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“I don’t know where anything goes.”
“Figure it out. It’s not that hard.” I catch the derision in Harrison’s tone, and it annoys me. Fine. I’ll figure it out all right.
Harrison heads down the stairs. I listen carefully as the garage door opens and closes. Then, I head down the hall to Harrison’s room.
Jaxon comes out of the playroom just then. “You can’t go in there. That’s Daddy’s room!”
“I have to put some clothes away,” I tell him.
Jaxon hops up and down, glancing at the toy in his hand, then his playroom. “But I can’t stay here all by myself!”
“Then, come with me.” My invitation seems to confuse Jaxon, and he slowly walks down the hallway, like he’s not sure what will happen if he crosses the magic threshold.
I head on into the bedroom, finding it just as neat as it was yesterday.
I open the top drawer in Harrison’s dresser. It’s underwear. I grab the balls of socks from the hamper and pile them in.
The next drawer is undershirts, but I put the underwear in there instead.
It’s dumb. It’s petty. It’s… immature, but I don’t care. I want to get under Harrison’s skin, and I’m not breaking anything in the contract by accidentally putting things in the wrong drawer.
Jaxon still hovers by the doorway, not comfortable coming in. I’m already done, so I lead him to his own room and put Jaxon’s clothes away.
There. That’s done. Now, how else can I annoy Harrison today?
As Jaxon and I take the blocks downstairs, I notice the neat row of books on the shelf in the living room – a collection of meticulously organized titles. I decide to play a little game with his orderliness.
I take a quick look at the titles, considering which ones would be most likely to disrupt the careful arrangement. I see one that is a hardback version of children’s fairy tales. I take it down, read a story to Jaxon from the book, then replace it in the wrong spot. A wicked grin creeps onto my face as I select a few more books and swap their positions.
Now, they are no longer organized by height. I stand by the entrance to the living room and smile. The difference in their heights is perfect.
After dinner, my mind is still spinning, looking for ways to annoy Harrison. As I rinse Jaxon’s and my plates and utensils and add them to the dishwasher, I see a plate in the sink that we didn’t use, which means that Harrison used it. Instead of washing it up, I leave it right there.
My contract says to take care of the dishes I dirty with Jaxon. Well, that wasn’t one of them. So, Harrison can wash his own dish.
After tucking Jaxon into bed, I’m giddy with the freedom to explore the house. I find myself in Harrison’s room after checking to make sure there aren’t any cameras in it. I target his wardrobe once again, this time focusing on a more subtle but equally effective tactic – mismatched socks.
I open his drawer and carefully sift through the neatly folded socks that I did just a few hours ago. It's a meticulous task, but I'm determined to create a small disturbance in the orderly world Harrison has built. I pair socks that don't quite match – different shades of black, slightly varied patterns, just enough to be noticeable.
Once satisfied with my handiwork, I head to the kitchen and move a few of the basic kitchen appliances to different drawers. The can opener goes in the drawer next to the sink, and I move the hotmats to under the island.
Finally, I feel satisfied that I have created enough disorder to annoy Harrison.
I can’t wait to see if he will alert me when he notices these tiny changes or if he’ll pretend he doesn’t see them. If he plays it that way, then I’ll just keep messing with things more and more.
My phone rings, and I yank it out of my pocket to silence it, glancing down the hall at Jaxon’s room. The last thing I need is for him to wake up and start bouncing off the walls right as I am settling in to sleep.
I glance at the number, and dread sets in.
They’ve tried calling at all different hours and on all different days, but I know who it is. I’ve been ignoring them for a while, but now that I have a job and the promise of money soon, maybe I should stop hiding.
I take a deep breath, resigning myself to the unavoidable conversation. With a reluctant swipe, I answer the call.
"Hello?" I say, trying to keep my voice steady as I head to the living room.
"Good afternoon. May I speak with Ms. Breanna Parker?" the voice on the other end inquires in a professional tone.
"This is Breanna," I respond, my mind bracing for the inevitable lecture about overdue payments and mounting debts.
