Without it I’m wilting. Petals falling one by one each moment he deliberately ignores me.
It reminds me all too well of how alone I really am. And loneliness is a hollowing numb feeling I want to be rid of.
“So,” I try my best to strike up a conversation and not receive the silent treatment. “Are we just going to dance around it?”
The whisk stops for one second before he continues to whip up the pancake batter. I groan inwardly. This is insufferable. He’s being insufferable.
I grit down on my teeth. “How long do you plan on ignoring me?”
He finishes whipping up the batter and goes to wash his hands. His routine I know down to a science. The particular way he cooks. Even the particular way he washes his dishes. Rico follows a routine each day that never navigates or changes. And if it does, if something happens to go awry he’ll excuse himself to isolate for what can be hours at a time.
And I’ve never once been hurt by that. He wasn’t doing it out of malice nor being intentional. He needed that time in order to regroup and process. To be able to function the rest of the day.
But this?
Treating me like I’m not even here is sinister.
“Rico,” I bite out his name.
He unnervingly cocks his head to the side as he regards me with eyes that are a bottomless pit. How contrary to his eyes when he came underneath me. They were feral then. Encased with fire and scorching my skin. I wanted to be consumed in his flames.
“Why are you acting like this?”
He releases a heavy sigh, one of annoyance. “As opposed to what, Imogen?”
“Don’t be obtuse, shadow.” I wait for the hint of a smile but it never comes. The knife he holds wedges itself deeper. “We can talk about what happened last night.”
He levels me with a look that would send any other man shrinking in fear. “Nothing of importance happened last night to be discussed.”
His words slide the knife deeper. They twist in my gut until I feel the taste of nausea burn at the back of my throat. I spew, “Fuck you, Rico. I thought you told me you didn't lie.”
The muscle in his jaw works with tension. He avoids eye contact as he says lowly, “I don’t.”
I raise a challenging brow. “And yet you just fucking did.”
“I see your colorful vocabulary has returned,” he says monotonously. It grates my nerves. Especially when I know he’s expressed softness and warmth to me before. “What I don’t understand is why you’re furious to begin with.”
I sputter with anger and disbelief, “You can’t be serious. Rico you?—”
“We both divulged in our bodies natural reaction to release pent up tension due to our forced proximity.” His words simultaneously slice me open and enrage me. The fire that has been sluicing through my veins turns molten with fury. “It meant nothing more than that. And you should know better than to think it did.”
A red hue taints my vision. “If you want to dismiss last night because you’re a coward then so be it. But it doesn’t dismiss how you’ve been with me these past few weeks.”
The cooking is all but forgotten now as he leans against the counter and gives his undivided attention to me. “And how have I been with you?”
“Now I know you’re jousting me,” I chortle darkly.
“Am I? Or are you seeing things that aren’t there?”
I balk, “Are you trying to fucking gaslight me?”
“Take it how you want, Imogen,” he drawls my name and I loathe the sound. It’s never been spoken so harshly, like a lash on his tongue. I wince. Asshole. “But whatever you believe is not true.”
Enraged and emotionally wounded I push off the chair wanting nothing more than to smack him across his perfectly crafted stoic face.
I close the distance between us. He stares down at me with eyes as blank as a canvas. I long for the softness to return.
“Want to know what I think?”
