I Hate You

04. "high standards"

Silence filled the room for the next few hours. Brandon, to my surprise, had actually showed up to work on time today. We have been editing this whole morning and haven't said a word to each other. I had nothing to say to him and I'm pretty sure he was nothing to say to me too. The sounds of typing on the keyboard and mouse clicking were all that filled my head and for some reason I managed to stay focused, despite having way too much on my mind.

When the clock told me it was noon, I grabbed my salad and headed over to the lounge to meet Max. Only when I arrived what I saw made me so angry I wanted to throw my salad at the wall. Brandon and Max were sitting together, laughing, talking. How did I not notice he slipped out of the room?

As soon as he acknowledged my presence, his smile faded almost instantly. Why couldn't she just leave him alone?

"Jess, I know you might be angry right now but please would you sit down for a while?" She says while I stand there, arms crossed getting ready to leave. You see, when something or someone annoys me, my first instinct is to flee.

"Why is he here? You guys are friends now?" I huff.

"Brandon isn't as bad as you think Jess, you haven't even given him a chance yet, he's actually really funny."

"Why thank you Max." He's amused.

"Oh, and I'm guessing you want us all to be friends and sing Kumbaya by the fire now, don't you?" I mock. "What? No." She says.

"Would you stop being such a baby and just sit down?" She gets up and sits me in her place on the very small sofa, next to him. "You guys actually have a few things in common, Jess. Brandon plays the guitar, you love guitars." She waves her arms cheerfully.

"I'm in a band."

"Oh of course you are." I mutter. "What does that mean?" he asks sarcastically. "Well I mean, you certainly dress like it."

"Sorry I don't appeal to your high standards," he mocks. "Just because I don't dress like the old lady you buy your clothes from—"

I gasp. "Old lady? Now you have seriously crossed a line. Just because I don't dress like one of those magazine girls you seem to be fond of or because my skirt is at knee level—"

"Enough you guys! Can we stop talking about clothes?" Max interrupted our bickering. "Seriously, you two should have your own reality TV show." She pinches the bridge of her nose while Brandon and I sit, pouting like two kids getting scolded by their mom. "C'mon is it really that hard for you two to get along? We're not leaving until you both talk it out."

I look up at her and her face is anything but amused. "Fine."

"He's just really immature," I say as he sticks his tongue out at me. Literally. "She's just too set in her ways. It's like she can't have fun because she has a stick up her butt. On Monday, I suggested something for the editing, something that would make the scene funnier, but she wouldn't listen." he explained. God it felt like we were an old married couple desperately trying to fix our marriage and Max was our therapist.

"That's because I'm the boss and that's not what we were supposed to do." I turn to Max who was sitting opposite to both of us on the couch. "You see what I mean?"

"Okay, you guys clearly have your differences, I get it, but Jess, you're working together, so listen to his input. And Brandon, lay off on the childish jokes, clearly Jess isn't into it." Max says. "How about you two eat lunch together, you know, talk about other things? And I'll go." Max said before she gave us a quick thumbs up and shut the door behind her.

Suddenly a pit formed in my stomach as the lounge was now empty and it was just Brandon and I. I figure I have been giving him a bit of a hard time. I guess my trust issues have gotten the best of me. So I give this one more shot.

"Okay, fine," I say. He looks at me unimpressed. "This is hard for me to admit, but yes I've been told before that I was a bit of a stick in the mud. That's only because I really care about this job and I won't let anything jeopardize it." I say sincerely to him.

"I get that, but that's not the only thing is it?" He says. "No it's not, you're right."

"When I was in college I had a boyfriend. This guy I was madly in love with. I thought he loved me back, but as it turned out, he was just like the rest. He broke my heart and that was that." I finish firmly, I can't go into further detail.

"Ever since then, I vowed to never trust another guy again."

"Oh c'mon you really believe just because some jerk broke your heart, that the rest of us are like that?" He squints.

"From my experiences, yes."

"I'm insulted." He laughs.

"Look, I apologize for being so hard on you. Want to start over. Again?" I smile.

"Alright." He smiles back, and the whole mood lifts.

"Do you really think I dress like an old lady?" I ask insecurely. "Only a little."

I push him gently when I notice the small grin he's trying to hide. "Shut up."

"I'm just being honest, but if you ever wanna get over the jerk, you gotta—ya know, put yourself out there." He says.

"Um, excuse you, I don't need to do anything. I'm perfectly satisfied with my life right now. I've got a good job and I don't need anyone." I say slightly insulted.

"Yeah, sure you don't." He rolls his eyes. "I have an idea, how about I help you get back out into the market?"

"I beg your pardon?" I ask. "First step, stop talking all proper and stuff. It throws people off." He places a hand on my shoulder to console me.

"I don't need your help to get 'back out into the market' thank you very much." I say swiping his hand off of me.

"Really? And how's that been going for you so far?"

"This is ridiculous." The smug look on his face aggravates me.

"Second step, we need to get you different clothes." He says looking me up and down.

"Well this is a great ego boost."

"No I mean you look great, just gotta show a bit more skin, you know."

I begin to get very uncomfortable with the topic of this conversation and he can tell, which is why he decides to push my buttons even further.

"You are disgusting." I say.

"Okay fine forget about that, but do you want my help or not?"

No I really don't need his help, at all. But at this point I would try just about anything to fix the awful tension between us. "Sure, whatever." I say, immediately regretting my decision.

But I mean what's the harm right?