7. Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Throwing my laptop through the window would not solve my problems, but I was seriously considering it.
My current work in progress for my blog sucked, turning decisively negative.
The truth was that I wasn’t happy anymore.
I was questioning everything in my life, and it was showing in my writing.
But this wasn’t supposed to be a personal journal, and that wasn’t what I was getting paid for.
If I didn’t want to lose sponsorship and subscribers, I needed to pull my head out of my ass.
And I needed to get the fuck out of this house.
I mean, I loved my home. It was my sanctuary.
I’d done so much work to make it livable and designed it how I wanted.
But. Enough was enough. I’d been holed up here for days.
Whew! I stunk. The house stunk. Well, not bad, but it needed some freshening up. And I was nearly out of groceries.
Getting out might inspire me too. I wished Alfred would join me in whatever I was going to do. Go shopping. Have a picnic lunch. But Alfred wouldn’t like any of that. What does a city boy want to do? Fuck if I knew. In fact, I didn’t know much about him at all, but not for a lack of trying.
I cleaned the house and opened the windows to freshen it up, then took a shower to clean myself. I hadn’t been by the bookstore in the last day or two, or more, so I packed up and stopped at Bluestar first to grab food.
It was busy and both Andrew and Joe were there. I waved and stood in line to place my takeout order. I bet Alfred might want something if he were around, so I texted him without hardly thinking about it.
I shouldn’t have expected an answer, and I sure didn’t get one.
Apparently, I was a glutton for punishment.
I tucked my phone away and ordered my sandwich to go.
Eating alone had never bothered me before, but now that I’d glimpsed what life might be like with a partner, I didn’t want to.
I took it back to the bookstore instead and ate in the back office.
When I was finishing up, Brock poked his head in the door. “Why didn’t you eat at the diner?”
“Didn’t feel like it.”
“Your mopey ass has been scaring away the customers. Knock it off if you’re going to hang out here.”
I tucked my wrapper into the bag. “Shut your face. I haven’t even been here in days.”
“Yeah. That too.” He scowled at me again. I knew what he was getting at. I practically read his mind by now. He wanted me to tell him what was wrong with me, but aside from Alfred blowing me off, I didn’t know.
“I’ve got nothing, Brock. Things are different.”
“Different how?”
With a shrug, I got up. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.” But I wasn’t interested in figuring it out. If I made things right with Alfred, it would figure itself out. Right?
We needed to start over. Get to know each other. Give myself time to figure out what he thought or felt and maybe go slower with that part. Could I do that?
I didn’t even fucking know.