Steak and Reconciliation

"Absolutely Mr. Lloyd, I can have that to you by tomorrow, how does that sound? Perfect, thank you very much."

Alan ended the call with a smile, he'd been negotiating that sale for a week and he'd finally managed to close it. As he did a celebratory spin around in his chair, he came face to face with his boss, Derek Price. Alan and Derek had been good friends up until a few months ago when Derek had gone behind his back to steal the promotion Alan had been up for. Since then things had been tense, but Alan was determined that he wasn't going to be bullied out of his job.

"Derek, hi. I managed to close that sale."

"Congratulations on finishing a job that should've been completed days ago. Pull your head out of your ass Alan." Derek had always had a sharp tongue even when they were friends, but after Alan had confronted him about the promotion he'd become nasty.

"I'm sorry but there was..."

"Just do your damn job," Derek cut Alan off abruptly. "I don't want excuses." He turned and walked towards his office.

"Prick," Alan muttered under his breath. Derek paused for a moment and then kept on walking. Alan spun his chair back around to see a co-worker, James, peering over the cubicle.

"That was rough man," he sympathised.

"What the hell is his problem? He takes my promotion and now he thinks he can just treat me like crap?" He looked at his wall planner. He'd accrued plenty of leave. Maybe I should just take a holiday? Alan thought to himself. Right, like Derek the Douche would ever approve my leave.

"Maybe you should quit, or hit him with your car or something." James laughed and then disappeared behind the cubicle wall.

Alan would be lying if he said he'd never thought about hurting Derek. Sometimes that's what got him through the day. He'd imagine how satisfying it would be to punch him right in the mouth and make him swallow his own teeth, or to run over his ankles with a car and watch him come into work in a wheelchair.

Alan wasn't a violent person. He'd never been in a fight before, he wasn't even sure if he could throw a punch. Thinking about hurting his once friend and boss was just a cathartic release, Alan never imagined actually acting on these fantasies. And besides, Alan figured, who doesn't sometimes think about hurting their boss?

He decided he had to make peace with Derek. It was either that or admitting defeat and resigning. Neither of these was an appealing option to Alan, but he knew he couldn't carry on for much longer working in such hostile conditions.

Alans car rolled to a stop outside Derek's house. He turned off the headlights and sat silently, wishing that maybe Derek wasn't home and that he had just forgotten to turn his lights off. A familiar silhouette passed across a window and Alan sighed, knowing he just had to go knock on Derek's door and talk to him. He grabbed the bag of beer and steak that was beside him on the passenger seat and made his way up the path to Derek's front door.

Alan raised his fist, ready to knock, but he hesitated. It's not too late to turn around and leave, he thought. Derek will never know you were here. Before he could think about it any further he brought his fist down on the door with three successive taps.

A porch light came on, followed by footsteps approaching the door. The light filtering through the door's peephole was blocked as Derek peered out to see who could be visiting him at this time of the night. There was a pause as Alan waited for him to respond.

The door opened and Derek stood there, wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing at work, sans the tie.

"Alan." His voice was flat and unimpressed. "I didn't expect to see you until Monday." Alan could smell the alcohol on his breath. Behind him he saw several empty beer bottles dripping condensation onto the wooden coffee table.

"Look man," Alan realised he should've thought about what he was going to say before he knocked. "I want to bury the hatchet. I've brought beer and steak. Let's just shoot the shit, it'll be like old times." A smile crept across Derek's face.

"You're just in time, I was about to order in some Chinese." He stood aside and ushered Alan in. Not much had changed in the months since last he'd been here. The furniture had been rearranged slightly, Derek's signed poster of Xena the Warrior Princess had been moved to a different wall, and the bookshelf was still filled with books Derek probably never intended on reading. It was still very much the bachelor pad he remembered.

Derek led the way to the kitchen and took out a cast-iron frying pan for the steaks. Alan opened two beers and handed one to his old friend.

"Cheers," they both said as they clinked their bottles together. Alan set his beer to the side as he started to prepare the food.

"You know what man," Derek started, "I just wanna say I'm sorry for that whole mess with the promotion. What I did was wrong." The apology took Alan by surprise, and for a minute he almost let the steak burn.

"I appreciate you saying that," Alan replied, "but I'm probably a better salesman than a manager, the best man got the job." He didn't really believe what he'd just said, but in the interest of letting bygones be bygones Alan knew he just needed to swallow his pride.

"The thing is though, that job would've been yours if you weren't such a pushover. Even before you lost that promotion, you let me and everyone else just walk all over you." Derek was already on to his next beer and his words were starting to slur. Alan gripped the spatula tighter. All his life he'd played the Nice Guy and although he knew what Derek said was true it cut him deep to hear that his old friend had abused that.

"Like I said," Alan tried his best to be calm. His knuckles turned white around the spatula as he took a deep breath and put on a friendly smile. "The best man got the job."

"Bullshit. I might've got the job, but you're a better man than I'll ever be." Derek sounded sincere, but Alan put that down to the alcohol.

A small smile crept from the corner of Derek's mouth as though he had some big joke to tell. Alan looked at him and held his breath; maybe he'd made a mistake coming here after all.

"I never told you how I actually got the job did I?" Derek asked, stifling a grin.

"We don't have to do this," Alan replied. It was getting harder to keep his cool, so he looked down at the frying pan and flipped the steak again. He hadn't been paying attention to it and the meat had started to burn.

"I told the chairman of the board that you were sleeping with Andrea from sales!" Derek blurted out his big secret with a laugh.

Anger boiled up inside Alan, he gripped the frying pan handle tightly with his free hand to keep from shaking with rage.

"Shut up," he said softly, his words barely audible over Derek's laughter.

"I haven't told you the best bit yet!" Between the laughter and his inebriated state, Derek struggled to string together a sentence coherently. "When I told the chairman, he wanted to have you let go but I convinced him to keep you on and fire Andrea instead!"

"I SAID SHUT UP" Alan's anger boiled to the surface with a flash of red and before he could stop himself, he swung the frying pan and cracked it against the side of Derek's head with a sickening thud. Steak and oil went flying and Derek dropped to the kitchen floor like a rock, his half empty beer bottle smashing at his feet.

The frying pan fell to the ground with a clatter, Alan's hands began to shake uncontrollably as he realised what he had just done. Adrenaline, shock and fear surged through him and he rushed to the kitchen sink to throw up. Alan wiped the vomit from his mouth with a nearby cloth and turned to look at Derek. Blood was running from his nose and he was lying in a puddle of broken glass, beer, and steak. Alan crouched down and felt Derek's neck for a pulse. A strange wash of calm came over him as he couldn't find one, but then he found Derek's jugular and realised that he was still alive.

Alan sat back against the kitchen counter and put his head in his hands. His heart was pounding and his breath came out in short ragged bursts. He closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. Alan looked over at Derek again and thought about what he was going to do. If I just left, would he even remember I was here? He did drink a lot, and that frying pan was heavy. No, I can't risk it. He laughed at the turn of events that had transpired. Had he really thought they could hash it out over beer and steak? If I hadn't lost my temper I would've just continued to let him walk all over me. He's an asshole, but he's right. I am a pushover.

A thought entered Alan's mind. What if Derek remembered, what if he couldn't be convinced to not say anything about what happened? He'd lose his job, and maybe go to jail too. I could kill him. Alan laughed again. He was no killer. The fact that he even found it in him to swing that frying pan was surprise enough. But still the thought lingered. Why not? No one would miss him. I could do it right now while he's unconscious. Alan stood up and pulled a knife from a kitchen drawer. He could tell it was sharp and he could see Derek's fingerprints on the handle and blade from not being cleaned properly. Always the slob, Alan thought to himself. He crouched down to his knees and rolled the unconscious Derek onto his back, fully exposing his neck. He slowly brought the blade towards the soft, exposed flesh. Alan could see a vein throbbing, and he almost thought he could hear the blood pumping through it. Or is that my own heartbeat? His hand began to shake as he gently pressed the blade into Derek's throat. Alan's heart was beating violently and loudly. Derek spluttered suddenly and Alan dropped the knife, nicking Derek's throat in the process.

Derek groaned softly but didn't come to. Alan knew he had to do something before that happened. He stood up, grabbed Derek's feet and began to drag him into the lounge. Hoisting him up underneath the arms, Alan sat him down in an armchair. I just need to tie him down with something. He looked around, but all he could find was a few power cables. Alan went back to the kitchen for the knife, now dirtied with Derek's fingerprints and blood, and cut the power cable from the TV and a few lamps. He tied Derek down to the legs and armrests of the chair, then sat down on the couch across from him and waited for him to regain consciousness.

Derek awoke with a start to the small of satay and the sound of Steve Miller Band. He looked around and saw Alan opposite him eating out of a Chinese takeout box. Alan glanced up and saw him.

"Oh good, you're awake," Alan said as he put his food down. "I got a little hungry while I was waiting for you, and since the steak got ruined I went ahead and ordered Chinese. I took a little cash from your wallet, I hope you don't mind?" Derek looked confused.

"I feel like shit, what happened?"

"Well Derek," Alan replied gently. "You had too much to drink, then you slipped over and knocked yourself out on the kitchen counter. I moved you in here so you would be more comfortable."

"How lo-" Derek looked down and realised that his arms and legs were bound to the chair he was sitting in. A look of confusion and panic spread across his bloodied face. "What the HELL?" He struggled against his binds but Alan's knots held tight.

"You're wasting your time." Alan had recovered from the shock of the events that led to Derek being tied up to a chair in his own lounge, but still he had no idea what he was going to do.

"What the hell are you doing?" Derek continued to struggle. Alan stood up and walked over to him.

"You were being an asshole. I hit you. Now here we are." Derek smiled at Alan.

"I gotta say Al, I didn't think you had the stones. Now untie me and get the hell out of my house." Alan scoffed at him.

"You know I can't do that, what's to stop you from having me arrested? As long as you're tied up I'm in control."

"Listen to me you prick, untie me and I promise not to kick your ass. We both know you aren't gonna do anything. You got your one hit in, most likely I deserved it too. I accept that. What more do you want?"

Alan glared at him. He could feel the rage boiling up inside him again. Get a hold of yourself man! He went back to his seat, picked up his fork and kept eating.

"You know Derek," Alan said, pointing at him. "You talk a lot for someone tied to a chair."

"Is that so?" He spat in Alan's direction. "Because you're a spineless, worthless piece of shit. Soon enough you'll untie me and leave. Then you'll come into work on Monday begging me not to fire you. Your ass is mine." This time Alan didn't even try to hold himself back. He leapt up from his chair, fork in hand, and plunged it into Derek's right thigh. Derek screamed and thrashed violently in his chair.

"You're a damned lunatic!" Derek yelled through the pain. "As soon as I get outta here you're dead?" His hand still gripping the knife, Alan twisted it sharply and then yanked it free. He wiped the blood off on Derek's shirt then went back to his Chinese. Derek groaned in pain and feebly pulled at his restraints.

"Guess I was holding in more anger than I though these last few months," Alan said between mouthfuls. "Sorry I snapped. You did have that coming though." Derek's breathing was heavy, and fear was written on his face.

"Look man," Derek pleaded. "I screwed up. I admit it. I'm sorry. Just let me go and I'll forget all about this. It'll be like it never happened." Alan smiled and cocked his head to the side.

"Is that because of the fork I just jammed in your leg, or was that actually an honest to God, bona fide apology?"

"Please," Derek grovelled. "I just want you to do the right thing here."

The right thing?" Alan's face became flush with anger. "You lie and cheat two people out of their jobs and you think you can take the moral high road here by telling me what the right thing to do is?" Spittle flew out of his mouth as he stood in front of Derek, fork pointed at his face. Derek flinched away.

"Give me ONE good reason why I shouldn't stick this fork into your other leg! ONE reason!"

"Please..." Derek whimpered.

"Not good enough." Alan brought his fist down, plunging the fork into Derek's left thigh. Derek screamed in agony as Alan forced the fork deeper. The fork hit bone and Alan let go and took a step back. Derek's face had become a mess of tears, mucus and blood. His body shook from the pain and his screaming had reduced to a soft whimper.

"I have to confess I might've cheated you a little there," Alan said, chuckling. "Had you actually given me a good reason, I was still gonna stick that fork in you."

"I'll do anything you want," Derek probably would've been on his knees if he wasn't tied to a chair. "Please, you don't have to do this."

"YOU did this!" Alan snarled.

"I'm sorry, for everything. I was wrong. I screwed you and Andrea over, that job shoulda been yours, I'm sorry, please just let me go!"

"You really don't think I can just walk away know do you?" Alan sounded almost sympathetic.

"So what?" Derek spat. "You gonna kill me? Because I cheated you out of a damned promotion? You're psychotic!" Alan squeezed his eyes shut and tried to contain himself.

"You have a fork sticking out of your leg Derek, are you trying to make me mad?"

"You don't have the balls to do anything else!" Derek became defiant. "I'm not sorry. If there was another job and another promotion I'd do it all again. You're a spineless damned pushover."

"You talk too much." Flush with rage, Alan turned and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a paring knife and a wicked look on his face. He stood in front of Derek, knife in hand and waited for him to say something. Only Steve Miller Band was breaking the tense silence between Alan and Derek.

"Real intimidating," Derek mocked. "Be careful not to cut yourself with that, you limp-dick motherfu-" In a flash, Alan brought his hand up and grabbed Derek's jaw. Prying it open, he put the knife up to Derek's mouth and rested the blade against his teeth. The defiance in Derek's eyes turned to fear.

"You talk too much." Alan stabbed the knife into Derek's mouth and blindly slashed at his tongue. Derek's body convulsed violently at the intense pain, his screams were muffled by a mouthful of blood and steel. Thick blood flowed from his mouth, and over Alan's hands. It dripped from his chin and began soaking his shirt. Derek's left hand suddenly came free of the lamp cord wrapped around it and he drove his free fist up into Alan's stomach. The knife ripped through Derek's cheek as Alan stumbled backwards. Derek reached over and yanked out the fork that was still in his leg and with as much force as he could muster, he stabbed it into Alan's side.

Alan yelped in pain, he looked down at the fork sticking out of him, and at Derek who was now frantically trying to free his other hand. With a new ferocity, Alan brought the knife down through both of Derek's hands and into the arm of the chair. Derek writhed in pain, his scream was a spray of blood and a chunk of tongue straight over Alan. He tried to kick his legs free but to no avail.

With a shaking hand and a pained grunt, Alan pulled the fork from out of his side and let it drop to the floor. His breaths came out short and fast as though he had just done some amount of vigorous exercise. Looking over at Derek, Alan half grimaced, half smiled.

"Guess I didn't make those restraints tight enough huh?" Derek was hunched over, blood dribbling thick from his mouth and from his hands.

"You probably won't believe me," Alan continued. "But I didn't come over here with the intention of hurting you. You kept being, well, you, and I guess I finally snapped. Was I stupid to think that we could go back to being friends, or at least to being somewhat friendly?" Derek had given up struggling, although his body was still shaking from the pain. Alan stepped over and slowly pulled the knife out from Derek's hands, twisting the blade as he did so but Derek barely responded. His left hand, now free again, fell limp into his blood-soaked lap. Alan placed a hand on Derek's head and lifted it up to meet his eyes. A small shred of defiance remained.

"You know the funny thing Derek?" Alan asked with a smirk. "I actually was sleeping with Andrea." Derek's ripped cheek made it hard to tell if he was smiling, but through his blood-filled mouth he chuckled softly. Alan began to laugh too, and as they laughed together Alan recalled all the good times they had spent laughing before everything changed, some in that very room, and suddenly the bitterness he had held was gone.

Half coughing and half laughing, Derek sprayed Alan with his blood and Alan brought the knife up to Derek's neck and sliced. The blade cut deep and immediately a thick spurt of blood began spraying from the gaping wound. Derek's torn smile turned to a blank look as he feebly attempted to cover the hole in his neck but the blood continued to gush out from between his fingers.

Weak from blood loss, Derek's red hand slowly sank back into this lap. His head dropped to his chest as Alan let it go. His breathing had reduced to a soft gurgle and his body continued to shake. Alan tilted his head to the side, fascinated by the stream of hot blood that was covering both the lounge and himself. He dropped the bloodied knife and watched as the steady stream of crimson turned to a slow trickle and then seemed to stop altogether. He thought that Derek probably would've looked quite pale were it not for all the blood.

Alan crouched down and looked at Derek's face. His mouth looked unnaturally agape because of the cheek that had been ripped open and his eyes were wide. Alan reached up with a bloodied hand and brushed his fingers over Derek's eyes to close them.

"Goodbye, Derek." Alan stood up and made his way to the front door. Hand on the knob, he turned around and took one final look at his old, dead friend, then he opened the door and left.