Page 88 of The Man I Hate

Seven days of knocking on death’s door changed my outlook, entirely. I was grateful for my health, my recovery, and above all, Anna.

I peered out my kitchen window toward my nurse, neighbor, and caregiver’s home.

I couldn’t believe I’d nearly let her slip away.

Anna

Day fifteen

The doctor recommended waiting three more days before Braxton and I could be face-to-face with one another. I felt like I’d been released from prison but wasn’t allowed to leave the compound. Frustrated, I rinsed my breakfast plate, put it in the dishwasher, and meandered to the bathroom.

Braxton had exposed himself to me unknowingly. I felt guilty. Like I’d read his diary or peered through his bedroom window without him knowing.

What I learned opened my eyes.

He, however, had no idea of the knowledge I’d gained. He knew not that he’d revealed his most sacred inner thoughts, feelings, and weaknesses to me.

Hoping to rid myself of the guilt, I showered. Feeling no less guilty, I searched for something to wear. My initial COVID-19 attire consisted of sweats, old tee shirts, and flip-flops. Meeting with Marge on a daily basis and making peace with Braxton caused me to realize I was living in a state of depression.

I now dressed like I was going out, even though I knew nothing could be further from the truth.

I rifled through my clothes, trying to find something suitable. After displaying all my clean articles of clothing on the foot of the bed, I realized my warm weather attire had nearly all been worn. In desperate need of doing a few loads of laundry, I selected a sports bra and my favorite jeans, knowing I’d change before I saw Marge.

I carried the dirty clothes to the laundry room and started a load in the washer. On my way to the bedroom, an idea came to me.

An idea that would either fuel Braxton’s fire, or explode in my face.

I grabbed my jean jacket, bunched my hair into a messy bun, and put on my favorite pink hat. I planned to reveal a secret of my own and hoped it would make Braxton and I even. It made sense to me, anyway.

I placed the tripod on the end table in the living room and I secured my phone to it. Then, I called Braxton on Google’s video app, Duo.

Wearing a grin, he answered. His gaunt face filled the phone’s screen. He appeared happy.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Good, thanks.”

“Did you just wake up?”

“I woke up before the sun came up,” he replied, standing. “I feel like its dinnertime.”

He was wearing a pair of gray sweats and a tank top. His beard was in bad need of being trimmed. For once, he looked human.

His face moved closer to the camera. “Are you wearing a hat?”

I pulled it low on my head. “I am.”

“Back up so I can see it.”

I moved away from the camera, giving him a full view of my layered outfit.

“And a jacket?” he asked.

“Yep.”

He smirked. “You look cute.”

“So do you.”