He fills the kettle at the sink, and then only the rumble of it fills the room.
I follow Haden with my eyes while he confidently moves around the room. He turns the light on, picks up two cups, and then sugar and milk. Those familiar actions settle the still-charged energy.
I turn my light off, and put my phone on the table.
He glances at me, and I answer his silent question.
“Two sugar, no milk.”
He prepares the cups while I watch him, but he doesn’t seem to notice while he devotes all his attention to making tea.
“I’m not sure why, but the kitchen is the best place for sleepless nights.” He doesn’t appear to be talking to me, but more to himself.
“It feels quiet here,” I say, only so the silence doesn’t fall on us again. I have to admit, being here in this kitchen makes me feel better.
“It’s the middle of the night, so it is quieter.”
I chuckle, and it comes out low and tired. I give my previous thought some form. “I meant in my head.” The truth of my words hits me. My body’s not as stiff as before, my mind’s nolonger in a loop of dread and fear of the future, and my breath is regular.
He doesn’t talk for a while, as if taking in what I said, but concentrates on his tasks. Then he hands me a cup, made just as I like it.
Our fingers brush together, and that reminds me of the moment he caressed my lips.
His touch burns, and awakens a need inside me that I haven’t felt since the first time I fell in love. When I was still innocent and didn’t know how dirty this world could be.
When he sits down, we both look at our drink, as if that moment of connections has passed.
Maybe this tea won’t lead to questions after all, or to sharing our lives with each other. The silence, though, isn’t uncomfortable. It brings understanding, as though even without words we can recognise each other. We can recognise the pain we both went through, and we can recognise the dark clouds that still cover our sky, hindering the vision of the sun above us.
The silence stretches, only interrupted by the clock ticking away the time.
“It’s weird how two a.m. brings the need for sharing and the need to be honest. As if while the world sleeps, we’re allowed to share things that we wouldn’t talk about at breakfast.”
I look at him, my gaze taking everything in—his loneliness and his distress—and pushing me to share part of myself I never thought I would share.
I wrap my hands around the cup, letting it warm my gelid fingers, and taking the time to collect my thoughts.
“What I’m about to say may sound stupid, because we just met, and not in the best of circumstances.” Looking up at him, I catch the nod he makes, and I take it as if he’s telling me to continue. “I feel safe here. Even when I can’t sleep… especially when I can’t.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I wasn’t expecting him to. However, this time the silence isn’t as comfortable as before, and to fill it I let my mouth run again.
“Why did you save me?” I’m not sure if he’s more surprised by my voice or my question.
“What?”
One word, but it’s enough to understand that my question has pissed him off. I’m surprised that after only a day, it’s easy for me to read that in his growl.
Is it weird that it makes me feel safe?
I continue, though, with my line of questioning, hoping he’ll understand that in some way his answer’s important. “I mean, why did you risk your life to save a hustler?”
What the fuck am I saying? Why am I exposing my inner shame?
I want to cover my mouth with my hand to stop whatever is coming out, but instead, to maintain a resemblance of balance, I look everywhere but at him. When the silence stretches, I return my attention to him.
His gaze is on the glass and his fingers wrapped around it, and I fear he’ll break the cup when his fingers press against it. His grip gets tighter and tighter the more he stays silent. When he suddenly releases it, I flinch, but his hands relax as if he was able to fight all his demons away.
He looks up, zeroing in on me as if he wants me not to miss anything. “I was saving a human being.”
