It takes a lot for a man to break, and when he does one must fear the broken man.

The cheers of the office became a painful throb in Ryan's head. Each shout of congratulation that echoed through the room felt like a deliberate stab at his already wounded pride. It was almost like they wanted him to hear, they had wanted him to know he lost.

His face illuminated by the blue glow of the monitor before him betrayed no sign of the anger he harbored in his heart. Most would call him a jealous loser, but this was different. He was the one meant to get the position of director. He gave seven years of his life in this shit hole for that, and now look at him.

He glanced up from his screen to see the smug look on Marcus's face. Oh, how much he hated him. Perhaps way too much to be described in words, way too much to be normal.

And yet, Ryan could still justify it. Since that bastard, as he had not so affectionately branded him, came here, it's been like his entire life had been going worse. All his coworkers and bosses loved Marcus so much—he was perfect.

Perfect looks, perfect personality, perfect at his job, and a perfect life. However, there was one thing that wasn't perfect: his friend, a role Ryan shamefully bore. Perhaps his only notable contribution to Marcus's life was giving him this job two years ago—a decision he had made it his duty to regret every night before he went to sleep.

"Ryan, c'mon, man, stop working. This is a time for celebration," Marcus's voice shot across the room like a viper's strike, his words like venom biting further into Ryan's battered patience.

"You stupid fuck, why would I celebrate with you for taking away something I had told you I worked so hard for? Or consistently embarrassing me every day by using your own achievements to put me down. Go fuck yourself, and I hope you die."

This is what Ryan wanted to say; however, like with most things Ryan wants, this also didn't happen. Instead, he put on his best smile, like newly bought shoes, and looked at Marcus with a gaze of respect and admiration.

"You know I'd love to run around the office with happiness, but if this report isn't done, I'll be getting an earful tomorrow." Ryan turned back to his monitor. "I'll soon be done, and we'll go celebrate, alright?"

"Ah, a report. That must be stressful. I don't have to make any from now on, though. Who knows, maybe I'll be the one to approve the one you're making right now." The office erupted into laughter at Marcus's lighthearted joke, one, of course, made in good will.

What bullshit!

It wasn't even funny. What kind of stupid joke was that? It was simply a dig at him, and all these people weren't laughing at the joke. No, no, no, what sane person would? They were laughing at Ryan instead, at how much of a failure he was or maybe just kissing Marcus's ass like they usually do.

"Well, meet us at Marzats when you're done; we'll be getting wasted tonight." Marcus laughed as everyone headed out. He walked over to Ryan, his steps a repeated kill and revive to the silence of the office, which was now left with only them both.

"I really appreciate what you've done for me, truly." Marcus stretched out his hand, his fist folded as he gestured a fist bump.

'I could kill him; we are alone. I could just kill him. Maybe he can be a director in the depths of hell.'

These weren't just intrusive thoughts as Ryan stared at his "friends" hands; this was a sober string of ideas, often leading to what is known as premeditated murder. But Ryan wasn't capable of such, not yet.

The barely audible sound of their colliding fists echoed subtly through the office.

"No problem, man. I'm happy for you." No matter how many times Ryan said it, both in his head and out loud, it didn't make it true. He knew that now. It took about a hundred attempts, but he did finally know it.

Marcus gave a smile and a nod, then turned away, heading out of the office. His dressing shoes consistently tapped on the marble floor like outro music for him.

"Don't waste time; I invited your wife, and she texted me she's already there. She'd be worried if you take too long." Those were Marcus's departing words.

Everything he said didn't make sense to Ryan. He invited his wife? She texted him she was there? And Ryan, the husband, knew nothing about any of it.

Yet, the saddest part of this would be the fact that, of all things that came out of Marcus's mouth, his wife worrying about him was the most outrageous.

Ryan sighed as he turned off his PC. He didn't give a damn about the report; he just needed an excuse to not celebrate his failure while actively trying not to look like a jealous loser.

He pushed his chair back, standing up. He walked toward the large glass pane of the office. What a magnificent view it was. The office was so high up in the sky; vehicles resembled ants.

"It'd be a quick death," he wondered.

What did he really have to live for? His doctor told him his kidney is failing, and his life won't be as long anyway. Not like his life is even worth living—he lost his promotion, he's in drowning debt, and the salary increase that would have saved him is out the window. So why not follow it, he thought.

His wife also wants a divorce, and his friends—wait, he doesn't have any, just two-faced assholes. To him, he had every reason to go up the roof and jump. After all, people have done it for less.

"Ha, what a joke." He smiled.

"You think you'd get rid of me that easily. You guys win this time, so enjoy it. I'll have my get back,"

A promise he didn't know how far he would go to keep. A promise even God's will eventually wish he never made.

**********

It was a perfect night, maybe too perfect.

"Even the universe is mocking me," Ryan spat as he looked out the window of the cab. It was a full moon, its light spreading across the clouds with an almost magical glow.

"How fuckin' stupid, the moon is so ugly."

Ryan averted his gaze from the window, his face contorted into a shroud of utter irritation. The cab driver could easily notice his bitter expression from his rear-view mirror.

"If you need someone to talk to, I'm a good listener," the cab driver glanced at the mirror. "Cause you seem to be having a bad day." His voice was low and rough, almost comforting in a sense.

"Really? What makes you think that?" Ryan met the driver's gaze through the mirror, an old-looking man who wore sunglasses while driving for some reason. Ryan had subconsciously dissolved the angered expression on his face, a gesture the driver noticed, letting out a chuckle.

"Let's just call it intuition. I can tell when my passengers aren't in their best mood," the cab driver said, turning his hands as they took a left.

"Well, I'm fine. I mean, I should be... right?" Ryan looked away from the rear-view mirror. His words seemed more like a conversation with himself rather than the driver, another attempt at self-delusion that he was happy for his friend.

"Should be," the driver glanced to the mirror again.

"Yes, he probably got the promotion because he deserved it, even though I had put many years of work and effort into it. Surely, it makes more sense that he came for two years, did way less, and snatched it away from me, right?"

"Even without context, that doesn't really sound right," the driver replied. He had said what Ryan wanted to hear, or perhaps what any sensible person would say.

"That's what I'm saying!" Ryan exclaimed. He wasn't crazy! He knew anyone could tell this was bullshit. "But if I say anything, everyone would say I'm a sore loser, fucking pathetic bastards, the lot of them, I tell you." Ryan could barely contain his anger just thinking about it.

"You should die then."

Ryan's head tilted in confusion as he heard the driver's words, a dry tone that cut through the air like sharpened glass.

"What did you just say to me?" Ryan demanded, unsure of what the driver meant or if he heard him correctly.

"Who knows? Maybe you've lost sight of it all and need remembering. It's always greener on the other side... Don't they say that?" The driver spoke with measured clarity, as if any of the things he said could somehow be deemed a rational or sensible sentence.

"Are you on drugs or something?" Ryan had now concluded this man couldn't be normal.

"Of course, how else could I drive at night?"

A pause lingered in the air—a moment of surprise and confusion, but for only a moment. After what happened today, his cab driver being on drugs somehow managed to fall to the bottom of the list of his problems.

"Just drive, old man. You're creeping me out."

Ryan sat back, his mind immediately began drowning in a flurry of thoughts. He needed a way to pull his life out of the gutter. He couldn't possibly go on like this. Whatever time he had left, he would not waste it being a nobody.

Ryan jerked off his seat as the car came to an all but gentle stop. He would complain, but he somehow made it to his destination with a high driver. If anything, he's lucky him and the cab aren't wrapped around a telephone pole.

He pulled out his wallet, took a ten-pound note, and handed it to the driver. He jolted as he looked at him—the man had scars all over his face, scars Ryan was almost certain weren't previously there, highlighted by the patched and rough beard that struggled to grow.

The most chilling feature of the man, however, was his eyes—completely white, or even more accurate, colorless orbs that seemed haphazardly placed into his eye sockets.

The old man took the note as Ryan stepped out the cab, then with an eerie nod, he drove off.

"What the hell was that?" Ryan mumbled under his breath.

With a sigh that seemed to sound out the words "I couldn't care less," he turned around to face the bar, his destination. He read the lit-up sign that crowned the building—Marzats it said. Then he shifted his eyes to Marcus's new SUV parked in the corner, and he couldn't help but wonder what the hell he was even doing here.

"No, no, no." He slapped his cheeks with both hands softly, as if trying to rub off all instincts to back out that clawed at him.

"I am happy for him," Ryan didn't say it to believe it this time. He knew he couldn't. Instead, it was more of a rehearsal; he would not let anyone see cracks in his facade.

He walked into the bar with a bright smile and a pep in his step, as if he were the one promoted. Not a single bone of anger or jealousy in his body, no, not him. He was a content and supportive friend, at least until this bullshit gathering was over.

"Everyone is having a great time already." Ryan announced his presence as he walked over to the table, where three of his coworkers stuffed their faces with food and anything that had the slightest trace of alcohol in it.

The scent of booze clung to them like an obsessed lover, enough to bring Ryan to the verge of almost throwing up—they were partying hard, and for what? Someone else's success? Or another's failure?

What a pitiful bunch.

"Where's the man of the hour, huh?" Ryan's gaze scanned around the bar but couldn't seem to spot the newly appointed director.

"Private lounge upstairs. VP came to meet him." David, a drunken mess, slurred almost inaudibly.

Ryan's eyes opened in shock. VP is here? Why would he be here for something like this? The higher-ups are almost rarely ever seen, but one came to Marcus's party, and it pissed Ryan off even more.

"Forget that." Ryan shook off his anger. Instead, he would go ask the VP why he wasn't given the director position after everything he's done for the company. It's better than pointlessly harboring anger while oblivious to the truth.

He turned to the stairs and marched up. He would definitely get answers today. Maybe if he knew the reason for his situation, he wouldn't be as pissed.

He reached the top of the staircase, placed his hands on the door, took deep breaths as he prepared himself to run in demanding answers.

"I've been adding small doses of lead to his food for some months now."

That was his wife's voice. He forgot she was to be here as well, but why was she here and not with them? What was the meaning of what she said? Ryan decided it was better to wait, listen, and understand what they are talking about before entering.

"Well, it's a bit slow. It'd be better if he was gone before Marcus got the position. It'd have been easier for me."

"That's the VP's voice!" Ryan thought to himself as he heard it.

"Even though everyone in your department submitted a complaint on him, and his wife wrote the accusation letter of abuse, the executives were still hell-bent on giving him the promotion. Like it or not, he has been really active in the company. I had to work really hard to convince them to give it to you."

Ryan's mind raced, and he felt his head throb. What the hell were they saying? Everyone in his department submitted complaints for what? And his wife, what the hell did he mean by accusation of abuse?

"I've been thinking. Now that I've gotten the position, do you need to continue adding the lead?" Marcus asked, a tiny glint of guilt in his voice.

"Come on, babe, there's no going back now. His kidney is failing already. He's got two years at most, and if we speed it up, we can be together without people pointing fingers."

Ryan's eyes twitched, and his pupils dilated. Sweat beads formed across his face as he felt his knees almost buckling beneath.

Could all of this be true? Could his entire life really be sabotaged by everyone around him? What could he have possibly done to deserve all this? In a short moment, Ryan asked these questions as many times as he could in his head. Yet, in all forms of both illogical and logical thoughts he attempted, no answer was formed.

"Just get him to sign the divorce papers. If he dies while you both are still married, his debts will be on you." Marcus's words were like the final blow, the last straw.

"I'll try. Right now, he thinks we are 'working things out,' so it might take a while."

He took his hand off the door handle. He wouldn't go in. What would he do? What would he say? There was no point for words now; there was no point in rationality now.

His head throbbed. Was he going mad? Maybe he was. It didn't matter to him.

He turned away and walked down the stairs. Each step came with an even greater attempt at regaining his composure. He acted all his life, so now he would play one final act—the last scene of his pathetic movie.

He walked over to the table of drunken bastards that posed as his coworkers and friends, and he sat with them. He didn't touch a drink—no, he would do this sober.

It didn't take long before they came downstairs—his wife, the VP, and Marcus. They laughed as Marcus hands wrapped around Esther's shoulder; then, catching a glance of him, Marcus retracted his hand quickly.

"What an evil fucker," Ryan thought.

"Eh... We... I was just having a talk with the VP on—" Esther, Ryan's endearing wife, stumbled her way through words. Did she think he was stupid?

Maybe he was. If he had not heard what he did, he'd probably still believe whatever bullshit was about to come out of her mouth.

"Ess, I've been looking for you. Come, let's have a drink together." Ryan raised his hands, gesturing for her to come as he put on a big wonderful smile.

"You didn't take too long in the office?" Marcus said as Esther sat at the table with them.

"Yeah, I finished quick to come have fun with you." Ryan, with a revised motion, shifted his gaze to the VP, as if only noticing him. "VP, you're here. It's a pleasure." Ryan stood up, stretching his hand to shake the vice president as they reached the table.

"Yes." The vice president reluctantly shook his hand and showed no interest in furthering a conversation. "Well, I'll be off, Marcus, or should I say director?" The gathering of backstabbers erupted in laughter at the VP's words, and Ryan joined them, faking his laughter better than the rest of them.

Another brilliant joke for the imbeciles.

The VP walked out of the bar, and Marcus turned back to Ryan, who had already begun pouring him a drink. "Come on, how are you not hammered yet? You are the new director, drink up." Ryan pushed Marcus a glass.

Marcus smiled, and a pang of guilt gripped his chest as he took the glass and downed the contents. He sighed as the burning sensation passed down his throat.

The night went on, and they ate and drank and ate and drank, and drank, and drank, and drank.

It was now 2 AM; the bar was closing, and Ryan was now the only person who could stand, with no one else being even remotely clear headed.

"Give me your keys," he asked Marcus, who pulled them out of his pocket and gave them, his head unable to keep still as it kept falling to the side.

Ryan took on the responsibility of loading all of them into Marcus's SUV. He said he would drop them all at home since they were all too drunk.

"Thank for... Dis man... you ar realy great friend," Marcus slurred his words as Ryan started the car. "Sure," Ryan responded, pulling out of the lot.

They drove onto the highway, Ryan's hand steadily gripping the steering wheel as the drunken mumbles and chatters of the passengers became like background noise to him—a distant static.

Perhaps they were too drunk to notice the insane speed at which Ryan was going until he spoke.

"I never understood why you all hate me," Ryan's foot pressed further on the gas pedal as they sped down the highway at ninety miles an hour.

"Hey, slow down, man!" Marcus was the first to notice, his growing fear overcoming his drunken state.

"Perhaps I'll never know, but if it's the last thing I do... I'll give you guys a reason to." Ryan floored the gas pedal as they zipped through the highway; he had seen the upcoming truck—that was his target.

At this point, everyone in the car had been washed away off their intoxication by their growing panic.

"Stop, what are you doing?" Esther's shout was now just a mix of all the other screams in the vehicle.

Ryan closed his eyes, his muscles tensed, and his heart pounding in his chest as he turned into the front of the truck—he did this sober.

They collided with the truck, and everyone in the SUV died instantly.

Not too long ago, back in the office, Ryan wasn't capable of murder or suicide.

It takes a lot for a man to break. It is necessary to fear broken men... but we should pity them as well.

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