“So, this morning I went into work on a mission,” David told Miller, who was now all ears.

  “I was finally going to ask Alice out!”

  Miller gave a silent celebratory clap, and David played along by nodding his acknowledgement before continuing,

  “For most of the day, I was just trying to build up the nerve to approach Alice. It felt like my bottom was actually glued to the chair.”

  “Hey! I’ve done that too!” proclaimed Miller proudly.

  Now it was David’s turn to give the hairy little barman his confused look. With a shrug, he continued his story.

  “So yeah, it felt like I was stuck to my chair. I must have spent the whole day trying to find my courage.

  Eventually, the tick tock of the clock loudly heralded that home time was fast approaching, and so I finally found myself on my feet and marching towards her”

  “Did it go well?” Miller dared to ask with genuine interest.

  David took a big gulp of his bitter, placed the empty glass on the table, and then let his focus linger on the ‘ketchup’ on his sleeve for a moment. He then slowly lifted his head to meet Miller's stare.

  “Nope. No, it did not.”

  At that moment, he found himself replaying the dreaded memory in his head, in all its HD, horrible glory.

  David remembered how he unsteadily lurched towards Alice's desk, his date with destiny just one more step away. He was almost there, when a small, shiny headed man with a big mustache blocked his path. It was Mr O’Shea. His demonic boss. In his broad Irish drawl, he had begun to berate him right in front of Alice, who he could see looked deeply embarrassed. Either on his behalf…or him.

  “DAVID!” Mr O’Shea had bellowed right into his face, causing his thick rimmed glasses to steam up

  “Why the bloody hell bells hasn't the client paid yet?! You know I'm off to the races tomorrow!”

  “B-e-ca-u-se we haven't finished the work yet” David had stammered, in the nervous voice he always used with his boss.

  “Argh!” roared Mr O’Shea, who made a show of throwing his arms up into the air whilst pacing around in a stroppy, stompy circle.

  “Excuses EX-cuses! EXCUSES!! Pull ya finger out ya arse or you'll find my boot up there too! Spanner!”

  With that, Mr O’Shea turned to make his dramatic exit, but stopped when he heard David call out.

  “Siiiiiir!” David had called, mustering every last bit of courage to go against his natural inclination to run away and instead, finally stand up to the man who had delighted in bullying him for far too long.

  “WHAT? What is it!?” Mr O’Shea yelled as he spun around and marched back to within an inch of David's puggish nose.

  “I-I-I-I wanna tell you, th-a-a-t,” David stuttered.

  “Come on! Have you got something to say to me, boy? Spit it out!” heckled Mr O’Shea.

  David sighed and deflated. He just didn’t have it in him to make a stand.

  “Nothing, sir, it doesn't matter.”

  “Thought not” Mr O’Shea sneered while looking his employee up and down with naked disdain.

  “So do thing useful for once and make me a cuppa tea....NOW!”

  David couldn't help but flinch as Mr O’Shea shouted into his face. He felt disgusted with himself when he saw that his boss was smirking with delight.

  “Yes sir, right away,” David said in a mousey voice. He then scuttled away as quickly as possible, to do as ordered.

  The office was tiny. Even in the kitchen, David, and everyone else, could easily hear Mr O’Shea. He continued to loudly berate David from across the room, enjoying his power trip, like the school bully he had never grown out of being.

  “Bloody half witted, daydreaming bum itcher!” Mr O’Shea had shouted in David's direction.

  “YOU'RE LUCKY I EVEN EMPLOY YOU! Hurry up...annnnnd someone here bill that client TODAY! Tell’em to pay up or I'm pulling all the men off site right away!”

  Whilst almost everyone in the office did their best to avert their gazes from Mr O’Shea bulging eyes, which were on the hunt for another next victim to berate, a young woman suddenly appeared beside the bushy tashed dictator.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “Do you have to speak to him like that? He works so hard for you, Mr O’Shea!” Alice said politely but firmly.

  “” David thought. He heard what she had said and he could just imagine the devilish, nasty snarl appearing on his boss's face.

  “Alice...I suggest you keep ya pretty little nose out of it. You're meant to be seen and not heard, sweet cheeks!” and to drive home his point, Mr O’Shea gave Alice a sharp slap on her bottom.

  David could see Alice's shocked expression from the other side of the room and he felt something snap inside of him.

  Back at the bar, David drained the last of his drink and sucked air. “And that, Miller,” he proclaimed, puffing out his chest, “was when I found my courage!”

  “Did you come to the lovely Alice's rescue then?” Miller asked.

  “Not really,” replied David with sagging shoulders.

  “Not when you consider that my actions would ultimately end up getting Alice killed.”

  “What?” Miller spluttered, almost choking on the word in fright. All at once, the fear bubbling in his belly threatened to make a backdoor escape.

  “Oh, I’m getting a little ahead of myself, Miller. Let’s just say that…what happened in the office was one of the dominos that eventually led to Alice being dead…probably you too…everyone really,”

  David replied casually, as the numerous pints of bitter began to ebb away his inhibitions and worries.

  Miller swallowed hard to force down the urge to hurl. He considered running for the door, but quickly realised that the wind would probably blow his arse right back inside, giving David the chance to pounce. The only thing he could do, he decided, was to somehow hold his nerve. He had a good plan. Get the psycho to drink himself into a stupor.

  “Would you like another drink, then, David?” Miller asked, trying to keep the tremble from his small voice.

  “No, thanks. I think I might have drunk enough, you know,” replied David, a bit woozily.

  “Oh, go on,” Miller squeaked with panic, before trying to return his voice to a steadier tone.

  “Have another, and finish your story”.

  “Righto. Wellllll, why not, it’ll help blur what's going to happen…another pint, please barkeep,” David said, with a hiccup and a lopsided smile.

  “So where was I?” he wondered.

  “Your boss slapped Alice's arse,” Miller reminded David.

  “Oh, yeah. The poisoned dwarf smacked my lovely Alice's bottom,” David snarled, instantly reliving the events from the day before.

  As the sound of Mr O’Shea’s slap reverberated around the dingy office room, David felt a rage erupt inside of him. It was akin to when the 1980s TV Banner turned into the wrestler sized Hulk whenever he got angry. People didn’t like that David when he got angry, and now it was David's turn to Hulk out.

  He slammed down the kettle, his temper now boiling just as hot as its water, and he stormed out of the kitchen to confront his horrible little boss.

  His fear was replaced with unrestrained wrath. He jabbed his stumpy sausage finger so hard into his boss’s chest that the little man stumbled backwards.

  “You do NOT talk like that to the lovely Alice!” David thundered.

  “It's okay!” Alice quickly soothed, placing herself between him and the little tyrant, hoping to prevent the hostile tension exploding into kickass violence.

  Mr O’Shea was like a drunk on a Saturday night, the sort Elton John explained all too well in his hit record from the Seventies. On the one hand, Mr O’Shea felt indignant that this wimp of a man had dared lay a finger on him. But on the other hand, he was almost foaming with the joyful anticipation of a bloody brawl about to erupt.

  He fought, however, to simmer down his excitement and to keep his business head on. He couldn’t just go around clomping dweeby four eyed employees…not without good legally binding reasons…such as…not throwing the first punch.

  “Ha, and what are you gonna do about it, Davy boy?” the boss goaded.

  “You gonna give me a good spanking for shouting at your ickle girlfriend here?” taunted the diminutive rotter, in his singsong Limerick accent.

  “Shut ya specky pie hole and get me ma cuppa tea!” he ordered.

  “Here’s your bloody tea, Mr O’Shea!” David roared. His hand sprung back to the kitchen counter and grabbed the hot milky mug of Tetleys, and with a golfer's precision, swung back round and emptied its content right over his boss's bald head. No longer was the little man's face red with anger, it now burned hot with searing pain.

  Everyone was stunned into silence. No one could believe what had been done, especially David.

  In that split second he had learned something new. When pushed, he could be forced into actions he hadn’t imagined he was capable of.

  He should have felt shocked by what he did, but instead he felt the thrilling surge of excitement, and he was not alone. Alice was seeing a whole new side of David, a man willing to stand up for her virtue. She liked this tough guy side of him.

  As Mr O’Shea screamed and clawed at his face, frantically swiping away the scolding liquid, David held up a beckoning elbow.

  “Come on, lovely Alice...er Alice… we're leaving. Mr Toon can stick his poxy job right up his....”

  David, however, was unable to finish his sentence.

  “Behind you,” Alice screamed whilst frantically pointing over David's shoulder.

  As he turned, he was greeted by what felt to be a slow motion, Street Fighter style, roundhouse kick approaching his face.

  In the short moment before impact, David had enough time to register that he probably wasn’t going to have his movie happy ending, where he got to stroll off into the sunset.

  What he got was an ass whooping.

  This was no rom com where the zero became a hero. The bully was not being vanquished this day. In fact, the sad, harsh, brutal reality of the real world was that tormentors can usually take a punch. They will also happily fight back.

  And they usually win… easily, no matter how many times Mr Myagi gets you to wax on and off.

  David found himself on the receiving end of an almighty thwacking that quickly turned him into a pulpy mess.

  Within seconds, Mr O’Shea had him on the floor and was doing his utmost to bend his neck in such a way that he could force David's nose into his own bum crack.

  Any chance that David had of proving to Alice that he could be a tough guy, a protector, was swiftly shattered.

  As he lay on the ground, with his head being pushed towards where it was never meant to go, he couldn't help but notice, despite the terrible pain, the look upon the face of his beloved. She watched in stunned horror as he took the beating, but David, in his misery, mistook her look of shock and fear for revulsion, clearly unimpressed by his wimpiness.

  He felt humiliated, and that hurt far more than the flurry of pounding blows he was being assaulted with.