Just For You Read Free Page A

One child threw up on his shoes and left with his parents shortly thereafter; Cameron wasn't afforded the offer to be assisted in cleaning up another person's bodily fluids from his only expensive pair of shoes. He was given one fifteen minute break and was only able to shove a piece of toasted bread in his mouth, which would serve both as his lunch and breakfast. He was asked to stay after the bank was closed to help the new girl, Sophia, count and balance the money in the drawers.
    His stomach was growling and grumbling by the time he placed the key in his apartment door and, pressing it firmly into the keyhole, pushed the door open with the precise shove of his shoulder. He tried to find something in the fridge but fell asleep standing up as he moved to pull out the carton of expired milk which sat on the top shelf; after that he decided he wanted to do nothing but sleep, and so, with closed eyes, he made his way down the hallway. He bumped into many walls and removed the confining clothing from his body, dropping his tie, his shirt, his shoes, his socks, and his pants in various places as he walked to his room.
    He was already asleep before he hit the mattress.
    When he woke up the next morning, he was annoyed. He dreamt of her: her, her , that nuisance of a girl. The girl he injured. Cameron frowned to himself. He hated that he still felt bad for spraining her ankle.
    "Well, if she wouldn't have been in my way, she might have saved herself a lot of trouble," he grumbled to himself as he rubbed his eyes and shoved the covers twisted around his waist from him.
    He looked at the clock. The red LED numbers reading 8:15 a.m. glared back at him, accusing him, challenging him.
    Beat me, it seemed to whisper. Let's see if you can beat me today.
    Cameron placed his feet on the floor and winced when the pressure of his weight made the heels and balls of his feet protest in pain. He was tender from being on his feet all day yesterday. With his eyes half-open and his brain still attempting to charge up for the rest of what was sure to be another bland, ordinary day, he dressed, pulling out his go-to pair of slacks and his white oxford dress shirt. He decided against ironing it. There weren't too many wrinkles and, well, he just didn't give a damn.
    As he shuffled his way into the kitchen, he shook his head. Furiously.
    "Get out," he growled. "Get out, get out, get out."
    She was on his mind again. This woman, Imogen, with her bright smile and her sunny disposition, her high, clear as bells voice, her infuriating tendency not to get annoyed or offended by anything… she was torturing him and she didn't even know it.
    Or maybe she did know it. Maybe she knew exactly what she was doing when he brought her here yesterday. She was kind to him, no matter what he said or how rude he was to her, with the intent to drive him insane. Nobody was that nice for no reason. Cameron couldn't believe that any person in the world could be that weak, that spineless, that naïve and forgiving on purpose. This was her punishment on him: she would stay in his mind and terrorize him psychologically; over and over again in his mind he would replay the scene from the day before and cringe at how nasty he was to her. The guilt would eat away at him, slowly and surely. She had even gone so far as to make him stop in his tracks for a moment and consider what his life might be like if he wasn't so short with everyone he ever came into contact with.
    What kind of person would Cameron be if he stopped getting irritated at every little thing?
    What kind of person would Cameron be if he learned to be nice to others?
    What kind of person would Cameron be if he smiled at people he never met before?
    What would happen to him if he became… agreeable?
    Cameron shuddered and slammed a cupboard before opening another one and pulling a bowl out. The kitchen was alive with loud, grating metal noises as he poured cereal into the bowl and shoved his metal spoon into the