"Fuck me!" I exclaimed irritably. My wrist was feeling the ache now more than ever. This was just pathetic.
One might assume I was in danger, noting how loud I was surprised the guards around the corner didn't come rushing into the cafeteria. I pathetically was trying to peel the plastic off the plastic container of fondue. I had the preference to eat fondue on its own with a spoon. Sometimes in the middle of the night, long after both parents went to bed, I would creep into the kitchen to grab the chocolate to quench the sweet tooth that drove me insane.
Giving up, I grabbed the plastic knife on the counter next to me, being present in case of something like this. I grabbed the handle and thrust down, successfully driving the sharp edge of the blade through the aggravatingly sturdy paper. I tossed the knife in the sink and peeled what was left of the paper by hand. Grabbing a spoon, I dipped into the think substance before placing the dip of the spoon against my tongue; my lower back leaned against the counter as I enjoyed the treat. When the spoon left my mouth, only spears from the chocolate were noticeable.
My parents often noted their dislike for my sweet tooth, and while I often agreed with them, I would usually finish my defense with "this is just how God made me." I placed the spoon in the sink, grabbed the top of the jar, and screwed it back on. I opened the fridge and lightly slid the jar onto the shelf, hearing the glass container screech before coming to a stop. I closed the fridge with my foot, kicking it shut before grabbing my water bottle. The bottle made slight crackling noises in my hand as I took a large swing into my mouth, swishing it around before swallowing it down.
I screwed the cap of the bottle back on while walking down a long hallway. A fellow soldier passed by me; he nodded his head, a gesture I responded similarly with a small smile. It was nice being commander, while at times the responsibility seemed to be too much the more noticeably showed respect from other soldiers made it more comfortable.
Walking into the control center was as eventful as always. The tapping of keys, people quietly talking among themselves, and the screens abuzz have always been a relieving routine; something dad doesn't share in the slightest. "Why can't you be like other kids, bowling, and all that crap?" I most often smirked before responding, "one more thing I got from mom."
"Commander." I looked over in the direction of the voice, a soldier sitting in front of one of the largest screens in the room. I quickly walked over. One hand rested on the headrest of the chair as I leaned in to get a better view of the screen. "We have word from General Blade and her team; they say the mission was successful." I kept a straight face as I stood up straight again, my arms falling to my sides. "Send word immediately to any free airborne craft that the general and her team are to be picked up at the rendezvous point ." The soldier turned towards the screen once more and started typing in information. When I felt I was no longer needed, I turned back to the center of the room where I could better oversee everything, trying not to show joy on my face at the news mom was coming home.
"Uhhh," I grumbled annoyed. My phone was in my hand while my greatest wish at the moment was the chuck to the electronic across the room. "Is it Dylan again," Jacqui asked with a slight edge in her voice, probably annoyed. Dylan has been the subject of conversations more than a few times; almost every time is something different. "Why can't he get it through his head. I don't have time this week to see him, not with work!" I exclaimed. It was things like 'I don't see him enough' or 'that I'm not even trying.' These were usually the argument starters the meat of our arguments consists of hurting and making the other jealous until we both had enough. Even though I did care for Dylan, I won't deny it was exhausting.
Slamming my head on the table only further aggravated my headache, the throbbing now traveling to the back of my head. I head Jacqui chuckle a little at my actions, and I lifted my head and tried giving her a look that could kill. "Why do you bother with him, Cass? I thought you two worked through your problems," Jacqui asked in a serious tone. "I thought so too," I said quietly.
I really thought we did.