The Burden of Knowing

The Burden of Knowing

David Grant had a pretty standard life. Boring, even. He woke up, went to his accounting job, crunched numbers, dodged awkward small talk, and came home to a wife who sighed just a little too often. Predictable. Safe.

And then, in an act of lunchtime desperation, he ate that taco.

It was the kind of street food that looked suspicious even under good lighting. One bite in, his tongue caught fire, his throat clenched, and then—

BZZZT!

A jolt shot through his brain like a defibrillator had been casually installed in his skull. For a second, he swore he saw the face of God—or maybe just a very aggressive pigeon staring at him from a lamppost.

And then, the voices started.

"If Rachel sends one more passive-aggressive email, I’m going to print it out just to shred it."

David flinched. What the hell? He looked around.

"I should quit. I should walk out right now. But... health insurance. Ugh, capitalism."

His eyes darted to Monica from HR, who was furiously typing away, looking perfectly normal.

David glanced at Brian, his desk neighbor, who was staring at his screen with the blank expression of a man deep in existential crisis.

“Hey, Brian?”

Brian looked up, blinking. “Yeah?”

David hesitated. “Did you just say something?”

Brian frowned. “Uh, no?”

"Oh God, did I say this aloud? No. That’s crazy. Right?"

David’s stomach lurched.

He stood up, walked briskly to the break room, and threw cold water on his face. Maybe this was a stress-induced hallucination. Or maybe that taco had been laced with something stronger than regret.

But as he stepped back into the office, the thoughts poured in like a tsunami.

"I swear, if that printer jams one more time, I’m putting in my two weeks." "I’m literally being paid to stare at this spreadsheet and pretend I know what I’m doing." "If someone calls this meeting ‘a great opportunity to align’ I will scream."

At first, it was horrifying. Then? Pure entertainment.

David spent the next few hours playing mind-reader detective, marking down who in the office was faking work, who had a weird fixation on conspiracy theories, and who secretly despised every PowerPoint they’d ever made.

When Monica walked by, he heard:

"God, I hope no one remembers it’s my birthday. I can't take the awkward singing."

David grinned. “Hey, Monica! Happy birthday!”

She froze. “How did you—?”

"...What the hell? I barely talk to this jerk."

Oh, he was having way too much fun.

And then, he went home.

Walking through the door, he was still basking in his newfound power.

“Hey, hon,” he called, tossing his keys onto the counter.

Laura barely looked up from stirring a pot on the stove. “Hey.”

"Oh, great. He's back. Let the pretending begin...urgh"

David froze. The color drained from his face.

"Smile. Nod. Keep up the charade. For the kids."

His throat went dry. “Uh… smells great.”

"God, I miss who I was before... I had to leave then...."

The pit in his stomach deepened. He knew what she meant.

Fifteen years ago. A stupid mistake. A secret hotel room. A name he tried to forget. Laura never really forgave him. Oh, she said she had, but hearing her thoughts now? She had never stopped hating him for it.

"I should have left. Why didn’t I leave? He was supposed to be the one good decision I made. God, what a joke."

His appetite vanished. Their children chattered on about their school day, oblivious.

That night, lying next to Laura in bed, he realized something terrible. Even if he changed, even if he became the man she deserved, it wouldn’t matter.

The next morning, work was a welcome escape. The idiocy, the harmless office politics—it was all so much easier than what he left at home. He leaned into it, laughing at Monica’s daydreams about quitting, smirking at Brian’s plans to fake an illness and leave early. It was almost comforting.

And then, he walked past his manager’s office.

"I can’t believe I actually did it. Two million, just sitting in that offshore account. If they audit the numbers, I’m finished."

David stopped in his tracks.

His manager, Mr. Collins, looked up from his desk and gave him a friendly nod.

“Something wrong, Grant?”

David forced a tight smile. “Nope. Just, uh, grabbing coffee.”

"Just a little longer. Once the new fiscal year starts, I can cover my tracks."

His brain barely processed it. His head was already spinning from home, and now this? His boss was embezzling money? Of course he was.

He trudged through the rest of the day, feeling like he was walking through a bad dream. He wasn’t sure what to do with the information. He wasn’t sure what to do with anything anymore.

By the end of the week, David was running on fumes.

Then, just as he was about to leave the office, a final thought hit him like a freight train.

"I can’t believe it. It worked. That food truck trick really worked. He doesn’t even realize I did it to him."

David stopped cold. The thought wasn’t his. It was… Mr. Collins’.

A slow, creeping dread spread through his chest.

He turned, locking eyes with Collins, who was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, watching him with a knowing smirk.

“Now,” Collins said softly, his voice laced with amusement, “the fun begins, my friend.”

David swallowed hard.

Collins’ smirk widened.

"Time to make yourself useful, Grant."

David’s pulse pounded in his ears. He had spent his life screwing up, making bad choices, hurting the people who mattered most. And now? Now he belonged to Collins.

There was no running from this.

He had played the game.

And he had lost.

"Oh, shit." he gasped.