Page 6 of Married As Puck
Her grin stays in place, and she shrugs, clearly unbothered by my insistence. If anything, her smile grows bigger. She drops the spatula down on a plate and plants a hand on her hip.
“So we’re back to that, huh? Well, tough luck. Lease says otherwise. Until the landlord responds, I’m here legally. And since there’s a no-refund clause, I should be the one angry, not you.”
I stare at her feeling my muscles gearing up for a fight. “Bloody hell!” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face.
My voice drops to a whisper, as a string of profanities follow. I wish I could wave a wand and find out this right here, is just a figment of my imagination or probably a nightmare and I’ll wake up alone again, in blessed silence.
The smell of pancakes wafts across my nostrils, a solid proof that this is real.
She slides a plate across the counter, chocolate chip pancakes stacked high, butter melting into the top. “Eat,” she says in an authoritative tone. “Maybe we’ll survive the week if I keep feeding you.”
My stomach chooses that moment to growl.
She beams at me in an‘I told you so’way. I glare at her and at the plate, hating that I actually want them. Sugar isn’t good for me but once in a while is fine I guess.
She leans against the counter, head tilted as I look down at the food.
“See?” she says softly, grin slipping into something mischievous. “Food fixes almost everything. Start with that.”
It smells exactly like the ones my mother used to make before everything went awry, right before she started going on those regular business trips, leaving me with her husband.
I push the memories to the back of my mind, still staring down at the plate, war raging inside me. Every instinct screams at me to dump them in the trash, make a point and show her I’m immune to her charms but my hand reaches for the fork anyway.
I curse myself, curse the weakness, but I shove a bite in my mouth anyway. I savor the chocolate as it melts on my tongue. Damn, it’s good.
Her smirk widens like she won. “You’re not as scary when you eat,” she teases, amusement swirling in her orbs.
Something in my chest tightens and I slam the fork down on the counter hard. I push myself away from the counter and without a word, I head for the door.
A good workout session at the gym is just what I need to get out of this foul mood and in my right senses.
The gym on the ground level is almost always empty just how I like it. I don’t need people staring and making side comments while I work out. Sarah said I shouldn’t leave the apartment, so I’m just stuck in this building until she says otherwise. I thank God for this quiet gym because if that woman up there is going to invade my space, at least I have downstairs to disappear to.
As I slam the bar up and down, my head won’t shut up. I still see her face, her stupid grin and that pretty parrot mouth of hers. I don’t even know her name but I’m sure she’s heard of mine. But if that’s the case, she’s putting up a good act.
The image of her pancakes pops into my head next, slowly replaced by my mother’s pancakes sitting pretty on the dining table on a beautiful Saturday morning.
Fucking triggers like Mrs. Hendrix says. I need to find my triggers. Since when did pancakes become a trigger?
I grit my teeth and push harder, veins straining, arms burning. Sweat drips down my face, stinging my eyes. When I drop the bar with a heavy clang, I see that woman’s head tilt as she said, ‘food fixes almost everything’.
She must be high on some cheap drug to be living with that ideology. Food can’t fix shit, at least the broken pieces of me.
I slam through another set, punishing myself. My chest heaves, as another horrible memory fills my mind. I see Jack’s battered face on those hospital white sheets, those reels all over the internet, my coach’s face when he said I should “take a step back.”
As if that wasn’t enough, now I’m stuck with a stranger-flipping-pancakes in my kitchen. I want silence. I want to be left alone. Is that too much to ask for?
I walk back upstairs when I’m done, shirt soaked, muscles jelly, brain still looping. I tell myself I’ll shower, nap and forget all my worries but the second I step inside, the smell of a different meal fills my nostrils.
My feet lead me in the direction of the kitchen. I check and she’s not in there this time. I listen for any sound in the house but it’s too quiet so I’m positive that she has gone out. Just then, I notice a plate half covered with foil on the kitchen counter. It looked like she saved it just for me.
I should leave it there but instead, I stand there, feeling my mouth water at the thought of whatever else she might have whipped up. I stare at the plate like it’s mocking me.
My chest tightens again, that same pressure from earlier and all I can think is that I’m screwed because she isn’t fucking leaving, and she’s feeding me left and right. I’ve never had anyone feed me like this.
I peek inside the foil.
Goddamn it.
