TEN: Everything Ok In Here, Harlan?

Harlan remembers walking back towards his office from the conference room after his meeting with Dean Vance. He remembers rounding the corner. He remembers feeling himself shaking uncontrollably, how his clenched fists rattled at his sides inexplicably, so forcefully that for a moment, he wondered if they were experiencing an earthquake before realizing, he was the one shaking, so hard he couldn’t stop; it was him, all him.

He remembers the other professors hustling past him in the opposite direction, remembers someone brushing against his shoulder, someone else telling him to have a good evening but the words ringing, almost indiscernibly, in his ears.

It is 5 PM and all the professors are heading out for the night; Vance has at least done him that favour, though even that much surprises Harlan. One would think Vance would have made every effort, come to think of it, to place this meeting during the busiest of office hours of the day so everyone could see young and accomplished department head Harlan absolutely lose his fucking mind.

His schedule must have been full.

The second Harlan's office door closed behind him, everything went black.

He remembers nothing, and when he comes to, two shards of glass are sticking out of his knuckle, and his doctoral certificate lays facedown at his feet, more glass scattered around his Wolf & Shepherd dress shoes.

A knock on the door pulls him from his fury-fuelled black out.

Professor Lira sticks her head through the door. Without so much as a flinch, Harlan hides his bleeding hand behind his side, expression blank and unchanging.

"Everything ok in here, Harlan?"

"Yeah," he responds emotionlessly. "Frame fell down for some reason. Have a good night, Lira."

She nods, smiles sympathetically, but makes no question, taking her leave.

He stares at the blank spot in the wall where his certificate had hung, fuming at the irony of the entire situation.

Straight out of school, Harlan had accepted the position of English professor at the University. He was more than intelligent, more than capable. He didn't have the experience, sure, and is just as shocked as anyone else when they offered the department head position to a 28-year-old. But the previous chair was perfectly impressed with Harlan's proficiencies, and none of the other professors felt they could balance the role with their schedules, or weren't deemed to be able to by the higher-ups.

Harlan had just been in the right place at the right time. It felt too good to be true, and understandably, he'd be on probation for the first year at the very least.

And that is where Armitage Fucking Vance comes in.

So there is the fucking catch. Vance had it in for Harlan ever since Harlan completed his undergrad while Vance was working at his master's. Now, Vance is the fucking Dean of the entire school; how he'd managed that is beyond Harlan. But Harlan is five years Vance's junior and, even as an undergrad, had stolen the attention and affection of the literary professors. So much so that Vance, dejected and furious, went the philosophy route instead.

And now, years later, he is making Harlan pay the fucking price.

It is time for his one-year performance review, handled by none other than the Dean. It is the perfect opportunity to make Harlan look bad for personal reasons.

What has he said in the meeting?

Harlan is so furious he can't even think straight, let alone remember whatever bullshit has strung from Vance's mouth. Something about his personal struggles interfering with his work, his inability to connect with his students, his attitude too intimidating to make his students feel able to approach him for help.

It is all complete bullshit. Harlan has never once received a complaint. Vance is probably just taking harmless gossip and spinning it out of control. Even with seven notable publications with major presses under his belt at 29, Vance is still trying to overthrow his position.

It is complete and utter inane horseshit.

It isn't like he doesn't have offers. Better offers.

In his fury, he ponders the possibility as seriously as he can. He has a job offer from a local press. They've wanted him as editorial director for weeks. How would Vance like that? If he pushes Harlan out of his current position into a better one?

Before he can think, Harlan reaches for his phone. He begins typing, blood smearing on the screen.

"Shit," he hisses, furiously trying to wipe it away. Nothing like a small irritant to make you realize how close you are to fucking snapping.

"My office stat" is all he can manage with such shaky, blood-wet fingers. He plucks the glass from his knuckle, grunting through gritted teeth and tossing the pieces into the trash can. And with one last sweep of the English hall to make sure he is the only one left in the building, or at least on the floor, he feels comfortable enough to commence treating his office like his personal punching bag.