been sitting in that position for days, not two hours. The only reason I had even taken a break from my thoughts was because my stomach had so kindly reminded me that I hadn’t eaten after all.
I opened the door quietly and listened for sounds. To an outsider, I probably looked like the girl in the opening scene of a horror movie – the one who got killed moments after you finished yelling, “Don’t open the door,” at the screen. It should have been a premonition for me, but I didn’t listen to my overactive imagination. When everything sounded quiet, I made my way to the kitchen but stopped short when I saw Enzo sitting at the table. Should have listened to the moviegoers, I told myself. He looked up, but the expression on his face was blank. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, and I took a step back, preparing myself to hide, cower, run – anything to get away from Enzo.
As he watched me, I saw the emotions flicker in his eyes, but I couldn’t tell what they were. Maybe I refused to see them for what they seemed. He couldn’t have shown me pain and regret, I reasoned, unless it was because he married me, but I already knew that. That steeled my spine just a fraction, but it was enough to visibly stand up straighter. We continued to stare at each other, neither wanting to be the first to look away and admit defeat in this little battle we were fighting.
He shifted his hand and I lost the staring contest as my eyes automatically moved to where his hand had been, and they zeroed in on what he was doing. He was eating my food! The nerve of that guy. Given I hadn’t finished cooking everything when he had taken my good moment from me, and now, it looked like a presentable meal – a partially eaten presentable meal. I narrowed my eyes and opened my mouth to offer him a snide remark, but as my eyes roamed up to his hand, I bit my tongue. His hand was swollen, a deep pink shade, and his knuckles were missing some skin. From the looks of it, I was pretty sure he had hit his hand more than just the one time I heard. It needed attention, that much I knew, and the way he was moving it a little awkwardly while trying to hold his fork was proof that it bothered him. I should have felt satisfied that he was in pain; I should have felt happy that he had done that to himself. I should have whispered, “Serves him right,” but I didn’t do any of those things. I was not even sure why.
I had lost my appetite at some point, most likely when I first spotted Enzo in the kitchen, but I didn’t want him to know I was leaving without fulfilling my purpose because he scared me away. I went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. I could feel his eyes trained on the back of my head, and it was a bit unnerving, causing me to take extra time to grab a simple bottle of water. I closed the fridge and was about to turn away, but at the last minute, I opened the freezer and grabbed an ice pack. He didn’t deserve my kindness, however little it was, but I was still me, and I couldn’t let his hand go without at least the minimum amount of care. I walked past him and dropped the ice pack on the table beside his hand without saying a word. I tried not to look at his face for his reaction; I tried not to even care, but I glanced quickly as I continued to walk away. I read something that looked an awful lot like shock across his features. I had made it to the end of the kitchen when he called out my name.
“Paige.” He spoke it a little loudly as if I had been farther away than I truly was.
I stopped without turning, not bothering with a response.
“There’s actually enough for two.” His words were so sincere that it stopped the laugh that bubbled up inside me. He was giving me an open invitation to share a meal, a meal I had technically prepared. I knew there was enough for two when I had originally told him there wasn’t. I hadn’t wanted to share it with
I opened the door quietly and listened for sounds. To an outsider, I probably looked like the girl in the opening scene of a horror movie – the one who got killed moments after you finished yelling, “Don’t open the door,” at the screen. It should have been a premonition for me, but I didn’t listen to my overactive imagination. When everything sounded quiet, I made my way to the kitchen but stopped short when I saw Enzo sitting at the table. Should have listened to the moviegoers, I told myself. He looked up, but the expression on his face was blank. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, and I took a step back, preparing myself to hide, cower, run – anything to get away from Enzo.
As he watched me, I saw the emotions flicker in his eyes, but I couldn’t tell what they were. Maybe I refused to see them for what they seemed. He couldn’t have shown me pain and regret, I reasoned, unless it was because he married me, but I already knew that. That steeled my spine just a fraction, but it was enough to visibly stand up straighter. We continued to stare at each other, neither wanting to be the first to look away and admit defeat in this little battle we were fighting.
He shifted his hand and I lost the staring contest as my eyes automatically moved to where his hand had been, and they zeroed in on what he was doing. He was eating my food! The nerve of that guy. Given I hadn’t finished cooking everything when he had taken my good moment from me, and now, it looked like a presentable meal – a partially eaten presentable meal. I narrowed my eyes and opened my mouth to offer him a snide remark, but as my eyes roamed up to his hand, I bit my tongue. His hand was swollen, a deep pink shade, and his knuckles were missing some skin. From the looks of it, I was pretty sure he had hit his hand more than just the one time I heard. It needed attention, that much I knew, and the way he was moving it a little awkwardly while trying to hold his fork was proof that it bothered him. I should have felt satisfied that he was in pain; I should have felt happy that he had done that to himself. I should have whispered, “Serves him right,” but I didn’t do any of those things. I was not even sure why.
I had lost my appetite at some point, most likely when I first spotted Enzo in the kitchen, but I didn’t want him to know I was leaving without fulfilling my purpose because he scared me away. I went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. I could feel his eyes trained on the back of my head, and it was a bit unnerving, causing me to take extra time to grab a simple bottle of water. I closed the fridge and was about to turn away, but at the last minute, I opened the freezer and grabbed an ice pack. He didn’t deserve my kindness, however little it was, but I was still me, and I couldn’t let his hand go without at least the minimum amount of care. I walked past him and dropped the ice pack on the table beside his hand without saying a word. I tried not to look at his face for his reaction; I tried not to even care, but I glanced quickly as I continued to walk away. I read something that looked an awful lot like shock across his features. I had made it to the end of the kitchen when he called out my name.
“Paige.” He spoke it a little loudly as if I had been farther away than I truly was.
I stopped without turning, not bothering with a response.
“There’s actually enough for two.” His words were so sincere that it stopped the laugh that bubbled up inside me. He was giving me an open invitation to share a meal, a meal I had technically prepared. I knew there was enough for two when I had originally told him there wasn’t. I hadn’t wanted to share it with
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