Whenever I become overstressed with too much information, I always receive these painful, pounding headaches. I like to compare the feeling to getting slammed with a sledgehammer, but the comparison is impossible, since I've never been attacked by someone with a sledgehammer before.
"-so after Mark got to the airport, his fans followed him all the way here, and those are the people camped out in front of our house, right now." Sam explained in a final huff of breath, her shoulders sagging. "I'm sorry, Brand. I'm really, really sorry. I know you hate people knowing where you live, although I don't know why, but-"
For her entire explainarion, I had been squeezing my eyes shut and pinching the bridge of my nose. "Just stop. Stop talking. Let me think." I demanded. My eyes were still shut tightly as my head pounded, the words replaying in my head. What I really needed was a handful of Advil's and a shot of alcohol. Or maybe a few shots. I finally spoke. "I'm pretty fucking upset right now, if you couldn't tell."
I heard Sam let out a puff of relief. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I'll go buy you a pack of wine coolers to make it better. The good stuff. Just please, please don't be mad at me."
A moment of silence passed by, then I opened my eyes. "The good stuff, you said?" I asked, half-jokingly. Sam and Mark were still standing by the doorframe, and Sam laughed breezily. "I'll pick it up tonight, and we'll toss on a movie to go with it. Better?"
"Better. I guess." I sighed and forced myself to stand up from my seat. I glanced back outside, the crowd seeming to grow as they piled toward the front door and the window I was standing in front of. I reached over and slammed the blinds shut. "Get your phone ready and dial 9-1-1. Don't call yet, though." I didn't introduce myself as I pushed through the two of them and towards the front door. I estimated at least 150 to 200 people in front of my house.
I shoved the front door open and stepped outside, to be met with dozens and dozens of gazes. They all hushed down as soon as they saw me. "I'm going to say this once, and once only. You have 5 minutes to get the hell off of my lawn, and off of my property." I pulled out my phone for emphasis, shaking it above my head. "If you're still here after the timer is up, I'm calling the police to not only escort you away, but to also file a restraining order. Your time starts now." I pulled the phone back to my face and started the timer before turning around and pushing myself back inside, locking the door behind me.
Sam stared at me, her mouth agape. "Has anyone ever told you how scary you can be?" She asked, and I managed a weak smile. I switched my attention to her companion. "Mark, was it?" I stepped forward and politely held up my hand, wiping my face free of any expression. "If you haven't guessed it already, my name is Brand. Not Brandy, just Brand."
He stayed frozen for a moment, then met my reach. "I know. Sam's told me a lot about you. She never stops talking about you, really." He plastered on a smile, for not only my sake but his, as well. Sam nudged him with her elbow. "Since we've got the formalities out of the way, may I show you to your room, sir?"
I decided to follow them, with Mark carrying a large black backpack and a rolling suitcase. "Is this all you've brought?" I asked. I'd decided that if the guy was going to stay a while, it might be best to get along with him. Mark looked down at his belongings and released a short, sweet laugh. "Oh gosh, no. Just what will get me by for a week. My friend is supposed to drive down with the rest of my stuff, and with Chica, my dog." I murmured slightly just as Sam pushed open Mark's temporary bedroom. It was small and cozy, with a queen-sized bed settled down in one corner and my old desk in another. "Oh! And we have another extra room, if you need it to videotape and whatever." Sam said absentmindedly. Mark glanced at me. "Would that be okay?"
I waved my hand. "It's fine. Not like anyone is using it, anyways." Sam then began to give Mark a tour of the house, pointing out the spacious living room, dining room, and garage. "This over here is my room, if you ever need me. And the last door down the hall is Brand's, although I wouldn't go in there if I were you." She dropped her voice to a mock-like whisper. "That's where she hides all the dead bodies."
I shoved her shoulder. "She's kidding. No dead bodies. But don't go in there without permission. I don't like people snooping through my things without me around."
The annoying, Apple-famous alarm rang off in my pocket. "Alright, lets go see what their decision was." I said, making my way back to the front. Sam already had her own phone out, and her thumb was hovering over the 'CALL' button for the police. I opened up the door and stepped out, scanning my eyes over my now-flat grass and flower bushes. Everything had become quiet. Perfect. "Looks like we're good for now." I called into the house, looking over the front yard once more before shutting myself back inside.
"I'm sorry about that. It's mostly my fault." Mark's deep voice broke through. I was tempted to wave my hand around again, yet held myself back. "No, it isn't. It's not your fault at all. Don't worry about it." I replied mechanically. I forced myself back into the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards for the bottle of Advil. "It's not like you intentionally led them here, right? As long as they don't come back, I'm hunky-dorey." I popped four of the blush-colored pills into my mouth, swallowing them whole before replacing the bottle to it's home. I looked over at the pair, eyeing Sam wickedly.
"So, I was told about some alcohol, wasn't I?"
~The Unexpected Guest~
"Thank you for your purchase, and we hope to see you again!" The young man's face gleamed as we made our way out of the supermarket, a 6-pack in one of Sam's hands and a bottle of watermelon vodka in the other. "You know, you should piss me off more often. It saves me some money." I mused, readjusting my grip on the plastic bags in my hands. Mark had decided to stay at the house, unpacking what belongings he had decided to bring with him.
Sam and I climbed into my Jeep, and I started the ignition with a delightful rumble. "So..." Sam begun, trailing off in suspense. "What do you think of Mark so far?"
I paused for a moment. "So far? Quiet. Not loud at all, actually. And a bit stand-offish. Awkward. But not bad. Why?" Sam never asked stupid or useless questions. She was too smart for her own good. And I knew she had some kind of plan up her sleeve. "Oh! Nothing, just curious." She whistled lowly to herself, letting her attention drift off to the acres of almond trees that framed the concrete road. I shot her a strange look, then dropped my foot more heavily on the gas, veering towards home.
I was nearly ecstatic to see that our yard was still bare of life. By life, I meant crazy fans. Sam and I lugged our things inside, shutting the door loudly behind us. "Heya, Mark, what do you wanna eat tonight?" Sam asked excitedly as she dropped the alcohol by the door and raced to his room without a second glance. I laughed quietly, and instead stepped toward the opposite direction toward the kitchen.
Before I could complete my tasks, however, I managed to run into a wall-like object. The bags I had been clutching dropped to the ground, and I silently prayed that the eggs survived the fall. "Oomf." I grunted, letting my forehead rest upon the object in front of me for a moment before glancing upwards.
Mark stood in front of me, a surprised look on his face. "Shit, sorry about that." His eyes moved towards the fallen groceries. "Here, let me help you with that." He dropped to the ground and began to gather the bags, and I scrambled backwards momentarily. I was never caught off guard like that. Ever.
"It's fine. I should've been paying more attention." I murmured, grabbing the bags before standing up suddenly and moving towards the kitchen island. Mark followed closely behind, holding two of three bags. "Since you're here, should I teach you the whereabouts of the food? Or do you plan to hunt by yourself later?" It has been a lame try at a joke, yet an unexpected bubble of laughter escaped from him. "Sure, why no-"
"There you are!" Sam appeared through the doorway. "I was wondering where you got lost to." She bustled over to us, looking down at the bags and pulling out the numerous items. "I was going to ask what you were in the mood for, tonight. Brand, here, is a spot-on cook." She hooked an arm around my shoulders, with a bag of beef dangling from her hand. "Jesus, dude, that's cold! Get it away from me!" I cringed away from the cold meat and towards the pantry, hiding away the cans of vegetables and seasonings I had picked up. "Sorry, sorry." Sam apologized, then put all of the foods in their designated homes.
"Dinner? Oh, I don't mind. Whatever you guys want is fine by me." Mark's eyes jumped from me to Sam, and back again. Sam was always the worst when it came to decisions. It took her years to decide what she wanted. "How about lasagna? It shouldn't be too long." I glanced down at my watch, which read 6:48 P.M. "I'll start on it now, and it should be ready in no time." I pulled the fresh ground beef from the fridge and a few other ingredients, setting up my station. Mark hovered nervously. "Do you need any help?" He asked. Sam laughed. "Help? Oh no, honey. It's best to stay out of her way. She'll bite your head off." My back was turned to the pair, and I had the urge to turn around and throw out a snarky reply. Luckily, I stopped myself, because she was right. I had no patience for people, especially when they were in my kitchen. What was going on with me?
Sam led Mark to the living room, and I could hear the TV being switched on. "Just let us know when you need us!" Sam called out sarcastically. My only reply was to roll my eyes, before getting back to the task at hand.
Maybe I was going crazy.
