Bonded by the Blues | A Sander Sides Book

Chapter 49 - Blue Ink on Paper

So I was having trouble with this chapter, hence why it's two dates late. Writing Logan's voice felt odd for some reason, and there was a lot of plot to burn through... and I got the idea of making him write it all down in a diary entry! Sounds like something Logan would do! I hope you enjoy the new format.

Ten of the clock post meridiem, Sunday

I have been told that maintaining a diary relieves stress and paints a clearer picture of the day's event. Writing from memory gives an objective perspective as some time has passed and you are distanced from what happened, so writing my thoughts down before I turn in for the night will, hopefully, give me some clarity from the strangest week of my life. Last Sunday, I was looking forward to begin my university life, discover new knowledge, make friends, and perhaps find someone I to make a special connection with. Today, I have a lovely boyfriend who I share house with, an alleged friend comatose in the bedroom adjacent to mine charged with the murder of another alleged friend, magic talismans that inexplicably exist and thoughts of university could not be further from my mind. I will note down each case, as my brain, reliable as it is, can hardly keep up with processing this information.

First day with Patton

A diary usually follows the chronological order of the day's events, but I will try to structure it under topics for easy reference.

Patton has been proving himself to be the best boyfriend I could ask for. I still cannot believe that my hand writes that word so steadily. Boyfriend. It is ironical that I have the attitude of a fourteen year old school girl, blushing while she writes 'Boyfriend' in her diary. But that cannot be truer: having a boyfriend, at any age, does bring about a sense of giddiness and apprehension and relief that probably transports you back to your first crush. The reader will undoubtedly understand my state of arrhythmic cardiac flutteration because I used both the third and second person narrative in the last sentence when I should be writing in first. And because I invented the word flutteration. I am losing grasp of my grammar, but for the best reason possible.( I am glad I am writing this down in private, as I fear no one else will understand my obsession with language.) I though my partner would be a fellow enthusiast for linguistics, but I fear these topics fly over Patton's head. But not always. He is fond of his puns, after all. And puns are quite the word play. Take for example, this morning, when he named our breakfast recipe 'The Avocadabra' because avocado and abracadabra sound somewhat alike, and he thinks it was magical because it was our first breakfast together. I pointed out it was technically our second, but he shushed me and asked me to let him have his moment.

To be honest, I was exceedingly touched that he made me breakfast! He really cared about my wellbeing, and he made sure it was healthy and delicious too. I could get use to waking up in the morning to a meal made by Patton. I could write a felicitation here of the gustatory ecstasy that the meal bought me, but that would defy the entire purpose of it. With Patton, the simplicity of a meal was what held its charm. As he sat across from me, tucking hungrily into his avocado slices, I was left wondering if this is what companionship felt like. I was so used to being on my own, it did feel as if the axis of my world was tilted to share it with another. I gave Patton a shy smile, and he beamed back, in the only way he can, as if the entirety of his face was lighting up in appreciation, as if I was the most amazing phenomenon that ever occurred to him. It made me feel special in a way I did not have to fight for, and that was bliss.

On a more worrying note, I found out that Patton seemed to want my approval for everything. He asked me if the baked avocadoes looked all right, and I replied that was something he knew better than me. He refused to believe that, then I pointed out quite frankly that I did not know everything. He was nervous when asking me whether it was delicious, and was not satisfied until I gave him a full report. He then grinned away like a little boy who got a gold star, and that alone was worth for the trouble I took to dissect the avocado. I mean, it was just an avocado! Even later, when we were making a list of things that we needed around the house: groceries, furniture, linen and so on, he would constantly be asking me if we really needed that or whether we could have this pretty please? It got to the point that I firmly said that he was my housemate, not my tenant, and what we get is for the both of us, so get whatever he wanted. But as I write this now, I wonder whether he based his value upon my approval. Oh dear, there I go again, psychoanalysing everyone I meet instead of accepting that they are a complicated jumble of choices and emotions that you cannot explain away with a simple hypothesis.