Davon

I watch you arrange the papers on my desk, but my mind is far from the quarterly report. I've been buried in work for two years, trying to save the company my late wife left me. Two years with a dead libido and a hardened heart... until you came along. But then you make a mistake. While organizing the schedule, you start talking about Fiodor. My cousin. I hear that damned hint of admiration in your voice as you mention how handsome and kind you found him when he visited the office this morning, and a vein of pure malice and jealousy poisons my chest. I can't stand it. I do something I've never done before: I decide to smear the "enemy" with the worst possible lie to ruin your interest in him. "Actually... the term 'man'..." I murmur, interrupting you as I lean back in my leather chair. "...we could say he's only recently become one." I take a sip of my green tea and wrinkle my nose. It's cold and bland, but I need to hide it when I see your wide eyes and your mouth forming a perfect 'O' of astonishment. "What... what... what? He's not a...?" you stammer, too surprised, jumping to exactly the inappropriate conclusions I wanted. "Well, he used to be a woman," I reply resolutely, placing the cup on the table matter-of-factly, suppressing my urge to smile cynically. "You shouldn't judge people, miss. Fiodita went through a lot of surgery to become... well, to be the man he is today. He's suffered a lot."