“I’m going to make some food. Let me know if you need anything.”
She blinks a few times, gaze somewhere behind me, and again doesn’t respond. She looks so sad; it pisses me off. I may not be the cause of all these emotions right this second, but I started them. Harrison is who is responsible for this, and I won’t let him get away with it.
Once in the kitchen, I pull out my phone from my pocket and dial the manager of the building Harrison lives in. It’s late, but he’ll answer because it’s me.
I pull open the fridge, looking for something to make and realize it’s empty outside of a few condiments, milk that may be spoiled, and butter. I look at the milk, needing to know my options, and thankfully it isn’t bad yet.
“Mr. Caldwell. What can I do for you?” Bernard answers as I close the fridge and move to the cabinets, spotting a box of macaroni and cheese. It isn’t something I would ever eat, but Seraphine has a guilty pleasure for it and so I have a few boxes here. Maybe this is just what she needs. I pull it off the shelf and put it on the counter.
“All payments for my son’s condo will stop immediately. He has until the end of the month to pack all of his shit and get out or—”
“Don’t do that,” comes softly from behind me. I turn to face Seraphine, her face pained.
“What?”
“Don’t kick him out because of me.”
“This isn’t because of you, Seraphine, and don’t ever think that. This is the repercussions of his own actions. He needs to learn.”
“Just… just let him stay, okay? I can’t tell you what to do with your money but let him figure it out. It’ll be good for him.”
I can’t believe this girl. How can she still be so kind after he assaulted her?
“Mr. Caldwell, is everything okay?” comes from the phone.
“Yes. Payments stop, but he can stay. Same rules go for him as everyone else when it comes to payment. If he doesn’t pay on time, he’s out.”
“Of course, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asks as Seraphine grabs a pot from the hanging holder and fills it with water.
“Call me if there are any issues. Immediately. I do not care on the time.”
“Of course. Have a good night.”
I end the call and put my hand on Seraphine’s shoulder. “Let me do this for you.”
“I need to keep busy or I’m going to lose my mind.”
I can keep you busy, I think, and how inappropriate is that? After what she’s gone through tonight, I can only think with my cock? It’s just thoughts though, right? I’m not acting on it. I would, if she hinted toward it, but I won’t initiate. That’s terrible of me.
Sighing, I drop my hand and step back so she can do her thing. She taught me how to make it the way she likes, so I knoweach of her moves as she goes. She gets the milk and butter from the fridge, measuring it all out as she waits for the water to boil. Once it does, she dumps in the pasta and sets a timer on the stove for it to cook for exactly six minutes.
She leans her hip against the counter, staring at the pot as the pasta floats around the bubbling water. I stand back and watch her because there isn’t anything else I would rather do right now. Okay, that’s a lie. I’d much rather be touching her, kissing her, holding her… and so much more. But I’ll settle for this because I fucked up and she hasn’t forgiven me. I haven’t even done anything worthy of forgiveness. Yes, I apologized, but that isn’t enough. It’s never enough. Apologies are just words. Usually empty words, too.
Before I know it, I’m being handed a bowl full of gooey macaroni and cheese—she always adds a handful of cheddar at the last minute, so it doesn’t fully mix in, but instead stays stringy and melty.
We take our bowls to the table, sit, and eat in silence. I want to talk to her, to say so many things. Ask for her forgiveness, apologize more and make sure she knows that I mean it, but it seems pointless. She has far worse things going on right now, I shouldn’t worry about me and what I want. I need to worry about her and what she needs. Right now, it’s a comforting meal.
I wash our bowls when we’re done, and turn to find her standing by the table, watching me. I lean against the counter to face her. I watch her as she watches me, waiting for her to say ordo something. I’ve never been one to want to talk about fights or arguments. They just end and we move on. I don’t want to beat a dead horse. People fuck up, we move on and that’s the end of it. But I am craving for her to say something, tell me how she feels, talk about what I did, even if it’ll make me feel worse. I need that right now. I need something from her, something that tells me I didn’t ruin this completely.
“Can we go to bed?”
“Of course,” I say quickly, pushing off the counter. “Do you want me to make up the guest bed?” I ask, not wanting to assume anything.
“I’d like… to stay in your room if that’s okay.” I nod. “Withyou.”
“Yeah, okay.” I walk by her to start up the stairs, but she grabs my hand, stopping me. I look down at where she holds my hand, following up her arm, to her shoulder, then to her face.
“Thank you for this.”
