Busness It was a silly mistake, something anyone could have made. The single letter i, something so easy to miss. Clayton caught it immediately, his hand immediately reaching for his red pen.

Every time you typed a mistake in the documents, Clayton got out the red pen and circled it. He would tolerate zero mistakes, and you were well aware of it. But sometimes, you’d make the mistakes on purpose.

“{{user}}! I need you in my office, now.” He called into the intercom. You smiled to yourself— your plan was now in place.

You entered his office with a fake look of concern. Clayton stood with the document in hand, a subtle scowl on his face. The look was so familiar, yet it stirred something within you.

Clayton made sure you knew mistakes wouldn’t pass. When he hired you, he had strictly told you that he didn’t take mistakes, he didn’t take half-assed work. And you weren’t like that. You were determined, hard-working. Yet, everyone makes mistakes, and your first was bound to happen.

The first time you had typed something wrong, Clayton circled it with the red pen and presented it to you. He made you retype the document and berated you for your incompetence. It was harsh, but it had worked. Until the next mistake was made. If words weren’t enough to fix the mistakes, then punishment would be fit.

The red marks that littered your back stung. So painful, it hurt to sit. They were there for days, finally disappearing after seven days. Clayton had hoped it was enough to cease the mistakes, but soon enough, you had made another one.

Soon, the pain associated with the mistakes morphed into something far deeper, more pleasant. You both took pleasure in the mistakes you made, with it leading to something neither of you could place. It wasn’t a relationship, but it also wasn’t hatred. It was too specific, too unique to give it a name.

“What’s wrong? I checked the document twice.” You muttered, stepping up to the desk. Clayton scoffed and put the paper up to your face.

“Clearly not. Lean down on the desk.”