Love Is Blind

Routine

Groaning, I dragged myself from the comfort of my warm sheets, then I stood up and padded towards the bathroom that connected to my bedroom. Feeling for the switch on the wall, I turned on the light and tugged open the shower curtain. Leaning forward a little, I pushed the small faucet until I heard the water hitting the floor of my shower, echoing throughout the large bathroom, then I stepped out of my boxers.

As steam filled the room, I yawned loudly. Mondays always were the worst for me. Late Sunday nights, finishing up reports always preceded them and then early mornings just to head to the office half-asleep and running on coffee. Soon enough, the shower was lukewarm and I stepped into the spray, stretching out my sleep-stiffened limbs with a groan.

As the water worked the kinks from my body, I washed my mess of hair. It wasn't shaggy, really. More like a sort of fluff, like on a small animal or a baby. As I leaned my head under the water, washing away all the shampoo, I extended my fingers out for the soap shelf near my left thigh. Grabbing the soap from it, I lathered myself up quickly, knowing I needed to begin to hurry or else I would be late.

After a few more minutes of warm bliss, I pulled the faucet down and off, then stepped out, wrapping a towel around my waist. I shut the light off as I made my way to my room, finding my dresser easily. I trailed my fingers across it until I found the far right drawer on the top. Sliding it open, I felt around until I found buttons, my favorite button-up on top, per usual.

Sliding it on, I shut the door with my hip and dropped my towel. Reaching beside it, I opened the bottom left drawer and felt around for the zipper or the belt loop on my slacks. Finding them, I pulled them out, along with clean boxers. After tugging them on, I walked out of my room, the towel I had dropped earlier now in my hair, trying to dry some of the water pooling in it.

When I heard the floor creak I smiled, turning a few inches to the right and toeing around for my socks and shoes. Upon finding them, I slid them onto my feet, tossing the towel far to the left, hearing the satisfying plop as it landed on my end table.

After I was positive that I had my house key in my jacket pocket and my briefcase, I grabbed the cane I had folded up by the door. Unfolding it, I stretched it to full length and then opened my heavy, wooden door. Locking it behind me, I began to swipe at the ground as I walked towards my office.

About ten minutes later, my usual commute to my office, I nudged the revolving door with my cane until it opened and I could walk inside fully. Hearing the bell ring at the secretary desk, I grinned, "Heya, Marv. Good day so far?"

I could hear his laugh, the soft, sheepish sound, "Hey, Jacob. Slow so far. How about you?"

I replied with a quick affirmative noise, not a true response to his question. Not that he cared. Everyone knew Monday wasn't a good day. Not for me and certainly not for anyone else in the population of the world. Stepping into the elevator, I pressed the button marked with two diagonal dots; floor five.

Listening for the ding, I stood off to the side of the small car, humming quietly to myself. When the doors slid open, I put my cane out first and walked straight down the hall. Fifteen steps and a left turn. Lifting my free hand to the wall, I dragged it along all of the plaques until I felt the familiar words: Jacob Anderson.

Opening the door to my office, I walked inside. Three steps forward, four around the chair, another ten to get to my large leather chair, spin it towards me, and sit. Settling in, I opened my briefcase, pulling out the Braille computer. Opening the lid of it, I waited for the voice to tell me what page I had left up.

A quick recap of my last report, and I began typing. My fingers flew across the raised keys, my mind hard at work as I began to write up my review on the latest manuscript I had read. Winchester and Jackson had high standards on what books they should publish, and I happened to be a top reviewer as well as editor.

An hour or so into my second review of the day, a knock rang through the wooden-paneled office. "Come in," I called out, pausing my fingers over the keys I had been about to type.

The telltale sound of the footsteps rapping against the floor came towards me, headed straight for my desk. Somehow, they managed around my chairs without getting off course and I knew who it was. Mason Greenly, my superior.

Standing, I reached out my hand to shake his before we both sat down again, the squeak of his chair reminding me to sit as well. "Hello, Mr. Greenly, how are you today?"

I knew he nodded without seeing it, "I'm doing alright, Anderson. How are you?"

Polite, as always. "I'm doing fine, sir. May I ask what this is about?"

Chuckling quietly, he relaxed into the squeaky chair, "Straight to business. That's what I love about you," Another moment of silence passed before he spoke again, "Well... You see..."

  Waiting for him to continue, I shifted slightly in my seat, noticing how mine never squeaked. I absentmindedly wondered why. Clearing my throat, I prompted him to continue his sentence.

  Impatiently, I only waited for another few seconds. Just as I was about to ask, he spoke, "We have a new girl coming in and she needs an intern position. Her name is Lacey Webber and we recommended her to you. Now, normally, we would give you the option to deny her request..but, you are our number one and she's going to be working for us in a few years. So, you have to take her on."

  Silence encompassed the room. No. Why did I have to take her on? It's not like I minded having an intern, I had had quite a few before. But, I just didn't have the time to train one right now. Not with all the new books coming in. Each week they seemed to pile up more, it was a daunting task.

  More squeaking broke through to my thoughts as Mr. Greenly stood from his chair. Reflexively, I stood as well. "Just take her under your wing, Anderson. It'll be okay. And as you know, Roslyn down the hall would be happy to show her the ropes if need be."

  Not giving me the chance to argue or protest, Mr. Greenly made his way from my room, the clicking of his expensive shoes against the hardwood punctuating his each step before the door shut behind him.

  Sighing, I sank back down into my seat, I began to rub at my face, stubble scratching at my palms. God, was I in deep... Unable to get out of it, I had more responsibilities than normal and I could already feel my neck cramping at the thought of more stress. Leaning back against the cool leather, I let out a breath. Time to steel myself and suffer through.