Harley
The Morning After
A groan escaped the lips of a man sleeping through the neighbours toddler's singing, a symphony of cries and screams. His limbs were haphazardly scattered his head pounding like a hammer hitting it with perfect consistent rhythm over and over again.
Like a violent current the man had a rush of memories enter that caused a wince through the periodic snores. The first few were pleasurable, the feeling of the first sip of vodka hitting his tongue and laughing at Tylor trying and failing to hit on a bottle girl.
Then finally the smell of him filling the mans nostrils like he never left. His form in ripped jeans and a tight graphic tee, forearms bursting out of the poor shirt.
The sleeping man wished he was trailing his tongue across his sharp jaw.
"No, stop." Harley thought, finally stirring awake.
Then Harley's night turned sour, the text he received on the Uber home had been blanked out by the vodka, that now burnt through him,
"You don't even bother anymore Harley." Alex said voice pleading trying to pull him out of his slump single handily. Harley had stared at his hand, then the moon, picking at his nails before leaving.
Finally dragging his body out of bed, a job rivalling the construction of the pyramids,
'get up you broke disaster.'
Hobbling to the bathroom Harley hadn't noticed that the spot in bed next to him was empty, the indent left unused.
Harley took a moment to reflect on his to - do list for the day, shower? Optional but needed, job non-existent, motivation MIA.
"What time is it?" he mumbled to himself finally feeling the cool tiles hit his feet turning on the shower on he passed it, trudging forward to the sink.
The clean environment was a sobering different compared to the dirty night he had, had. Face blank as he stared into the mirror.
'Tylor was right I should buy some make up to try and hide the bags under my eyes and the growing frown lines.'
Harley's brunette hair was matted to my scalp perfectly, but he didn't bother with it yet instead brushing his teeth briskly before jumping into the shower.
The hot water hit his skin warming him from the inside out, lathering some soap onto the luffa it the smell of coconut and synthetic hope spread into the small bathroom of the city loft.
This is so nice and damn was it cheaper than therapy.
Scrubbing off the dried up cum and sweat from dancing all night and the fantastic session following, he finally felt somewhat clean, on the outside.
The session from last night contrary to the remnants had not been an earth shattering affair where neither Harley nor Derek his husband tried to discuss their deteriorating sex life filled with one sided blow jobs and brief messy kisses.
'In my defence it wasn't my fault he was overly eager, and I was well... not.'
Back when they'd first met, Derek was Harley's everything, the only thing beside alcohol that made him feel something, it wasn't earth crushing like when I saw him, but it was bright and sweet. Soft kisses and slow thrusts - comforting, safe.
Harley dried myself and hopped into some PJ's, 'the joys of unemployment.'
Grabbing his phone off the floor seeing the night before he had just barely missed my bed side table.
Turning on his phone the one thing he should have suspected but still made his heart drop to his stomach as the screen showed the horrifying sight of 9AM in all bold. Harley realised,
"I'm late" he whispered to himself in panic.
'wait scratch that I've completely missed the first round of interviews. But have I ever been a quitter? Well yes, but not today.'
Ripping off my comfortable clothes and internally crying Harley looted his closet for a unwrinkled shirt and some black dress pants that weren't gin soaked from yesterday.
Hurried movements were effective, grabbing his dying phone Harley rushed downstairs internally grateful Derek wasn't here to scowl at me about last night or today's tardiness.
Getting into his sleek silver Subaru revving the engine and speeding down to the underground parking of the Feneric Institute.
The skyscraper was really a sight to behold covered in floor length windows showcasing the multiple office cubicles from the outside really made any heart leap with joy at the perspective rat race you'd join, but that happiness was not allotted to Harley as he was applying to be the one cleaning the rat cages.
Parking the car and rushing towards the underground elevator, he frantically began button mashing double checking that he was heading for the right floor, floor 77.
'Or was it 7.'
'Oh well hopefully luck was on my side'.
As the doors began to close, a pale hand tried to stop the door closing but much to their dismay Harley continued to fervently mash the buttons until the doors closed.
'Sorry'.
The elevator was spotless with harsh clinical lighting that made his hungover body throb.
Smoothing out his shirt and dress pants Harley finally got a moment to catch his breath and scroll through missed messages, properly checking his phone.
Alex - We need to talk; can we meet for lunch?
Great! really looking forward to that'.
The thought of either getting a philosophical lecture or emotionally gutted by pissed Alex started to make Harley feel queasy and have to lean on the elevator wall for support.
Looking at the group chat Harley sent a quick message asking for updates on Isabelle's and Tylor's conquests from last night.
Tylor - I had to break things off with the beautiful Samantha - she can't use chopsticks, what would my ancestors say?
A low chuckle escaped Harley's lips as he wrote back a reply,
Harley - OMG! When did you get standards Ty?
Tylor - What can I say self-respect is my new year's resolution.
Finally, after what felt like decades hovering over the send button staring at Alex's message and the slow movements and the incremental dings of the elevator reminding him, he was running out of time.
Harley finally decided to respond.
Harley - sure my interview should be done by 12 :)
'Hopefully that smiley face fixes the mess of last night, oh god am I being more delusion that usual?'.
Strangely enough the entire ride up no one had entered the elevator and even weirder it hadn't stopped at a single level. Finally running his hand through his hair once more and realizing that they probably needed a trim as they hung slighting past the gold rim of his glasses, the doors of the elevator opened and Harley stepped out.
Exiting he was immediately met with the sight of a large slab that looked like marble, with warm soft lighting emitting from the bottom giving it the illusion that is was levitating. A large bonsai tree was to its left.
Behind the slab sat a woman with a slicked back bun, minimal make up and a single pair of gold hoops that matched her sleek appearance. She looked artificially engineered to be the perfect human whilst Harley more closely resembled a 2014 Tumblr post someone forgot to delete.
From the middle of the back wall was wooden pillars that reached the ceilings and what sounded like meditation music playing.
He stood there like an idiot for what felt like an hour, after overcoming how out of place he was, he approached the front desk.
"Hi, I'm here for an interview" Harley said voice even.
'Thank God I was an asshole at heart and my voice was unwavering, if I'm being honest a bit condescending depending on who you asked'. Harley thought staring the woman down.
"Name?" the woman, of Indian descent looked up at him eyes hooded analysing Harley from head to toe, she had a name tag that read Rana,
'of course she had a cool name.' Harley tried not to roll his eyes.
"Harley Davis." he remembered reading a book once about confidence in middle school and this tip had stayed with him like a plague - direct and consistent eye contact.
"What's your reference number" she said curtly.
'What number?' Harley couldn't remember one even being mentioned let alone getting one.
"It should be listed" he bluffed.
"There are no reference numbers." she smirks like she enjoys seeing him squirm.
Bitch.
"Regardless you're not on the list." Her tone was flat as she returned Harley's gaze.
Fuck the list.
"Then put me on it." the lights flickered slightly, weird.
However it did make Rana raise her brows, only slightly.
"Mr Cartier will like you, take a seat."
"Cartier sounds like some cologne office drones wear" God can't I just shut it for a moment.
Blinking briefly Rana replies, "He makes it too."
Of course he does. Before Harley messed up anymore, he turned swiftly.
Harley hoped the woman would stay true to her word and that there was still hope for this interview not falling through adn the prospect of him becoming a sanitation officer stood.
'God was I hoping for this job now, well it's not like I have many other options.'
Harley took a seat beside the elevator on another slab of rock, he wondered what the fuck was up with this prehistoric bland design. Harley sat feeling like a a sacrifice sitting on an alter ready to be gutted.
The wait was the most gruelling part because he wasn't sure if he was waiting for Rana to kick him out or for the actual interview. Finally, there was some movement besides Rana quietly typing. Intercom static slightly buzzing interrupting the deafening silence. Rana swiftly pressed her ear nodding before replying.
"Yes sir, I'll send him right in.".
"Mr Cartier is ready for you."
Standing Harley ran his hands over his tan shirt and tried to swallow down the vomit trying to escape his stomach.
Rana giving a strained smile.
Is her face made of plastic?
"Don't embarrass me." she said lowering her gaze.
"Me? Never." Harley replied mustering every ounce of confidence,
I was getting really good at lying!
With that he walked towards whatever hellish janitor job he'd signed myself up for.