Page 49 of The Chaos She Brings
Attachment means risk. Risk means someone dies, or they turn on you. Every time. And I’ve had enough of both to last me a lifetime.
I can’t let it happen again.
I need to shut these thoughts down.
“—do you think I’d be any good at that?”
I have no idea what she just said but instead of admitting that I grunt a, “Yes,” then turn away, heading upstairs to change.
15
Are We Just Going To Pretend Nothing Happened Between Us?
Kai to Tess: I wish I could love you the way you deserve. [unsent]
Tess
“Wantsomehelp?”
The sound of Kai’s voice has me clutching my chest, the spoon I was holding clattering to the ground.
“Stop sneaking up on me!”
“Stop getting lost inside your own head.”
I whirl around, narrowingmy eyes at him. “Talking to me now?”
His face tilts down and his eyes look everywhere but me. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, I know you didn’t exactly ask for this.”
His eyes snap to mine. “It’s not that. I like being around you, Tess.”
He bends down to retrieve my forgotten spoon and places it in the dishwasher.
I turn back to the stove, fighting the weird mix of feelings welling up inside me. The simmering tomato sauce is starting to bubble over, so I grab another spoon from the holder and stir, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the pounding in my chest.
“What are you making?” Kai asks, coming to stand next to me, close enough I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“Meatball pasta.” I point towards the bowl of seasoned minced meat that I need to roll into balls.
Kai tilts his head in silent question.
“Alright, you can help.”
The two of us make quick work of rolling the balls, though Kai’s are not exactly ‘ball shaped’.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask with horror.
He looks at me with puppy dog eyes. An expression I’d never have associated with him. “Making meatballs?”
I stare at the oddly shaped blob in his hand with wide eyes. "That’s not a meatball, that’s a pancake. The clue is in the wordball; they should be round.”
Kai shrugs with a sheepish grin. "Oh."
I roll my eyes, fixing his mess with my own, though his attempt does at least lighten the mood. For a moment, it’s like we're just two normal people cooking dinner—no complicated emotions, no heavy atmosphere. But I know it's a fleeting moment.
Once the meatballs are browning in the pan, I step back, keeping a safe distance. I learned the hard way that flying oil isn’t something to mess with.
