Chapter 5 #2
He smirks and takes a long sip of his beer, finishing the bottle before setting it down next to the abandoned chicken and dumplings. A sad waste of a good meal, but I have more, thankfully.
“Just give it some thought,” he says. “There are apps now. Good apps. And the town might be small, but you have options. You’re young and good-looking.”
I don’t want to entertain this anymore. I don’t have it in me to go on dates, and I also don’t know how to get it through Easton’s head that I’m not willing to put myself out there again.
I have one defense and one defense only to get him to move on from this.
“So. How’s that IT guy you hate?”
His eyes widen. “Oh my god, you will never fucking believe what he said. All I did was spill a little coffee on my keyboard, and he told North he was going to put me over his knee and fucking spank me!”
“That is it. That is fucking…it!” I know I’m only talking to myself, but god fucking damn it, there is trash spread out all over the lawn.
And it’s all North’s fault.
I swear to god he is some kind of witch and told his damned crows to tear apart the bag sticking out of the top of the can to make me suffer. And all because what? I ate some of his spaghetti?
Turning around, I storm inside and throw a pot into the sink, filling it with water. It nearly spills over, so I tip out half and then bang it down on the stove and start the flame on high. My head is a foggy mess of stress, anger, and a few other emotions I can’t quite name, but it doesn’t matter.
I’m putting a stop to this right now.
“Gonna fucking show him,” I mutter as I throw a few handfuls of salt in the water. Turning to the fridge, I wrench it open and stare inside. I have heavy cream and some of that powdered Parmesan stuff in the shaker bottle, which probably isn’t the cheese that was used, but so fucking what.
It’ll do.
Cheese is cheese, right?
I slam it down on the counter and glower at the not-boiling water.
“I’ll make his fucking spaghetti and then make him clean my yard up because I am not doing it anymore!”
I’m well aware that yelling at myself in my own kitchen is probably a bad sign, but I can’t take it anymore. My heart is racing, my adrenaline firing through all four of my limbs, and my face is red-hot.
I probably look like a tomato, but I don’t care. I can’t control my frustration any longer.
Why does he have to live behind me? Why does he have to torment me every chance he gets?
Why did he have to see me naked and laugh like I was the most pathetic thing he’d ever seen.
I know I’m not some fit, gorgeous guy. I’m soft around the edges—too thin because I forget to eat, I have scars on my body from the Incident, and an outie belly button, which really seems to freak some guys out.
I don’t have perfectly coiled blond curls like Easton does, and they only behave on leap days.
I’m awkward, and that oozes out of my every pore.
But the way North had looked at me made me feel…
Small. And sad.
And it was a reminder why I won’t ever try for another great love because it was a fucking miracle Liam liked me in the first place. Why would anyone else?
I blink and realize the water’s boiling, so I throw in a handful of the spaghetti I just bought, then smash my finger over the timer on the microwave, giving it six minutes.
That’s probably enough time for spaghetti, right? I could read the box, but everything seems a little off right now, and I doubt I could tell the difference between letters and numbers, no matter how hard I tried.
My head starts to feel a little fuzzy, but it’s probably just my system trying to regulate. I take a few breaths and remind myself that when I face North, I need to be reasonable. Steady. To not look like a fucking madman and throw the spaghetti in his face.
My mother and father, who both thought social propriety was the only thing that mattered in life, taught me how to be polite, even in the face of someone you can’t stand.
So I can do that.
I can hide my grimace in a grin and make him stop sending his goddamn birds to torment me.
The timer goes off, and I jump half a foot. As I reach for the pot, the world sways.
Shit. That’s not a good sign. It’s…bad, right? I think it’s bad. But I don’t have time for bad. I have to bring him this make-up meal so the slate between us will finally be wiped clean.
I grab tongs and burn the shit out of my hand as I pull the noodles from the water and slap them into a plastic container. Staring at it, I forget what comes next. Pasta water? I put in a ladle full.
Then…cheese?
I pull the top but realize it’s the one with the gaping hole and not the little shaker part, and a massive pile pours out on the top. Whatever. It’s fine. I give it a stir, then add the heavy cream, and now it’s…
Kind of…soupy.
But cheese thickens, right? As it cools?
I know I’ve heard that somewhere.
I stir it a bit more, then toss the fork into the sink, slap the lid on, and march right out my front door. Halfway down the street, I realize I have no idea if I closed it or not, but it’s not like I have anything worth stealing.
There’s what? A laptop holding a book a quarter of the way done with probably ten thousand usable words, a bunch of collectors Star Wars mugs Easton’s been giving me every year since I was ten and realized how much I was in love with Luke Skywalker, and thieves wouldn’t look twice at the rest of my stuff.
My life is sad, and suddenly, I feel like crying as I round the corner of the street and see North’s house in the distance.
It looks oddly far away, but also very close. I don’t know why. I’m pretty sure that means something, but I can’t seem to get my head to focus on one single thought. I put everything I have into moving one foot in front of the other, and I count my steps to keep me focused.
It feels like this walk is taking an eternity, but before I can panic, I realize I’m on his doorstep.
And now I’m meant to…
Shit. What’s the next step? It’s not shouting his name, though that seems like a fair option, but I take a breath instead and think.
Knock, right. I have to knock. Or wait, doorbells are a thing. I eye the little button on the wood panel, which also looks strangely far away, but I reach for it, and my finger collides with it so hard it hurts my knuckle.
“Ow. Fuck!”
I hold my finger against it, and I can hear a very loud, long buzzing coming from somewhere.
“Jesus Christ, what do you want—” North’s voice dies as he opens the door and stares at me. His eyes are so pretty and so wide and so blue. He blinks, then suddenly reaches out and smacks my hand away from the buzzer. “What are you doing here?”
I lick my lips. Has my tongue always felt this strange in my mouth? “Spaghetti. I made it. Now you can call your crows off.”
He stares at me as I shove the pasta at him. Brows dipping low, he seems confused. “Leo? What’s happening right now? You’re not talking sense.”
What the hell is he going on about? What’s so hard to understand about spaghetti? “I’m fine! I made you pasta. Now we’re even.”
He says nothing for a moment, and then he goes pale. “Oh, hell. You’re not okay, are you?”
I watch in slow motion as the pasta container falls to his feet, and then I have just enough time to glance up at him. That’s when I realize I’m about to seize, seconds before my limbs completely give out on me.
The last thing I’m aware of is him catching me before I hit the ground.
And then it all goes black.