“I’ll remember that the next time the floors need to be mopped.” Mariah curls up beside me, resting her cheek against the back of the couch, watching me instead of her show. “Can I ask you a question?”
The right side of my face gets hot. Like it knows what’s about to happen. “Sure.” The word is flat. Emotionless. The way I try to be.
“Where’s all your laundry?” She reaches out, pinching the fabric of my T-shirt and giving it a little tug. “Because you don’t smell like you’ve been wearing that for days, but I know for a fact you haven’t been in the laundry room since I got here.”
Again, Mariah surprises me. I thought for sure she was going to ask about my scars. Instead, she wants to know how my underwear gets clean.
And for some reason, I find that amusing. I findheramusing.
“How do you know I don’t sneak in and wash my clothes the same way I snuck down and stole your cake?”
I’ve felt more than a little bad about how much of her day I sneakily invaded. How many hours I spent watching her cook and clean and relax on my sofa. And I still feel a little bit bad about it, but I’m starting to think Mariah might have done the same thing.That while she couldn’t technically get her eyes on me, she was still investigating. Trying to figure out as much about me as she could.
Including when I wash my socks.
Mariah shoots me an unimpressed look. “Because my rooms are directly above the laundry room, and the sound of the washer spinning is pretty darn noticeable.”
Interesting. It’s never occurred to me how the rest of the house works. It’s been irrelevant. I live in my secluded wing and have really only left to visit the kitchen when my stomach tried to eat itself.
“There’s a smaller laundry room attached to my bedroom.” It seemed a strange addition to me at the time, but my mother swore it was necessary. That I’d appreciate not having to haul my laundry up and down the stairs. And she was right.
Having the washer and dryer right there in my rooms also made it easier for me to shrink my world. Easier to hide from all the things that haunt me. The memories that won’t seem to let me go.
Mariah’s expression turns thoughtful. “That is actually really smart.” She gives me a grin. “I’m kinda jealous.”
“You can use the washer and dryer in my rooms if you want.” The offer is out of my mouth before I can stop it. And once the words are said, I can’t take them back.
And I should take them back. Mariah has already tainted the rest of my house with her presence. Made it impossible for me to go anywhere without thinking of her. The way she randomly hums as she works. The sound of her grumbling about me when she can’t find something she needs or discovers an area still cluttered with my mess. The sight of her curled on my couch, sound asleep after trying to lure me out with the best damn cake I’ve ever had.
I can’t have her do the same thing with my rooms. It’s bad enough I sit and stare at her on the camera feed all day. I don’t know what I would do if she permeated that space in theflesh.
Mariah’s eyes widen, one hand resting against her chest in exaggerated surprise. “Was that a formal invitation to your domain?”
My lips curve all on their own at her teasing. “Is that what we're calling it now? My domain?”
“What do you call it?” Mariah angles a brow. “Please don’t tell me you refer to it as your man cave. That is such an annoying phrase.”
“Which part of it is annoying? The man part? Or the cave part?” Yet more words I should not say slide through my lips.
But I can’t help it. I could try to convince myself I simply want to know more about the person under my roof, but I would be unsuccessful. I can lie to myself about lots of things, but so far it seems like Mariah isn’t one of them.
Since I can’t lie, I’m going to choose to ignore. If I don’t acknowledge the reason I’m curious about her, maybe it will fade away. Evaporate like so many other bright spots in my life have.
Mariah presses her full lips together, the plush curve of them flattening as they slide against each other. She seems to be deciding what answer to give me, and I have to assume she’s choosing between the truth or a lie.
And I really fucking want the truth. Not because I think I deserve it, but because I wantherto think I deserve it. That I can be trusted with it.
Mariah sighs, shrinking in on herself. “Well, a cave has never screwed me over, so I guess I have to go with the man part.”
If I wasn’t ignoring so much where Mariah is concerned, I would probably identify the emotion washing through me as relief. Satisfaction at what is likely a confirmation there’s no man currently in her life. But Iamignoring, since I’m not stupid enough to believe I could take that place.
Not that I should want to. I like being alone. I like the safety it provides. Both from what could be and what has been.
“Maybe you just don’t have enough experience with caves.” I insert a little levity for her sake and mine. I don’t like the cloud ofwhat might be sadness—or maybe disappointment—that’s drifted across her features.
And I don’t like what I would do to make it disappear. The lengths I’ve already gone to trying to make her happy prove how few limits I have where she’s concerned. There’s a good chance she’d end up with a fully equipped laundry room of her own. Whatever expensive kitchen appliances the Internet tells me she would like.
Possibly a pony.
