C H A P T E R 31
ACTS OF KINDNESS
Puppet
Play - ‘Yellow - Coldplay’
I wake to the smell of bacon wafting under my nose and I'm literally dribbling on my arm. She wasn’t joking . I really do dribble. Oh my god that is so embarrassing. Bacon is definitely what I need to cheer me up. I trundle out from the bedroom realising I didn't even feel her get up, did she even go to bed? Rubbing my eyes, I try to shift the sleepiness and she slowly falls into focus.
“Morning Little Dreamer .” A large stack of pancakes and a pot of syrup sit on the kitchen counter. She’s gently smiling at me and it’s strangely comforting. I’ve realised she has not been ‘working’ for weeks now, she’s more interested in her projects. Or maybe to keep me company but I know that’s being too optimistic, although I cannot shake these tiny, dare I say it, intimate moments from my head. And I am still mortified that she’s eleven years older than me. I don’t know whether to feel safe or grossed out. She put her thumb in my mouth, she’s seen my bare skin and caressed it so softly it’s left permanent memories in my pores. I should feel disgusted but I don't. Not to mention the fact she is a woman, aren’t I meant to like boys? Maybe I really am losing it.
A lot has changed between us, I don't really even know what. But since she’s opened up to me I no longer see a beast in the night. I see a wounded one in a cage and it’s somehow made us, closer? I will never admit that to her though. That would mean admitting it to myself and I don't think I am ready for that.
I’ve not forgotten what she’s done to me, and I never will. But I guess the empath inside of me can now see the damaged parts of her that tear at my heart. We have both suffered great loss and she’s been through far worse than I have. But she’s never disregarded my grief, she’s only ever pushed me to fight. To find that strength in myself to move on, just as she did. She didn’t have to hold me that night, or cradle me in her arms. She didn’t have to do a lot of things but she chose to open up to me, even when she had no idea of my intentions.
“You hungry? I made pancakes.” Her focus turns to the plate, edging me to help myself and she definitely isn't acting herself. She's being TOO nice.
“I can see, it smells delicious!” I'm drooling at the sight of it and it feels slightly strange to get my appetite back.
“I also made bacon, I wasn’t sure if you wanted any.” Who in god's green earth doesn't like bacon?!
“Are you kidding? I love bacon! Is this you showing me your outstanding chef skills ?” I taunt as I begin to plate up my own pancakes, taking in the sound of the morning song from beyond the window, finding serenity in this weirdly serene little morning and I'm either tripping or she’s up to something.
“Just- be quiet and eat the damn pancakes. And don’t forget to take your insulin.” She tells me now like it’s second nature, completely oblivious to her own words as she flips the bacon a few times before laying it on my plate.
I feel so rude but I can't stop pining over her architectural facial structure. How her battered skin hoards so much torment. Every pore, crease and scar hold their own story and three months ago I would have been terrified. She was most likely expecting me to be, but it doesn't scare me at all. I just want to nurse it back to health with a kiss. I don’t know what that says about me, I've never been one for the villain, but I have always understood the broken. She’s the villain in her own story. A reflection of her own downfall.
I finish up my plate and take my insulin feeling a whole lot better with a full stomach and look at the clock on the wall reading 8:20 . She finally put batteries in it because I was sick of staring at time that stood still. It’s still so early.
“Hey, I'm going to go for a shower.” She looks over to me, nodding in response but doesn’t move, insinuating I can shower on my own and something inside of me moves. Like the final piece on a chessboard.
“Are you not coming?” She still doesn’t move, cleaning up the mess she made.
“Run along. Before I change my mind.” This is a huge step and I'm left speechless, my eyes sink slightly, a little disappointed that she isn’t joining me and I feel so silly. It should be normal to shower on my own, she’s finally giving me some freedom .
I hop in the shower, cleaning myself up and the bathroom feels so empty. I’ve grown accustomed to her company now it feels so bare but it is also the privacy I’ve craved. Although I can't stop thinking about her hands all over me, feeling my throat close and my thighs clench at the thought.
Showers don’t take me long, I'm in and out in about ten minutes, quivering as I wrap myself up in my towel and make my way to her bedroom trying to shake off this strange feeling I seem to keep encountering. She's sitting watching TV which I have never seen her do willingly unless I drag her to endure a movie with me. She looks so, comfortable ?
The door opens and I shut it behind me before my eyes pulsate and the air’s taken from my lungs. Fabric slides through my damp fingers as I analyse the two dresses hanging on the back of the door, leaving me utterly thoughtless, reading the note stuck to one of the dresses with Sellotape.
My mouth’s barricaded with my hand, admiring the beautiful dresses before me. They are the perfect shade of pastel yellow, pinched at the waist with a frilly bottom and off the shoulder sleeves. It’s stunning . How did she get that so right? And what the hell is the occasion? I try both on and the small fits snug, grinning at the idiot for buying two dresses purely because she didn’t know my size. Who does that? More importantly, why is she buying me dresses?
I tiptoe out of the room, feeling nervous as hell and I haven't a clue why but there are butterflies rattling in my stomach trying to fly away and I bloody wish I could fly away right now, this is so embarrassing. My hair is a mess and I have no shoes on.
“Are you going to tell me what this is for?” She turns her head to meet mine from the couch and it’s like I pull her off of it. Standing to face me, eyes full of soft admiration, a thousand emotions are whirling around that peculiar head of hers and she’s impossible to read. But something is telling me I look decent. It’s nothing like the way she looked at me in the shower. This is gentle. Kind . But she still doesn’t utter a word.“I thought you hated yellow.” If she hates this colour so much, why on earth did she buy me a dress in it?
“I think I can make an exception just this once.” I am the brightest thing in the room right now. In fact, I am the brightest thing in this entire house, I'm a beacon of idiocy.
“You’re ridiculous. I can’t believe you bought two of these!” Every time she smiles with her teeth it’s like it heals another fraction of my broken heart, knowing I'm healing hers, even if it’s only a little.
“Well, what if it didn’t fit!?” She shrugs her broad shoulders, and I mean, she has a point, but she shouldn’t have gotten them at all!
“I am literally the size of an ant.” She claws the back of the sofa and she looks like she’s ready to pounce over the top of it.
“I know. Which means I can do this. " She does exactly that, heading straight for me and I am NOT about to be thrown around in a dress.
“Hayden-” I warn. “Hay- HAYS! NO!” She tugs these uncontrollable giggles from deep inside me and I don't think I have ever laughed the way I laugh with her as she hoists me up over her shoulder, dragging me to the bedroom without my consent as Shep follows curiously and now I'm worried.
“Hayden! Put me down!” My back meets the bed, nearly breaking it on impact.
“Youuuuuu. Are going to plant your ass on this bed, and you can’t come out until I say.” You have got to be joking. I am not sitting in here all day!
“Are you going to tell me what is going on?” What is with all these secrets and weird gifts. I knew she was acting weird.
“Nope.”
Oh come on!
“Write in your journal or something.” She takes the journal from the foot of the bed, pressing it into my chest and I panic as the pages fly open scrambling to shut it back up.
“I really need to get you that lock and key, huh?” It’s nothing special. But no one has ever read my writing. Call myself a writer and I am too scared to show it off. The irony. Plus I don’t exactly want her reading what I’ve written. About her.
“Fineeeee…” Now I’m really worried. My feet kick up, forcefully hitting the bed so she can see my annoyance but she doesn’t care. She never does. Walking out and shutting the door behind her completely carefree as she leaves me and Shep to snuggle. Asshole .