Read Online Black Widow by Chris Brookmyre - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chris Brookmyre
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utilise in the real world.â
âYeah, but all your effort has given you amazing skills in the real world. I mean, why would you want to hack and slash online when you can hack and slash for real?â
âItâs not as exciting as you make it sound. In fact, if itâs exciting, thatâs usually a bad sign.â
âNot exciting, but still pretty amazing. I mean, what other job lets you cut people open without serious jail-time?â
âI must confess Iâve never looked at it that way,â I said, trying not to sound withering.
âNo, I donât suppose you would. But you must still occasionally catch a glimpse of yourself from the outside and secretly think: I am awesome.â
I had been doing well up until then. The conversation seemed sufficiently lightweight and pointless to serve as a distraction from what had previously been building up, but then he went and said that and something inside me gave.
As I had feared, it was him being solicitous that was my downfall, and the fact that he wasnât even trying to be solicitous was what slipped through my barricades. I did frequently catch a glimpse of myself from the outside, and it had been a long time since I liked what I saw. The thought of this pleasant and gentle-spirited young man seeing something better, something impressive, suddenly overwhelmed me.
There was nothing I could do to stop the tears from falling. I didnât let out a sob, but my eyes filled and overflowed with irresistible rapidity. His focus was back on the screen, but he noticed before I could reach for a tissue. Besides, there was no way of covering it up.
âIs everything okay? I mean, obviously itâs not, butâ¦â
âYes,â I said, waving a hand dismissively as I dabbed at my cheeks with the other.
I hate people seeing me cry, especially at work. I know I shouldnât, and Iâve written about how we ought not to be masking female traits because they might be perceived as weakness, but as weâre a long way from winning that particular culture war, it always feels embarrassing.
It could have been a lot worse, I suppose. It could have been in front of Creepy Craig, or a male member of my department.
âIâm sorry,â I said. âIâm not feeling at my most awesome right now.â
âAnd youâre desperate to get home. Got it. Iâll be out of your hair fast as I can.â
âThank you.â
He worked swiftly and quietly, his fingers rattling the keys, boxes and panels opening and closing too fast for me to follow. After a few minutes he called up a log-in screen and asked me to type in my username and password.
It still came up as unrecognised.
âDamn. Iâm really sorry. Look, just let me try one last thing, and if that doesnât work, I donât know: might have to wave a dead chicken at it.â
âWhat?â
âNothing. Geek-speak for desperation. Donât worry, I think I know what the problem is now.â
He worked the keyboard again, then sighed and sat back as code began scrolling in a window on the left-hand side.
âJust recompiling something, and if all goes well, weâll both be able to draw a line under the week. Unless youâre on-call tomorrow,â he added hurriedly, perhaps suspecting another way he might have put his foot in it.
âNo,â I assured him. âSo Iâm not thinking beyond going home and seeing what Friday night has to offer. More crying, Iâm guessing, followed by dinner for one and falling asleep in front of the telly before Graham Norton has even flipped anybody out of the red chair. Not very awesome. Sad, in fact. Have you got plans?â I added. Not that I was interested in hearing about someone elseâs better life, but I wanted to be polite and more pressingly I needed to get off the fragile subject of myself in case I blubbed again.
âYeah. I think I can actually trump you in the
âYeah, but all your effort has given you amazing skills in the real world. I mean, why would you want to hack and slash online when you can hack and slash for real?â
âItâs not as exciting as you make it sound. In fact, if itâs exciting, thatâs usually a bad sign.â
âNot exciting, but still pretty amazing. I mean, what other job lets you cut people open without serious jail-time?â
âI must confess Iâve never looked at it that way,â I said, trying not to sound withering.
âNo, I donât suppose you would. But you must still occasionally catch a glimpse of yourself from the outside and secretly think: I am awesome.â
I had been doing well up until then. The conversation seemed sufficiently lightweight and pointless to serve as a distraction from what had previously been building up, but then he went and said that and something inside me gave.
As I had feared, it was him being solicitous that was my downfall, and the fact that he wasnât even trying to be solicitous was what slipped through my barricades. I did frequently catch a glimpse of myself from the outside, and it had been a long time since I liked what I saw. The thought of this pleasant and gentle-spirited young man seeing something better, something impressive, suddenly overwhelmed me.
There was nothing I could do to stop the tears from falling. I didnât let out a sob, but my eyes filled and overflowed with irresistible rapidity. His focus was back on the screen, but he noticed before I could reach for a tissue. Besides, there was no way of covering it up.
âIs everything okay? I mean, obviously itâs not, butâ¦â
âYes,â I said, waving a hand dismissively as I dabbed at my cheeks with the other.
I hate people seeing me cry, especially at work. I know I shouldnât, and Iâve written about how we ought not to be masking female traits because they might be perceived as weakness, but as weâre a long way from winning that particular culture war, it always feels embarrassing.
It could have been a lot worse, I suppose. It could have been in front of Creepy Craig, or a male member of my department.
âIâm sorry,â I said. âIâm not feeling at my most awesome right now.â
âAnd youâre desperate to get home. Got it. Iâll be out of your hair fast as I can.â
âThank you.â
He worked swiftly and quietly, his fingers rattling the keys, boxes and panels opening and closing too fast for me to follow. After a few minutes he called up a log-in screen and asked me to type in my username and password.
It still came up as unrecognised.
âDamn. Iâm really sorry. Look, just let me try one last thing, and if that doesnât work, I donât know: might have to wave a dead chicken at it.â
âWhat?â
âNothing. Geek-speak for desperation. Donât worry, I think I know what the problem is now.â
He worked the keyboard again, then sighed and sat back as code began scrolling in a window on the left-hand side.
âJust recompiling something, and if all goes well, weâll both be able to draw a line under the week. Unless youâre on-call tomorrow,â he added hurriedly, perhaps suspecting another way he might have put his foot in it.
âNo,â I assured him. âSo Iâm not thinking beyond going home and seeing what Friday night has to offer. More crying, Iâm guessing, followed by dinner for one and falling asleep in front of the telly before Graham Norton has even flipped anybody out of the red chair. Not very awesome. Sad, in fact. Have you got plans?â I added. Not that I was interested in hearing about someone elseâs better life, but I wanted to be polite and more pressingly I needed to get off the fragile subject of myself in case I blubbed again.
âYeah. I think I can actually trump you in the
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