Hate at First Sight

"I would rather prefer to be sick than lovesick." *** It is unwonted— the two piece suit in a hue of dark mocha colours, a conservative tie, with coordinating socks and shoes. Ryan Miller, 19, never had worn any apparel that could be deemed 'formal', because he is allegedly reputed a 'good for nothing' for his incompetence, and therefore was never needed to wear one. That was until today. Yes! Ryan Miller is me. "May I come in, sir?" I stand before the ingress, carrying the copies of my resumè and some other necessary documents. "Come in," he says without lifting his head. From his appearance, one can undeniably say that my new boss, the owner of the char-topping dating app of Allentown- LOVESICK, is a workaholic. I bow before proceeding to set my foot in that gelid, aloof room. From my boss's countenance, I can take it as read that he is not very delighted to recruit me as his Personal Assistant. I have heard that during the pr

Lillian gasps at his brother as he finishes drivelling on about his new overseer, Ethan Smith. "Do you…really mean that?" Lillian murmurs, eyes darting between the coat smeared with coffee, distributing a nutty aroma of that brewed beverage and the talker himself. The air, at that, stiffens around them and threatens Ryan to suffocate, in humiliation— in case he can not concoct a rejoinder. "Of course!!" Ryan croaks out with a sadistic smile. Lillian can see the elder man filling with irritability with every barest account he makes of the events from earlier in the morning. Sensing his obvious frustration, Ryan quickly says, "You're still too young to understand any of these! Besides, my stomach is growling." There isn't much to sort and Lillian had practically known he has doomed himself to an uncomfortable few whiles; much thanks to Ryan's horrendous petulance. Now that Ryan is straggling, the younger decides to meander down to the kitchen to grab something to satisfy both h

"And I am ready to play the game, Sir!"Ethan's body movements freezes momentarily— "You sure do have a foul mouth, don't you?"Shifting the weights between his feet, Ryan nurses to his consternation. Necessarily, a discomfiture keeps up pace; if he is to ask for pardon, or pretend that he never said such things, he is not sure. By the grace of Almighty, however, Ethan swerves, forbidding impractical gossips, "Anyway, take a look here!" He turns the electronic device for Ryan to be commanding a view upon it."What is this?" Ryan squints the pair of his eyes— before him now sits a fulgent white screen, and several bars embellished through in different colors, "Oh! Statistics?" "Thank Heavens, you at least know what a statistic is," Ethan derides, "Of the past few years of LOVESICK'S services. Also, in that next slide, you can see the statistic for the past few months. In the next, of the past few weeks.""And in the next, of the past few days. Then the past few hours. Then the past f

Ryan had only tossed and turned the previous night, mind racing with the anticipation of what lay ahead— barely getting any sleep at all.By the time he had returned, Ryan had lost his appetite, thus neither did he bother nor was he keen on treating himself to any proper meal; Lillian's skillful preparations were long forgotten, forsaken even. Ryan retired to his bed as soon as he had got shut off of his mocha hued blazer, and its complimentary trousers— everyone other than his step father had gone to bed, the clock said 7.30 p.m. When Mr. Miller had tried to approach his son, Ryan dissolved all of the inquiries of his elder, putting it away to be dealt with some other time, when Ryan would feel the need to participate, actively, in their conversation— and with an empty stomach he headed to bed, curling into a ball beside his passed out brother Lilian, trying to catch some sleep…to no avail. Now, the dreadful day had arrived— Ryan blinks his eyes at the blaring alarm clock that inc

"Ryan, I am sorry! Please open your eyes. Please. . ."Ethan's heart drops, seeing Ryan slump to the floor in a heap. With quick reflexes, Ethan catches him before he hits the ground, and lays him carefully against the wall of the elevator. Ryan's face is utterly wishy-washy."What should I do now?" Ethan's lips move silently as his mind races, lost in the inner turmoil of his thoughts. Mr. Haughty, deviates, runs his fingers through Ryan's hair. "Ryan, can you hear me? Ryan?"There is no response from Ryan."Ryan, can you hear me?" Ethan asks, leaning over him— his own breathing slightly deepens. "Ryan, stop this joke already!!" The adult's pursuit in reviving his personal assistant are all held to be ineffective. Ethan's breath quickly escalates, shallow and taxing, "Ryan…I…" he huffs, "...can't breathe too," his elbow serpents, coiling Ryan's stagnant neck, "What the hell is this net…" words are pulped into Ethan's inevitable wheezes. The smoke is growing stronger per passing min