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“Right.”
No, no, no. Not “right.” Wrong.
She stared at what he’d handed her so far. Two packs of maple-flavored bacon, what looked and felt like two butcher-wrapped steaks and a bag of expensive coffee.
What the fuck?
“Put that shit away, then help with the rest.”
“I don’t need your help.” Talking to him was like talking to a brick wall. It was not only frustrating, it was pointless.
The man did not fucking listen.
Trip’s hand stilled deep inside one of the bags and he lifted his dark brown eyes to hers. “Say that again?” He slipped his hand out, empty this time, and raised it, palm out. He jerked his chin toward her barely eaten PB and J. “Two bites of that fuckin’ sandwich.”
“You interrupted my dinner.”
“A PB and J doesn’t count as fuckin’ dinner, Stella. Saw your ribs showin’ earlier when I was suckin’ your tits. Too fuckin’ skinny.” He snagged the two packages of bacon from her arms and went over to the fridge.
Damn it.
He flung open the door and jerked both hands up and out in an exasperated move before tossing the bacon onto one of the shelves and turning to face her. “It’s fuckin’ empty.”
Stella let her gaze slide over the mountain of bags as she told her next lie. “I haven’t had a chance to go shopping.”
“Goddamn it, woman, don’t fuckin’ lie to me. Ever.” The last was said with extreme annoyance. “Don’t like fuckin’ liars.”
She stood there in stunned silence, unsure what to do or say. Because whatever she did or said would go ignored.
He went back to the bags and yanked out a waxed paper bag which filled that tiny corner of the apartment with a smell so damn delicious, her stomach growled. She slapped a hand to it to quiet it.
It pretty much gave her the finger just like Trip.
He unrolled the top of the bag, glanced inside, sniffed and smiled. “Now that’s what you need.” He picked the PB and J off the plate and chucked it into the trash can sitting at the end of the short counter. He dug out two large, still steaming pieces of fried chicken and dropped them on her plate. “Sit the fuck down and eat those.”
“Thought you wanted me to help you.”
“Eat first.”
“You’ll be finished before I’m done eating.”
“Think I’m capable of puttin’ away some fuckin’ groceries. Just like I was when I went to fuckin’ Walmart to get ‘em for you.”
She bet that was a sight. Him pushing a grocery cart wearing that fucking cut.
She closed her eyes.
She was being an ungrateful bitch.
But she didn’t like what he had done without asking. Being pushy. Forcing her to accept his help without her agreeing to it.
If she accepted any help from him, she would be beholden to him.
She didn’t want to owe him anything.
She didn’t want to owe anyone anything, not just Trip.
Even so, plenty of other people in this town knew she was struggling and not one of them had brought her groceries. Not one.
She opened her eyes again as the plastic bags rustled. He was digging more stuff out and stacking some of the non-perishable items in one corner. Crackers, cookies, soups and more. She didn’t have a lot of storage; the kitchen was so small that there was barely any space available to keep canned or dry goods here. But there was plenty of space down in the storage room, if she needed it.
Since moving in, she hadn’t needed it. Plus, she was worried about mice.
“Eat the damn chicken, Stella, before I feed it to you.”
“I’m fine.”
He went solid, his back still to her. Then he spun on his heels and took the two large steps separating them and yanked the top of her tank down enough to show her collarbones. He ran a finger over one of them. “This is not fine.” He jerked the hem of her tank top up and spanned one side of her rib cage with his fingers. “This is not fuckin’ fine.”
She slapped his hands away. When she escaped his house, she hadn’t taken the time to put her bra back on and since she was the thinnest she’d ever been, since before...
Well, before...
She really could get away without wearing one since her breasts had shrunk a bit.
She knew she was too thin not only because of seeing it in the mirror, but because her clothes were hanging off her and even sometimes had to use a belt to keep jeans up.
She used to love to eat and cook. She even used to love to bake. Especially birthday cakes for...
She hadn’t died that day but everything inside her had.
Too many times she wondered if she even had the strength to go on. But somehow, she had enough to take that next breath, to wake up that next morning, no matter how hard it was.
