The Dopamine Gland

Chapter 1

On the way home from work, Natasha is so furious, she nearly gets into a car accident. Twice. She parks (badly) outside the house, jams the key into the lock like she’s trying to stab it, and slams her backpack onto the floor - phone and all.

Sam stands frozen in the kitchen, drenched in sweat and holding a bottle of water, biceps bulging from her workout. Natasha is so enraged, she barely notices how good Sam looks right now.

“That fucking asshole!” Natasha screams, kicking her backpack so hard it slides down the hallway, slamming into the bedroom door. “Firing me for enforcing his own policy!”

Sam’s expression shifts from blank to worried, her brows knitting together. “Fired you for what? You said the girl didn’t complain.”

“She didn’t!” Natasha roars, itching to kick something else, but her toe throbs from slamming the backpack. “Someone filmed us, and it went viral on that bullshit social media. People started leaving bad reviews on Google, and my boss needed a scapegoat.” She’s so full of angry energy, she barely glances at Sam before kicking off her work shoes and pulling on her sneakers. “I’m going on a run.”

“Hold on, babe, it’s freezing out -” Sam starts, her baby blues morphing into those concerned puppy eyes that always show up when Natasha’s angry about something Sam can’t fix.

“I’m going on a run!” Natasha snaps, slamming the door behind her.

The cold air hits her like a slap to the face as she starts running, no warm-up, no pacing herself - just running to burn off the rage boiling inside. She thinks clearer when she moves. It’s that Type A, all-or-nothing, searing anger that runs in her mom’s side of the family. Too hot-tempered, too honest, too impatient. The only things that seem to calm the spikes of rage are pushing herself to the limit and, well, Sam.

But Sam’s still new. Well, not new - they’ve been dating for over a year - but Natasha’s still not entirely sure how they work. Sam deserves someone better. Someone who isn’t this angry all the time. Natasha isn’t going to drag Sam into her own mess. She has running for that. Or cleaning like a maniac. Or just being a general menace to everyone around her.

As her thoughts clear after fifteen minutes of running, she’s reminded of something from two days ago. That moment at the outlet. That fat girl on one of the swing sets. The way she yelled “Hey! You’re too heavy for that!”

Truth to be told, she could have said it otherwise. She could have said “These are for kids” or “Grownups aren’t allowed” or whatever politically correct thing there was to say then, but the truth was that there was a weight limit to their utilities, and that girl was definitely over them –the swing could’ve broken, or worse, the girl could’ve injured herself, while putting the shop at risk of getting sued. It was a safety issue, plain and simple.

The thing is, the girl was FINE. She was a little embarrassed, sure, but she didn’t argue or anything. She just had a bit of an issue getting out of the swing set, which obviously forced Natasha to help her - but none of them bitched about it, even when snickers came out from the other shoppers, as if it was Laurel and Hardy skit. It took some elbows grease for them both, but once the girl was out, she even thanked Natasha for helping her. Absolutely no bitchiness, which Natasha seriously appreciated. It could have ended way worse.

Well, Natasha didn’t realize they were being filmed. Someone thought their little show was very entertaining, and the video went viral, commenter divided between mocking the girl and hating - HATING - Natasha’s guts. It was like with Sam’s boxing matches, when the crowd would go crazy cheering for one of the sides, not one actually realizing that neither Natasha nor the girl were even fighting at all.

Then the one-star reviews flooded in. Hundreds of them. Demanding Natasha be fired. And sure enough, her boss came through.

The memory stokes Natasha’s rage even more, and she breaks into a sprint, fists clenched. Her fucking boss. This is ridiculous. She’s -

Her foot slips on a patch of ice, and she yelps as her ankle twists. She falls, catching herself with her hands, teeth gritted against the pain as she tests her ankle.

Fuck.