Page 13 of In Death's Hands
It may sound unhealthy, but it’s not. I’m pretty sure. I’d rather try to enjoy each day like it’s a new beginning than deal with the past. It’s done, gone and over with. There is nothing that can be changed, so what’s the point?
When I turn to the only other source of light in this cocoon, I find Nathan studying me. His face is cast in shadows, but the intensity of his stare has me breaking out in goose bumps.
He clears his throat once and nods to the stool in front of the breakfast counter. Without saying a thing, I move over to it, and swallow a lump in my throat when he waits for me to be seated before claiming the stool next to mine.
“I hope you like pizza,” he says gently, sounding unsure, while opening two boxes I hadn’t noticed before. My stomach growls and I think that’s answer enough, except he looks down at it with a deep frown. “Is that normal?”
If he didn’t have such an openly questioning look in his eyes, I would say he’s joking, but I don’t think he is. “Uh. Yes. I’m just starving.”
“Starving?” He looks alarmed and starts dumping slice after slice of pizza on a paper napkin in front of me while raking his eyes all over my body, as if looking for something. “You don’t seem too thin, but you should eat.”
I’m highly puzzled by his behaviour, but when his words register, I burst out laughing.
Surprisingly, or not—I am starting to wonder if he has normal reactions to anything—his frown deepens, and he keeps pushing the tower of pizza slices closer to me.
“You did not just say that to a woman,” I wheeze out, still laughing my ass off.
“What did I say?”
“In woman talk, you called me fat.”
“What?!” He frowns. “I did no such thing.”
The shock in his eyes is incredibly attractive. And that thought sobers me the hell up. I will not go there. “It’s rude to mention other people’s bodies.”
“Is it?” He sighs, shaking his head. “I was simply pointing out that you don’t seem to be skin on bones, like a starving person would be. Which is a good thing,” he adds pointedly.
I nod and take a bite out of the first slice of pizza, struggling to keep the moan locked up. When I’ve taken enough time to savour every flavour, texture and smell, I try to explain myself better. “You know what I meant. I said I was starving because I’m extremely hungry. I haven’t eaten a thing since before they…” I don’t finish the sentence, not wanting to think about what happened for a while yet.
“Ah.” He stays quiet, watching me devour the cheesy meal without reaching for a slice himself. I would feel self-conscious about it, but I’m honestly too hungry and too tired to care.
When I can’t swallow anything else, he brings me a glass of water, his eyes still fixated on me. “Are you looking at something in particular or…?” Most people would look away or even blush after being called out on ogling someone. But not him. He only seems to look harder.
“I’m just waiting for it.”
“Waiting for what?”
“The freak-out.”
“Huh?”
“The freak-out,” he repeats, as if I should know what he means. When it’s clear I don’t, he keeps going. “I’ve been told people freak out after big events, and as far as I know, you didn’t even react after the accident last night. Does it work in order? First you panic about the car nearly crashing into you and then about those dead fucks in your apartment?”
I don’t know how many times I open and close my mouth, waiting for something to come out, but I’m sure it’s enough to look like a dying fish. For some reason, I’m more shockedabout the violence that entered his eyes when he mentioned my attackers and him cursing than his outlandish understanding of trauma. Also, I think that’s the longest I’ve heard him speak.
“I’m… uh…”
“Is it happening now? Do you need anything?”
It’s so strange to see someone so put together looking so frantic. Gone is the storm in his eyes; he seems at a complete loss. When he steps closer to me, his movements jerky and hesitant, something finally connects in my head. “I’m fine.” He doesn’t seem to hear me. “Nathan!” Pausing, he looks into my eyes, and I break the connection before getting lost in his. “I’m fine. Truly.”
“You can’t be.”
A dark laugh escapes my mouth. “You don’t get to decide how I feel.”
Frowning, he cocks his head to the side. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing.” I get up and start pacing, anger simmering low in my belly. “I am fine.”
