Page 94 of The Man I Hate

“A knife,” she said, looking me up and down. “Do you carry one? Most guys like you do.”

It seemed like an odd request. I reached into my pocket. “I do.”

“Can I see it?” she asked.

“Be careful,” I said, handing it to her. “It’s sharp as fuck.”

She flicked the blade open, proving it wasn’t the first knife of its kind that she’d ever handled. She extended her thumb. Before I could stop her, she sliced into the flesh.

Blood dripped from the tip of her thumb onto the driveway between us.

She handed me the knife. “Here.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked.

She nodded toward the knife. “Cut your thumb. We’ll make a blood bond. It’s like a pinkie promise for adults.”

If she hoped to garner my attention, she’d certainly done it.

“What are we promising?” I asked.

“We’re committing to one another that we’re in this for the long haul. If you cheat on me, your word isn’t worth steaming pile of shit.” She tilted her head toward the distant freeway. “I’ll buy a billboard and make sure the city knows it, too. ‘Braxton, Braxton Rourke is a no good, lying asshole.’ As long as you’re faithful, you’ll see that same level of commitment from me.”

It seemed like an odd manner of committing to one another considering the world’s current views regarding the ease of transmission of the disease.

I stared at her in disbelief. Instantly, she mistook my hesitation as an indication of fear.

“Don’t be a fucking pussy,” she said under her breath. “I’m not scared. You shouldn’t be, either.”

Imagining a life with her in it came easily. I tried to imagine a life without her. It was incomprehensible. Not a life I wanted to live, that much I was sure of.

Without further thought, I swept the knife’s blade along the pad of my thumb. I squeezed out a droplet of blood. As it splashed onto the concrete between my feet, our eyes met.

“Now what?” I asked.

“When you’re ready to make the commitment.” She raised her thumb. “Press yours against mine.”

“Thumb, or lips?” I asked.

She smirked. “Suit yourself.”

Given the freedom to decide, I chose both.

Anna

It was hard to believe I was giddy during a global pandemic, but it was true. In fact, I was so full of excitement I could barely contain myself. For me, being in a relationship with anyone was an accomplishment.

When that person was Braxton, Braxton Rourke. Yeah, it was epic. Anxious to get started on living life—even if we were confined to our homes—I fought to keep from letting the cat out of the bag with Marge.

To celebrate Braxton’s release from the doctor, she invited us over for a dinner of homemade chicken and noodles, mashed potatoes, bread and corn. Braxton and I discussed it, and decided we wanted to wait until after dinner to break the exciting news to her.

Braxton said he didn’t want her to choke on her food.

Marge sat at one side of the small table and Braxton and I were seated side by side, across from her. It was tough to argue our placement. The table was decorated with folded paper nametags. I added Marge’s perfectly scribed cursive handwriting to the things I envied about her.

She looked at Braxton. “How’s your father coming along?”

“I can’t get any more than ‘he’s stable’ out of them,” he replied. “It’s frustrating.”