“Asshole… Fuck…”
I climbed out of bed on wobbly legs, still hurting, but it was finally subsiding. I grabbed my smokes and lighter, sitting on top of my nightstand, and lit up a smoke. Standing, still naked, I opened one of my windows and sat on the sill to let the smoke out. I was too fucked up to climb steps to the roof.
Soon, the black-haired gremlin stormed out of the building. He suddenly stopped, as if sensing me, and looked up. I waved with my fingers, and he gave me the bird before moving on.
No matter how pissed off he was or that he fucking kneed my junk, I had a touch of empathy for him. He had come to me for help, and I took advantage of him instead of listening to my gut and hearing all the warning bells.
God, I was missing the bigger fucking picture or something.
I rubbed my face with my free hand and growled. I’d been overly impulsive lately with this need to move and get shit done, and I didn’t know why. I felt off, but I also didn’t hate it. Besides not sleeping or eating, I felt fucking good.
I tossed my smoke, closed the window, and stood looking around my apartment. Without another thought, I ripped off the blankets and sheets, picked up my clothes off the floor, and tossed everything into the old washing machine that was tucked away in a closet. As that ran, I did the few dishes in my kitchen and scrubbed the counters until they were spotless, getting every crumb. After vacuuming, I dumped some cleanser on the floor, got on my hands and knees, and cleaned every inch of it with a sponge.
Once the laundry was clean, I shoved everything into the dryer and ran it. Next, I scrubbed my bathroom until it sparkled as much as a shitty old bathroom could. In my small walk-in closet, I hung everything up and made sure the hangers were perfectly aligned and straight.
The dryer buzzed, so I removed clothes, put them away, and made my bed.
When I finished, I looked around my apartment, but I couldn’t find anything else to clean or do. I looked down at myself, suddenly noticing I was still naked. Weird.
I shrugged as I was filled with thoughts of Blaze again, still not having any more answers than I had before.
The only thing I knew was that I hated him just a little less.
It was Tuesday, andthe hardware store was deader than a doornail—pun intended. Instead of sitting at the register, staring at the same shit over and over, I straightened out my aisle with magazines, books, candy, and little purse-sized tools that no one would ever buy or use. Once everything was perfectly neat, I worked through each row of hardware and tools, making sure everything was tidy, and the bins were fully stocked.
“You realize that we have people to do that,” said my manager, Barry. He was shorter than me, instantly bringing my mind to Blaze, except Barry was twenty years older and had a halo of ash-brown hair, completely bald on top.
Stop thinking about Blaze. He won’t be back, I reminded myself. I’d done a great job of making him feel like shit, and I kept asking myself whyI even gave a fuck.
“I know. It’s just dead, and I’m kinda bored,” I said.
Barry chuckled and clapped my back. “Well, I appreciate the extra effort, Jaxon. I love the motivation.”
It wasn’t motivation as much as it was a need to keep moving and doing shit. I just couldn’t sit still.
I shrugged. “Just trying to stay busy.”
“Hey, if you like to clean and organize, you can always come over to my place.” He laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.
I mentally eye-rolled at his ‘dad joke,’ while I pretended to laugh.
He finally walked off, allowing me to get lost in organizing.
I didn’t know how long I’d been working in the section, which held door hardware, squatting on the floor to work on the lower shelf when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
My eyes widened when I looked up to see Cueball towering over me.
“Take your lunch break. Let’s go.”
I stood and folded my arms. He may be big, too, but he didn’t intimidate me like he did the others. “You may boss Blaze around, but you don’t get to do that to me.”
His face was expressionless, and his amber eyes never left mine. I swear it was impossible to read shit on him. He could’ve been a psychopath, ready to murder me for all I knew.
“Lunch. Now. We need to talk.”
“Whatever,” I sighed. I was hungry, anyway.
I went in search of Barry and found him eating a sandwich in the employee lounge, which was really a small room with cracked linoleum tiles, one cabinet, a small fridge, a coffee maker, and a broken microwave on top of the counter.