Snapped

He’d called her a loose cannon. Her! Well, she wasn’t going to take it anymore. She was done with this place. Done with Houston, done with him, and done with this job. Cleo Canton pulled her desk drawer out and dumped it into a box. She was angry at herself for letting him get to her. She always kept such a tight leash on her emotions, but everyone had a breaking point.

Today was her birthday of all days. Her 32nd year was beginning on a sour note if you asked her. She dropped the desk drawer on the floor. Jonathan Durant had been her boss for 5 years and she had never been pulled into his office like she had today. Cleo spent the last 5 years working her ass off and pouring everything into becoming a top journalist for the Houston Chronicle. She was passionate about what she did. She was a consummate professional. She never missed a deadline, and this was how he repaid her?

Jonathan was the youngest editor on the large newspaper staff; this was largely due to her success in writing for the sports section in a town that loved their sports. She’d known Jonathan was a pig. He was intimidated by her and she knew it. But she did her best to tiptoe around his ego. She wanted nothing more than to prove to him that women did belong here as the sports section was mostly men. Cleo was one of two women on the staff and Janet was a 62-year-old assistant. She would miss Janet the most.

Cleo threw the last of her items into the big brown box. She picked up her things and stopped in front of the tall bookshelf. She glared fiercely at the two awards that seemed to be mocking her. She wanted to go throw them at Jonathan, but she knew that would only prove his point. 

Janet came into her former office breathing hard. “He finally pushed you too far, didn’t he?”

“He’s an ass.” She walked around Janet and made her way to the elevator. Everyone pretended to work as their whispers and shocked eyes roamed her agitated form.

Janet moved her short legs quickly to keep up with Cleo’s long ones. “Cleo, we can go to HR. It doesn’t have to end this way.” 

She tapped her foot impatiently waiting for the elevator to open. She could feel everyone watching her. She could see Jonathan out of the corner of her eye leaning nonchalantly against the door frame of his glass-enclosed office. She knew he was smirking. She could feel his leering eyes raking up and down her body. She’d told him no. She’d shoved him. And then she’d struck him. Cleo’s knuckles would be bruised from the force of his cheekbone hitting her clenched fist. Cleo had never hit anyone but she’d dealt with his lascivious looks and his vulgar comments for 5 years. She didn't think today's meeting was any different until he’d acted on those annoying comments. Jonathan pressed his boney body against hers and grabbed her backside hard, squeezing. She’d been so stunned that she’d stood frozen in disbelief for a full five seconds. When his tongue had entered her mouth against her will, she’d snapped. And he’d called her a psycho bitch and a loose cannon. She wanted a shower. She wanted to scrub away the feeling of his hands on her. She would have to burn her clothes. A shiver ran across her skin in remembrance.

Cleo growled and gave up on the elevator. She could feel the tears pricking the back of her eyes and it caused her to panic. She turned and exited the fire escape, Janet trailing behind her. 

“Cleo, don’t leave like this. We can go to the police. We can tell Mr. Smythe.” Janet chased her down the stairs. 

“Janet, I hit him. I assaulted the most popular editor on the staff. I don’t think the Editor in Chief would be on my side.” When she finally reached the lobby on the ground floor, she stopped and looked at Janet. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep her emotions in check. Janet had been like a mother to her and looking at her now was going to cause her resolve to crumble. 

“But Cleo, you can’t leave. You have worked so hard.” Janet pulled the box from her arms and dropped it on the floor. 

She took several deep breaths. “I will not do this anymore. I can’t, Janet.” She tucked a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear.

Her sad eyes bore into Cleo’s with compassion. “I know. I know you can’t. It's just not fair.” She ended the sentence with an indignant little stomp. 

Cleo smiled sadly at her and massaged her sore knuckles. “I’ve never hit anyone before.” 

Janet covered her red lips with her hand as a giggle escaped. “He deserved more than that.” She grabbed Cleo’s hand and examined the swollen red knuckles. “By the looks of it, he will have an embarrassing bruise on his face.” Cleo would take some satisfaction in that. “What will you do now?” She dropped her hand. 

Cleo shrugged picking the box back up. She walked side by side with Janet exiting the building. “I have enough money saved. Maybe I’ll take some time off and write that book I have been meaning to start.” 

When they reached her black Honda, she set the box down again. “You deserve the break.” 

Cleo pulled the much shorter woman into a quick hug. “You should retire and spend time with those cute grandkids of yours.” Janet nodded. “Miss you.” 

“You too, honey.” She pressed her lips together as the tears trailed down her cheeks. 

Cleo didn’t look back at the tall beige building shrinking in her mirror. She wouldn’t. It was time to move forward. No looking back. She decided she would write that book. 

Upstairs, Jonathan pressed an ice pack to the already purple bruise under his eye. He ground his teeth together and decided that Cleo was probably a lesbian. The quick knock on the door had Jonathan jumping and dropping the ice pack. He shuffled papers in front of him. He knew who was at his door. The air tended to be sucked from a room when Mr. Smythe entered.

He was a tall, barrel-chested man who had a propensity for black coffee and suspenders. The handle of the door popped loudly against the glass wall of Jonathan's office.

Jonathan stood and turned the left side of his throbbing face to the view of the city behind him. "Hello, Chief". Jonathan winced against the uncomfortable tightness the smile caused.

"Sit" Mr. Smythe commanded, his booming voice practically vibrating the walls around him.

Jonathan glanced around awkwardly and was glad he'd had the forethought to close the blinds this morning. He sat on the edge of his high-backed leather chair. "What can I do for you?" He tried to look nonchalant.

Mr. Smythe loosened his tie as he sat in the chair across Jonathan's desk. "I hear there was some...unpleasantness this morning."

Jonathan swallowed hard and smiled again. "I don't know what you mean, sir."

Mr. Smythe pursed his lips and stared hard at the bruise blooming on Jonathan's cheek. He folded his hands in his lap. "Don't you?"

Jonathan swiped at the bead of sweat that trailed down the back of his neck. "Mr. Smythe, she hit me. I had to fire her," the words poured from in quick succession.

Mr. Smythe slapped his knees with both hands and stood. "I doubt that." He strolled to the door. "You're fired, Jonathan." He turned a put a hand on the door handle. "Don't bother packing your office, the officer downstairs doesn't have room in the back of the patrol car."