- Brandon's POV -
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I hummed my favorite song from my soundtrack playlist as I gathered up my things. I was nearly finished with the book cover, and it was coming along nicely. I was quite proud of it.
After a moment of thought, I grabbed a folder from my desk. It held a few ideas I was going to work on drawing out, and I wanted to think about them a little more before I pitched them to my boss. He was usually open to suggestions from me.
“Ow!” I yelped. I felt pain from the side of my finger as it was sliced by the paper hanging out of my folder. Frowning, I investigated the finger. It was my left index finger—the same side that rested on my tablet pen when I drew. Problems with being a leftie, I grumbled internally. Go figure.
I looked around for a tissue to wipe away the blood that was dripping, but I couldn’t find anything. I sighed and turned my gaze back to the cut.
To my surprise, it wasn’t bleeding anymore. I wrinkled my eyebrows and blinked. “Hold on,” I muttered. “There’s not even a trail of blood. What happened to the blood?”
It had seemingly disappeared. My middle finger was clean, so I couldn’t have wiped it in between my fingers without realizing it. I searched for a splash of red around my desk, in case I had missed it, but again—nothing. I raised an eyebrow, then shrugged my shoulders. “I must have imagined it. Odd.”
I opted to ignore the papercut and instead searched for another folder. Where is it? I thought. I know it’s around here somewhere. I just set it down…
This particular folder contained some color swatches I was going to match with some ideas I had in mind. I checked all around my desk, even in my trash can, but couldn’t find it. After I dug through all my trash, I sighed deeply and sat back on my heels.
“Grr,” I growled, frustrated. “How annoying. A papercut on my writing hand and now this. Go figure.”
I decided to look for it at home. Maybe I had dropped it off there after my hospital stay and hadn’t brought it into the office.
Apparently Layla’s shift ended when mine usually ended—3:30 pm—because when I walked out of the main building, she wasn’t at the reception desk. Her brunette friend was, though. She gave me a small wave and a not-so-shy smile as I walked out. I returned the wave but skipped the smile. Don’t wanna seem interested. Because I’m not.
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I chopped some herbs and tossed them into a saucepan. The aroma from the sautéing vegetables and seasonings wafted through my apartment, and I breathed in deeply. I paused my knifework. “Aaahh,” I exhaled, my eyes closed. “Delicious.”
I’d probably get teased if any of my manly friends found out I loved to cook. For all they knew, I lived off of microwave meals. Or whatever it was that they ate. I rolled my eyes and cut a bunch of green beans in half, throwing them into the saucepan.
Because I had a job in the arts, my friends had already mockingly threatened to take away my metaphorical man card. If they found out I was practically a chef as well, they might send me to a reforming camp to restore my masculinity.
I personally didn’t find anything wrong with cooking. It was fun, stress relieving, and much healthier than just eating pop tarts. Reaching over to a pot, I lifted the top on my rice. It was coming along nicely.
All of a sudden, I was hit by such a strong wave of emotion I actually staggered backwards from the stove. Blinking, I shook my head. “What the—?”
I quickly set down the knife. I was so incredibly angry—furious, even—that holding a knife felt like a bad idea.
As someone who wasn’t typically nearly knocked over by immense anger, this was extremely shocking to me. What the heck is happening?! I thought. One second I’m just enjoying myself, cooking, and now I want to kick a wall?! Is this a really bad mood swing? Am I—is my masculinity really leaving for good? Will I start having hot flashes next?!
I stomped over to the couch and glared at it. “Why am I so angry?” I almost yelled. “I want to just—”
I punched my couch several times. That seemed to help.
After I had expended some energy on the couch, I flopped down on it. I glared at the wall. “Brandon,” I said through halfway gritted teeth, “what in the world is happening to you?”
The timer for my rice began to beep and I leapt up to turn off the burner. The fury inside began to die down a little bit as I fiercely stirred my vegetables. I muttered random frustrated phrases under my breath as I served myself some food.
“I don’t know what the heck just happened,” I told myself, “but I’m going to think about it later. Right now, I’m going to watch a movie. Or whatever’s on television. And I am going to enjoy it!”
The only thing on TV worth watching was an older animated movie. I ate and watched it all the way through. During the commercial breaks, I thought about what in the world had happened to me.
An Old Spice commercial came on. “Blood just disappeared from my finger and then I got angry at absolutely nothing for no apparent reason,” I thought out loud. “How did the blood vanish? Why was I so furious?”
I shook my head. “I’ve been living alone for too long. Maybe I’m going crazy.” Or maybe you should finally take Aiden’s advice, a voice in my head suggested. It’s about time you found someone who could keep you company. You’re just lonely.
No I’m not, I argued with myself. I’m just…uh…
The voice took on a satisfied tone. You should give one of those dating apps a shot.
“No!” I exclaimed. “Not gonna do that. Never. That’s just weird. Maybe I can ask Aiden if he can ask Jamie if she knows anyone I might be interested in, though,” I admitted reluctantly.
If the other voice had a body, I’m pretty sure it would be crossing its arms smugly.
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(brandon talks to himself a lot)
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