It's late now and the lights have been dimmed and the music turned up so loud we have to shout to be heard. We're packed close, shoulders and thighs pressed together, twelve of us squeezed around a table that should seat six. Steve is opposite me, I made sure I sat as far away from him as I could.
We come here every Friday after work, it's become a ritual. Some stay for a quick drink, then head home to their families for the weekend, some of us stay out later than we should. Steve's talking to the new intern Alice. I can't hear what he's saying, but I'm sure its one of his boring stories we've all heard at least twice. I could go over there and rescue the poor girl, but then I'd have to talk to Steve.
Have you ever met someone you hate? Not someone you dislike, or someone who gets on your nerves, but someone you truly despise? I didn't think much of Steve when we first met at work, he looked like a generic middle-aged, office drone -- sensible short hair, chinos, blue button-down shirt, shiny brown leather shoes. But as I got to know him my feelings changed, and the more he talked the more I disliked him. Steve's everything I'm not, he's conservative and sexist and careful. He likes bland food and even blander music. He makes to-do lists and then actually does what's on them.
It could have stopped there though, we could have settled on mutual dislike and avoidance, but Steve didn't take the hint. He kept talking to me, he kept spewing his unwanted advice and his obnoxious opinions, everything from how climate change was a hoax, how the books I read were stupid, how liberal values were destroying society, even how my clothes weren't professional enough for the office. He didn't see how angry it made me, I'd end up shouting at him, but he'd just kept on -- like he thought I'd eventually agree with him if he just talked enough.
I came to loath Steve, I came to hate everything about him, the way he looks, the sound of his voice, I even hate the way he breathes -- loud and through his nose. Everybody at work could tell, I avoided Steve at all costs, and when I did have to speak to him I made no attempt to hide the disdain in my voice. I couldn't understand why Steve couldn't see it though, why he wouldn't leave me alone? I thought he was clueless, as dense as a neutron star, but later I found out that wasn't the case. I came to realise that Steve knew exactly how much I hated him, and that he understood something about me, that my hate gave him a particular kind of power over me.
Steve must have felt my eyes on him, as he turns away from Alice for a moment and looks over at me. I'm not fast enough and our eyes meet. Fuck. It's late and I'm drunk, I should have gone home hours ago. I have to leave now, I know how this will end if I don't and I promised myself I'd never let it happen again.
Steve gets up and heads towards the toilets and this is it, my chance to escape. I scrabble around on the floor for my bag. I can't find my coat and I'm starting to panic and I make everyone get up and Mark's sitting on it. I say some hurried goodbyes and head to the exit as fast as my heels will let me.
I shove the door open and step outside and the night air is cold but refreshing. I hear the door close behind me and the sounds of music and shouting are muted and I'm free. I can't wait to get home and get out of these shoes.
"You want to share a taxi with me?"
I freeze at the sound of his voice. I turn and see Steve standing off to my right. The bastard tricked me, he must have doubled back to the exit and then hid in the shadows. I glower at him. I give him the evilest of evil looks. "I don't think so." My voice is acid.
"Don't be stupid, I live so close to you, we can save money. C'mon." He steps towards me.
I back away but Steve moves quickly. He tries to put his arm through mine but I shrug him off. He puts his lumbering arm over my shoulders instead and I put my hands on his chest and shove but he's so much stronger than me. He pulls me close and turns me and suddenly I'm next to him and we're facing the same direction. I struggle, but it's no use, Steve begins to march me down the street.
Steve hails a taxi and bundles me into it before I can protest. I'm furious, my hands are shaking. Steve sits next to me and looks forwards, he doesn't meet my eyes. He's acting like this is perfectly normal, he makes inane small talk with the taxi driver. I should start screaming. I should claw his fucking eyes out. But I don't, I just sit there and stew in my fury.
Steve directs the taxi to my building. He gets out with me. "I can walk from here," he says. As if either of us believe it. "I'll see you to your door first though. Never let it be said that Steve Marshall isn't a gentleman." He puts his arm around me again and I try to shrug him off, but he squeezes my shoulder so hard it hurts and he drags me up the path to my building.
He positions my in front of my door and I'm not thinking straight and I don't know what to do so I dumbly take out my keys. My hands are shaking again and I can't seem to get my key in the lock. Steve takes it out of my hands without asking and opens the door himself. He shoves me inside and locks it behind us.
Steve kicks his shoes off and strolls around my apartment like he owns the place. The pale blue colour of his socks makes my skin crawl. He runs a finger along a shelf and tuts at the dust. He kicks at a pile of clothes on the floor. "How can you live like this? "He says. "Your place is a total mess, it's disgusting."
"It's not so bad." I meant to sound defiant but it comes out meek.
Steve walks out of the living room and into my kitchen. "My god Caitlin, its even worse in here," he calls to me. "You have days of dirty plates in here." I hear him open the fridge. "Jesus Christ." He comes back into the living room and he's shaking his head at me. "Is everything OK Catlin, is there anything you want to tell me?"
I hate him saying my name. "Fuck off Steve. I'm doing fine." I'm sounding defensive, even though I'm not. "You need to go."
Steve sits on the sofa and gives me that faux-caring look he knows I loathe. "Don't be too proud to ask for help Caitlin. Maybe you need some time off from work, huh? Some space to clear your head and clean your life up, and your apartment? I'm sure Mike would understand, I can ask him for you, if you like?"
I see red. If I was a cat my fur would be bristling. "How bloody dare you. How dare you come in here uninvited and judge me like this. I'm doing OK Steve, in fact I'm doing well. It might not look like it to you, but you're a stuck up, judgmental, tedious little prick." It feels good and I can't stop. "You haven't got a fucking clue Steve, you don't know how to live, you're so concerned about doing everything properly and about what everyone else thinks. You don't get it, so don't judge me, OK? You don't know anything about me."
"Oh don't I Caitlin?"
I hate the way he says it, like he's the adult and I'm the child. "Get out now Steve. Fuck off you dreary little wanker."
"You're being hysterical now Caitlin, please calm down, I'm just trying to help."
I know this is what Steve wants, but he says it in such a calm way it makes me so angry I can't help it. "Hysterical, you patronising twat. I'll fucking show you hysterical." I'm moving towards him as I shout. "You're a fucking prick, you know that right? You're a cunt." I'm standing over him now. I'm shaking. "You make me sick Steve, fucking sick. I..."
