The phone falls out of my hand and I stare at where it lands screen up between my feet. I want to scream but my mouth is sealed shut and my eyes are wide. A million and one thoughts flood my brain as I try to process what just happened. And I mean… what the actual fuck just happened?

How did I comment that? When? When I was texting my mom?! Before? When my alarm went off and I spasmed like an idiot?

There’s no way of knowing, but it happened. 

I feel betrayed by my own reflexes. 

Bending over, I pick up the phone. Instantly, a new thought and fear take hold: What do I even have on my profile? I haven’t actually checked it in months; I’ve been so focused on moving and finding a job, I haven’t had time to keep up with social media. 

I click on my little icon—a picture of me with a stupid out-dated filter that gives me cat ears and whiskers—and my dread sinks deeper into my stomach. I cringe. My whole feed is stupid selfies. Some of the people in the pictures I recognize from my night classes at university, but as I scroll I realize it dates all the way back to high school. 

It makes me sick reliving all these moments in my life, and I’m nauseous thinking about Vincent—Mr. Sharpe, I remind myself—seeing them. I should have been more careful and culled my photos sooner. 

Every picture is me in some stupid pose, throwing up a peace sign or winking and sticking out my tongue. Some of my outfits are revealing, and if he didn’t know before that I’m gay, he probably does now. He’ll at least know I’m queer. 

There’s nothing particularly incriminating—nothing to show that I’m a vampire at least, or hint at anything from my past… but I look so desperate for attention. And at the time I was. Deep down, maybe I still am in a way, but now I’m nothing if not a hermit. 

I realize how much of my life is on display on my profile and how much of this persona I cultivated is fake. This outgoing guy I see, frozen in time, isn’t me—not anymore. It’s who I wanted to be, who I wanted people to see me as… But I don’t want Mr. Sharpe to see me like this. 

It’s like I’m trapped in this perpetual nightmare of making a total fool of myself. I’d give anything to make it end. 

My eyes sting and I stop myself from blinking; I can’t cry. There are so many reasons why I can’t cry, but mostly I’m thinking about the horror of showing up to work with remnants of blood streaking down my face. 

I manage to stop the tears and my body reabsorbs the blood that turns my vision red. 

Sucking in a breath, I shove my phone into my pocket and pull on my boots and coat. I put my sneakers in a tote bag, grabbing a pair of headphones to bring, too. Then, I head out the door. There’s nothing I can do, and I just want to forget about the whole thing. 

I want to forget…

For the entire bus ride to work, I replay everything in my head. I think about every scenario that might happen and try to figure out what I’m going to say to Mr. Sharpe if he brings it up. There’s no way I can deny it was me. And I can’t really delete the comment because that could be worse; he’s already seen it. 

Maybe I could send him a message and say it was an accident. Or maybe it would be better to just say that in person if I see him and he brings it up. 

God, it’s eating me alive.

After what feels like too short an amount of time, the bus comes to a halt and I get off at my stop. I trudge to the entrance, giving a small wave to the security guard, Rupert. He only gives me a nod. 

I take the elevator upstairs to the Janitor’s office and knock before I enter. 

Sam’s cheerful voice calls out, “Come in!”

I open the heavy door, expecting to find her alone like yesterday, but she’s not. For a minute all I see is a tall man with dark hair and I instantly feel my color drain as I think it’s Mr. Sharpe.

The man turns toward me and I’m met with bright hazel eyes, set in a handsome, angular face. He’s younger than Mr. Sharpe; probably closer to my age. His hair is dark brown, and his skin is golden. He’s wearing the same janitorial uniform that I’m about to change into. He lifts his hand and gives me an uncomfortable smile as he says, “Hey. You must be Micah. I’m Asim. I’m part of the day shift.” 

I wave awkwardly, standing by the door. “Hi,” I say and it comes out far more quietly than I’d meant for it to. I clear my throat, trying to sound more confident and personable as I add, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I was just letting Sam know of some things that should be done tonight. You’re new, right? Sometimes there are extra tasks we can’t really get done during the day while everyone’s working so we have to dump it on you guys. Right, Sam?” Asim smirks a little and puts his hands in his pockets, looking back at Sam. I can tell he’s trying to make a joke to break the ice. 

Sam sighs, leaning back in her office chair. She swings it a little with her legs, looking displeased. “Yeah, that’s right,” she grumbles. She straightens, pulling herself together a little more as she says sternly, “I’ll figure it out. No worries. You head home. I’ll see you Friday.”

Asim pats her on the back, saying, “See you then.” He gives me a small salute with two of his fingers. “See you around, Micah. Welcome to the team.”

I give him the same awkward wave as I murmur, “Nice to meet you.” In the short interaction, he seems far cooler and more suave than I am. 

Jolting, I see Sam is staring at me with narrowed eyes. “Ah! Sorry, I’ll go get changed and clock in,” I mutter quickly. I don’t know why she’s looking at me like that. Did Mr. Sharpe tell her about my stupid comment fiasco? I can’t imagine he would have…

“Hold on a sec, Micah!” Sam doesn’t sound angry. In fact, she sounds worried and apologetic. Her brows crease and her eyes are pleading as she slaps her palms together like she’s praying. “I know it’s only your second day, and I really wanted you to get into more of a rhythm with your routine before tasking you with anything else, but you did such a great job with everything yesterday and we’re short staffed as it is…”

A relieved exhale leaves me as I realize she just wants my help with something—probably whatever Asim was talking about. “It’s okay. If I can do something to help, I’m happy to.” I try to swallow all my panic and doubt from earlier to give her a reassuring smile. 

Sam lets out another sigh. “It’s the windows. Usually we get cleaners during the day to do the exterior of the building and they stay after hours to do the insides, but there was a mix-up and we didn’t schedule the interior clean. So, really it’s down to us. It would mean I can’t supervise you as much today and you might have to stay a bit later…” She grimaces like she’s afraid I’ll say ‘no’.

I smile softly, nodding. “No problem. I’ll just get changed and clock in and you can tell me what to do and when.” Maybe I’ll be too busy with this extra task to even run into Mr. Sharpe, I think, hopefully. 

“Oh, thank you so much, Micah! I’m so sorry to hit you with this on your second day! At least you’ll get overtime!” Sam looks like her cheerful self again as she types something into the computer. 

I slink away to get changed. I’m happy I remembered my sneakers this time. I can just keep them in my locker. Maybe I should put up a picture inside it or something, to make it feel a bit more like mine. I can almost hear my mother’s voice in my head, reminding me to do that with my own apartment, too. 

Today is easier to fall into routine. Sam still sticks by my side for the first hour, just to make sure I remember everything from yesterday, but she seems satisfied. She quickly shows me how to clean the windows, telling me to save it for last… Then, I’m on my own. 

I pull out my headphones and make sure the volume is quiet as I press play on my audiobook. Sam said it was fine to listen to music, but I’d rather do this. I love getting lost in unreal worlds and imagining myself as the main character in some epic story full of battles and political intrigue. 

This time, I’m a downed starship fleet captain, crash-landed on an extraterrestrial planet. I’m already halfway through the novel, hoping I finish it by the end of my shift. I blush at the romantic parts, always looking up to make sure no one is around or able to overhear. I probably shouldn’t be listening to erotic romantasy at work, but I enjoy it more than listening to music.  

I get through my tasks with ease, taking a break to call my mom in the office instead of eating lunch. I don’t know where Sam is or when she’s taking her break, but I’m glad to talk to my mom. She always cheers me up and makes me feel not quite so lonely. 

As hours tick by, I start to forget about the stupid comment mishap. I enjoy cleaning the conference rooms and offices, lost in my book… until I find myself once again outside of Mr. Sharpe’s office. 

I stare up at the gleaming plaque like it’s some kind of warning. It might as well say DANGER BEYOND THIS POINT. 

I swallow hard as my memory decides now is a great time to bring up all my anxiety about the stupid comment I left by mistake. 

Knocking sheepishly, I wait to hear Mr. Sharpe’s deep voice. Unlike yesterday, this time, there’s no answer. 

Blinking in mild surprise, I knock again harder. Still no answer. 

Maybe he went home already? I think. 

I grab my keycard and unlock the door with a soft beep and click. Pushing it open, I leave my cart in the hall as I peer inside. There are still lights on in the office, but it’s unoccupied. Maybe he just forgot to turn them off. 

I tend to the recycling and garbage bins without incident this time; there’s no one here to distract me. I vacuum the carpet, watching to make sure I don’t accidentally vacuum up anything important or harmful. Then, I grab the cleaning supplies to tend to the windows. 

My stomach flutters as I near the glass and see my reflection in it. It’s just like my dream. My face gets red and hot as I feel arousal start to pump through me. My heart’s hammering. 

I put my hand against the glass, staring out at the city as I vividly remember the things I did with Mr. Sharpe in my dream. I bite my lower lip, my breath coming out in huffs as I close my eyes and recall every tantalizing detail. 

I have to shake myself out of these inappropriate thoughts, especially at work. I’m not dreaming now, and I can’t allow myself to get swept up in some smutty fantasy when I’m supposed to be doing my job.  

My audiobook is still running, but I’ve hardly been paying attention to it. I press pause so I can rewind it before I start cleaning the windows. 

That’s when I hear a deep voice utter from behind me, “Well, this is quite the view.”