Counterpoint

Chapter 8

Alexander

   Again I am here. How did I end up in this ridiculously comfortable bed again? I don't even remember getting into the house. I slowly rise into a sitting position and make a move to run my hand through my hair but find my fingers to halted by something hard. Plastic? I grab onto the obstruction and pull it finding that it had been covering my ears while I had remained painfully unaware of their presence. White headphones rest in my hand and I can't help but stare at them in surprise. These aren't mine. Who do they...You already know the answer to that question my mind whispers to me.

   Jefferson.

   I don't understand. Did he carry me up here? My hold on the headphones tightens slightly as I stare at it in confusion. Why did he give me these? There is the gentle sound of rain tapping against the windowpane and I look over anxiously but there is no electricity in the air, only its natural and benevolent moisture finding its release as it falls through the air. The storm has passed. I have no idea what time it is, all I have to judge the time is the deep darkness of the sky outside but I am wary to trust it entirely for the rain that continues to tap against the glass and darkens the sky with its clouds.

   Hopefully it is not too late in the morning that I cannot go to work. I slide out of bed and on quiet feet make my way out into the hallway. There are no lights on in the hallway and I silently inch my way towards the stairs and make my way down the wooden steps. My feet touch down on the soft carpet of the living room floor and I take a single step only to have the entire room become illuminated by yellow light that makes me wince. 

   "Good morning Hamilton."

   "What the hell Jefferson?" I groan as I blink in an attempt to have my eyes adjust to the sudden harsh glow of the lamps. "Why are you sitting down here in the dark? Waiting to ambush me?"

   "Not everything I do has to to deal with you directly." He replies as he closes his book. "But to answer your question, yes, this is an ambush."

   "An ambush for what exactly?"

   "For you to go back to sleep."

   "I have work to do Jefferson and I won't allow for you to get in my way." I say seriously as I start walking toward the kitchen. He makes no move to stop me and merely returns his eyes to his book. I am confused by him remaining on the couch. He hasn't even made a single move to stop me nor has he said a word. Why do I feel like he is waiting for me to walk into a trap or to realize something? I walk into the kitchen and there is a slip of paper that rests on the counter and I don't even need to read it to know what it says, the sight of Washington's handwriting is all that I need to see. I don't even look at it as I walk out of the kitchen and stare at Jefferson as he reclines and continues to flip through his novel without a care. 

   "I see that you saw the note." He muses without a single glance up to look at me.

   "When did he give that to you?" I ask dully. 

   "He faxed it to me this morning." He replies with a bored voice. "Did you read it?" 

   "No." I confess. That gets his attention. He raises an eyebrow at me before sighing and setting aside his book. "I saw his handwriting and just assumed what was written on it." 

   "And what is your assumption?"

   "Don't come to work, go back to sleep." I mutter. 

   "Well that is the gist of the message, however there is one major difference between your assumption and what was written." I look at him confusedly, he has such a strange look in his eyes as if he is waiting and dreading when he has to swing the axe that will cut off my head. "You are not supposed to go to work for a month Hamilton." 

   "Excuse me?" I ask incredulously. "What did you just say?"

   "You and I are excused from going to work for a month. We were both granted paid time off."

   "Why?!" I scream, he winces at the sound of my outburst.

   "Probably because he knows that you will continue to exhaust yourself and you will be useless to the rest of the team like that." 

   "But why did he give you time off too?" I ask accusingly. 

   "I don't really know." He shrugs. "If I am to make an assumption I will have to assume that he has appointed me as your babysitter." 

   "I don't need a babysitter!"

   "You do realize that I had to carry you out of the garage and up those fucking stairs last night right?" He asks with a faint glare. "You are a deceivingly heavy bastard." 

   "Shut up!" I scream in outrage. "How dare you!" 

    "It wasn't an insult." He mutters as he finally makes a move and rises from the couch. "You need to go back to sleep now Alexander." 

   "I don't have to do anything that you tell me to do." He makes his way over to me, pausing as he towers over me.

   "I have already proved that I can carry you up those stairs, do I really have to do it now that you are conscious?" he threatens. 

   "You wouldn't dare." I growl in response. 

   "Try me." He replies as he leans down, bringing his face dangerously close to mine. We both remain frozen in place as we wage silent war with our eyes. He stares me down with such an intensity that my tired eyes cannot take the strain and am I the first to look away.

   "You don't need to do that." I mutter. 

   "You don't have to go back to sleep." I look at him curiously as he leans away from me, returning to an upright position. "You don't have to go back to sleep right this minute, you are a grown man you can control when you decide to sleep. But if you do decide to stay awake you have to find something to do that isn't going to annoy the hell out of me." 

   "I can't really make any promises on that." I murmur. "It's kind of our norm to annoy the hell out of each other."

   "Are you saying that it was your aim to annoy me at work?" He asks with narrowed eyes as his arms cross across his chest.

   "Not all the time." I mutter. 

   "You liar." He replies with a laugh before turning and going back to his couch and his novel. I remain frozen in place for a moment as he returns to his page and continues to read as if nothing happened. Was I the only one who had felt that strange atmosphere that had surrounded us? That peculiar familiarity that made such an interaction between the two of us almost feel necessary. 

   How fucking tired am I?! I sit down on the far side of the couch and lean my head back against the cushion. Jefferson is Jefferson and he will always remain to be such, to allow myself to think otherwise will only lead me down a path of disappointment.