole covered with limburger cheese every week. Performing yard work out of the goodness of my heart. When everyone forgets to pity her-and let’s face it, people move on quickly when a circumstance does not concern them. But I’ll still be there by her side.” He closed his eyes, placing an adamant fist over his heart center before refocusing on his sole spectator,
“Women need love Jim; they desperately crave it, don’t let anyone tell you differently. And how she will adore such large equipment, crying out my name instead of yours!”
“Stop, stop! Quit talking.” Jim barked, immensely upset. Yet Dwight pressed onwards, describing what he would do to his coworker’s wife in graphic detail all the while Jim could not block the images from entering his unwilling eardrums.
“She has always been so gentle and kind, rather like a good horse or faithful dog. I bet she’s fun in bed, right? A real lady always is. They seem to be starved of animalistic tendencies…it’s a good thing I'm a farmer for I know how to care for livestock. Yes, I’m just a normal guy who enjoys retribution. And this plot suits me perfectly.” Proudly the stout man stood with his hands planted on his hips.
“Don’t you dare come near her, you freak!”
“Come now Jim, there’s no need to holler. I’d probably show her the best time she’s ever experienced. Clearly your sexual functions are inferior-you cannot even give her a son!”
“Excuse me?” Jim asked, bewildered, “Maybe we wanted a daughter? Huh, ever think of that?”
“Please. I know you didn’t plan to have Cici. You just didn’t have the heart to tell Pammy-Wammy that you were disappointed. But you’ve grown to care for her, which is commendable in light of producing a child out of wedlock.” The genuine pity ticked Jim off. Dwight’s assumption was preposterous, he would have loved Cici exactly the same whether or not she was properly conceived after his wedding.
“We’re married Dwight!” Jim exclaimed, “It doesn’t matter!”
“Ah but it does, it always matters.” He sprung, hands outstretched like a magician about to release a dove out of a top hat. Yet this ringmaster promised no such enchantment except a distorted version of happiness,
“Picture this! Cici growing up without knowing a father-how tragic! Certainly, that’s no way for a child to live. And what a tough life to lead as a single mother. Plus, your baby girl’s at such a tender age. Maybe I could become the new man in Pam’s life, serving as both husband and father. Before long, I bet they won’t even remember you.”
“You’re wrong!” Jim rasped, his voice lost in conviction, “Pam thinks you’re disgusting! She’d never marry or even consider touching you, for goodness sake!” Rising up from the coils, Jim strained with all his might when he heard Dwight’s following scheme,
“True, very true. If all else fails, I could always drug or intoxicate her during her deepest period of sorrow. Hmm that’s actually a good idea. Pam has a wild streak in her, that’s for sure. I wonder how long her resistance would last. Or, if I would have to break her in like the thoroughbred she is.” Appalled, Jim could only gape in loathing,
“You’re a monster!”
“Maybe I am, maybe not.” The indifferent response concurred, “Either way, she’s alone and viable to tactics of a seductive nature.” Jim now had to grasp at straws, needing to deter him in some way.
“But-but you think she’s ugly. You said so yourself!” Surprised at Jim’s boldness, Dwight patiently explained,
“Unattractive, I never said ugly. But I realize what you’re doing, and it won’t work-not even because Pam’s average looks are at an all-time low due to her first pregnancy or anything.” Dwight curved around the chair, pondering aloud as his shoes scuffled along the dirt flooring,
“You know it’s odd, but I seem to hold a curious sense of protection towards her. I mean, I have comforted her on multiple occasions, reassuring her value as one of the plain, hearty women of Scranton who showcases minimal artistic capacity, of course. Yet I do not blame her for not wearing make-up, I admire women who concentrates on the practical spheres of life. However, a little mascara would do her no harm. You might wish to tell her that, should you see her unexceptional face once more.”
“Pam is more beautiful than you give her credit.” Insults against him were easy to deflect. Language directed towards his wife caused Jim to seethe, “You could never have a woman like her!”
“Hah, are you trying to mock my social life? Please go on, I’d love to hear it.” He cupped his chin, beaming ridiculously.
“I know you like Angela.” The claim struck home. Dwight’s smile faded as he temporarily stiffened,
“That’s…that’s common knowledge for anyone with half a brain, dummy.”
“Figured you’d say that,” Jim relented, “However, I’m not so sure you want someone telling the entire office about your special rendezvous down in the warehouse or in the accounting cubicles.” Now Jim had him. He was sure of it. Dwight stood there gaping like a fish, those bulging eyes of his betraying the slightest of apprehensions. Wait, no…his threat backfired.
“Go right ahead. Angela and I have made a contract, one cementing our secret affair from the public eye-one of which we both shall deny should any such accusation arise. Besides, I do not fear your idle threats. There is no way to escape Schrute Farms.”
“I’ll find a way out! Your farm isn’t that big. As a side note, you might want to do something about the smell. This whole place reeks and looks like a dump.” If there was an opportunity to fling mud, this was his chance and Jim took it. However, abusing the status of a fine beet farm nestled in the center of the most prestigious root vegetable district was unwise.
“Don’t test me.”
Stars burst in the forefront of Jim’s vision. His skull exploded like a firework. The auburn crown had been slammed onto the earth, his body strapped to immovable wood in quick pursuit. Colliding into solid ground, he crumpled beneath the weight of the chair. Struggling to flip over, Jim felt pressure lean against the timber, crushing him immobile. A fist firmly planted itself a sliver past the captive’s earlobe, threateningly brushing against his crest,
“Listen well Jim. I will be the one doing the intimidating, not you!” A grin rippled across cheeks which were ground into the packed soil,
“False, I just did.” Using Dwight’s own phrase against him could only direct the plot in an auspicious route,
“Then perhaps I should up the ante for you.”

Hurled speedily over, a smashed face whirled from the dirt, careening into the musty barn air as the abused chair cart wheeled onto its rear. Crashing, Jim’s eyes flared up, dizzily taking in the spinning world. A ceiling of rafters were stacked high above the figure sprawled below who briefly acknowledged the sunlight winking down at him from between knotholes.
Flat on his back, the wooden seat uncomfortably dug into his lumbar region. Hips jutted out at an obtuse angle. Jim’s legs strapped to the stool posts hung limply in the air. A sudden pressure snaked up his ankle, bypassing the ropes in order to roll up the hem of grey trousers. Before being able to wonder what Dwight had in mind with his pant cuffs, deft knuckles swiftly tucked beneath the tight space between his left heel and the dialed-in plain toe of his British Tan Rockports.
“What in the world could you want with my shoes?”
“The privilege of covering your unsightly toes has been revoked.” The supple, full-grain leather accented with upper stitching contoured around the elongated digits. The designer brand maintained its quality despite how the tongue snagged on his midsole as Dwight continued to tug. The russet-toned leather easily slipped off followed by fresh argyle which revealed slender ankles and feet that belonged to a man of height.
“The complete and utter lack of respect you muster for agronomy is disgusting.” Dwight complained, bending across in the process of removing the other dress shoe, “You traipse about through clays and loams, frivolously mixing acidic and alkaline soils. That trait has always aggravated me-part of the reason I was so opposed to you first visiting my bed-and-breakfast inn but now it doesn’t matter.” Spotting a cheap opportunity due to their proximity, a rounded fist shot up an inch to bulls-eye the abnormal man in the gut. Cursing his own foolishness, Dwight dropped onto a knee, gripping his side.
“Ha hah! That’s what you get!” Jim teased. He tilted over in the upturned chair to enjoy the pained expression he had caused. Dwight huffed, staggering upright, his confidence not dinted in the slightest,
“Gloat all you want Jim. Just be warned, you have no idea what’s coming.”
“Oh I’m so scared!” The mocking tone continued victoriously, his triumph similar to that of a struggling mountaineer who had finally reached an unattainable summit, “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I’m not afraid of you.” Wiping his brow, Dwight leaned his forearms on Jim’s kneecaps as if they were a window perch. His full weight arrested them effortlessly, enabling a free hand the chance to stroke an uncovered shin,
“In a few minutes, you might change your mind.”
Time ticked languidly by with neither individual moving, one incapable while the other held complete authority like a toy. Anxiety chiseled its way through Jim’s veins as his opponents hand continued to pet his bare feet. Ticklish, the sensitive flesh caused Jim to shift irregularly. Refusing to break the silence, he instead rolled his eyes and fixated them on hay bales organized in a far corner.
He should have paid attention. That dreaded knife appeared yet again but this time its purpose was not his blood. Instead, it snipped away the remaining threads holding his spoiled shirt together. Clothing caked with scarlet liquid peeled away, ripped mercilessly from punctured skin.
“Oh look at you, the supposed J Crew poster boy! Guess your modeling career is over, what with all the scars I’ve left on you.”
“Good thing I’ve never liked cameras,” Jim spat, unnerved by how spectacled eyes took in the sight of his bare torso spread tautly against the rack, “Photographers never seem to capture my good side.” Exasperated that his crass remark had not fazed his prisoner, Dwight implored,
“Can you be earnest for once?”
“Nope.” The simplistic answer drove Dwight onward, his hand raking down firm obliques.
“Enough of your attitude.”Inching past the waistband, Dwight successfully unbuckled the fine belt encircling Jim’s hips. With a single yank, the cord slid from thin loops, the train dangling like a rat tail from the fist. Discarded immediately, the belt dove away into a sea of blackness as a coo issued from the man who had managed to procure a zipper hidden within polyester folds.
“What do you think you’re doing? Get off me!” Jim’s exclamations were completely ignored as previously concealed underwear timidly peaked from its cavern.
“And what is this, powder blue boxers? Oh, they even match your eyes. How suitably quaint.” Dwight sniggered, jerking the unfastened trousers mid-thigh, “The uniformity you display is gross.”
“You know what’s gross? The fact that you’re actually analyzing my underwear!”
“One’s selection of undergarments tells a lot about a person. Your’s are plain, unadorned, fitted and cut short although sensible. Maybe it matches what’s underneath, hmm?”
“Oh would you knock it off.” Blanching at the innuendo, Jim shook his head, “That’s literally the grossest thing you’ve done yet.” Bushy eyebrows merged in confusion, enhancing Dwight’s sudden disappointment,
“You always seem to enjoy Michael’s inappropriate jokes, why not mine?”
“First off, I don’t like when Michael talks that way. I only laugh to get him to stop; otherwise he’d just keep going. Secondly, his jokes were never aimed at me. You crossed the line! I’m serious, even Michael wouldn’t have joked about that.” Vengeful Dwight was back, his resolve yet again solidified,
“And here I thought I lectured a lot. Boy, you take it to the next level!” Laughing, he flicked near Jim’s bellybutton in retaliation, “I never realized how picky you are. What a baby.”
A sweaty palm then fell, gliding over upper thighs. Taken aback, Jim could only feebly gawk into the visage of his oppressor. The reflection of his own horrified expression was mirrored across the fogged glasses of his captor. His lips were in the process of parting, words bubbling up in a crucial request for the barrier between their flesh to remain intact.
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Bitter Truth