“You’re hungry,” he says, once again giving me the unnerving impression that every insecurity, thought, and feeling inside me is freely open to his analysis.
“How do you know that?”
“Because you came wandering into the kitchen on your own, without me calling you or telling you to,” he answers.
OK. Fair. I guess I can’t argue with that.
“There’s stuff that isn’t frozen,” he says, nodding towards the fridge and a large door that I imagine must lead into a pantry.
He still makes no move to leave. Something like pride hardens my spine. Maybe it’s stupid, but I can’t stand the thought of rummaging around for something to eat like some starving orphan while he’s just standing there watching me. Not after today.
Don’t let it happen again.
“I’m fine.”
As if to vehemently disagree with that fact, my traitorous stomach growls loudly.
When I don’t open the fridge myself, Curse does it for me.
“You want Greek yogurt?” he asks. Before I can even answer, he pulls out a little container and holds it up for my eyes.
It’s lemon.
“No, thank you,” I say, grimacing. He puts it back, then grabs something else. It’s a cheese and charcuterie board covered with plastic wrap. He peels the plastic away and sets the board down on the butcher-block-top kitchen island.
“Eat.”
I want to rebel against his command, but hunger is quickly winning out over stubbornness. I slide onto one of the stools at the island and grab a few bits of cheese and salami, popping them in my mouth.
As predicted, Curse just stands there and stares at me.
“Aren’t you going to have any?” I ask, nudging the board towards him after I’ve had a few more bites.
“No.”
By the time I’ve eaten half the board, there’s still more than thirty minutes left on the dinner timer. I’m just trying to decide whether to stick it out under Curse’s unrelenting gaze or go somewhere else until the food is ready when Curse slides a small notepad and pen across the island to me.
“Make a list of everything you want or need,” he says. “Clothes. Cosmetics. Medication. Specific foods or drinks you like. Furniture. Whatever. I’ll have someone deliver it all tomorrow.”
“Oh.” The same awkward embarrassment as before washes over me. The feeling that I shouldn’t be asking him for things. I shift awkwardly on the stool. “I don’t need that much…”
“I said, ‘whatever you want or need,’” he reminds me. “Write it all down. Don’t leave anything out.”
Just like with the food, he watches me. As if to make sure that I really do it.
I sigh, clicking the pen on and off over and over again while I think. My mind is oddly blank. All I can think of is underwear. But I’m going to look insane if that’s the only thing I write down now. I shut my eyes for a moment to focus, internally listing out all the things I use to get ready in the morning and the evening. I don’t need a toothbrush or toothpaste, because Curse already has that covered, but I begin to write down the rest.
Body wash (any brand)
Shampoo and conditioner (any brand)
Fragrance-free moisturizer (any brand)
Lip balm (any brand)
Deodorant (any brand/fragrance)
Panties (size small)
