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“What?” She almost whispers in a checked-out voice, it feels too distant for my liking.
“Come here.” I leave no room for arguments.
She needs orders, something to pull her out of her own head.
It’s written all over her face that her thoughts are tearing her apart. It already kills me to know she regrets what happened between us, but I refuse to let her drown in it.
“No.” She mumbles but her body follows me the moment I grab her hand.
Her gaze remains fixed somewhere beyond me, unfocused and empty, looking through my body instead of at it.
Little by little, the vibrant green of her irises seems to disappear beneath widening pupils until all I can see is black.
She’s not really here, is she?
I glance at her, leaning forward to land a kiss on her forehead, where there should’ve been a scar from the injury, the blood I saw that night, three years ago.
She doesn’t move, she doesn’t pull away, or come closer. Her eyes don’t blink, and I hear a loud crack emerging from somewhere within me.
On the verge of losing it, I almost shake her body but stop short at doing so. I don’t want to hurt her.
Should I go?
And leave her here like this?
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
It’s not about me. I remind myself and inhale a deep breath.
It’s about her.
“I’m starving.” I announce, clapping my hands together with far more enthusiasm than I feel. “Let’s eat something.”
I walk out of the room, waiting to see if she’ll follow. Nothing.
I hear no movement for a while and contemplate going back in.
“Elara? Come here, baby.” I call out.
I don’t know when it started—this need to be gentle with her, to worry about how she’s feeling—but it came to me as naturally as breathing.
A smile threatens to break free when I hear her feet shuffle before I see her.
“Why are you standing there? Help me, I don’t know how to cook.” I lie through my teeth.
I’m disappointed when I don’t hear a jab, something like, well, starve then. I don’t know how to cook either, pervert.
Instead, she just trails behind me, her steps slow, eyes empty.
It is worse than before, she was at least a bit interactive yesterday, right now it’s like she’s hollowed out, walking without really being here.
What happened all of a sudden?
I move around her kitchen, pulling together what I need for pancakes. The space is small—barely more than a corner carved into her apartment—but everything is within reach, squeezed into the cramped little kitchen.
The place is a mess. A couple of coffee mugs are scattered beside the coffee machine, abandoned where she’d left them. The fridge is almost empty, the cabinets no better.
It looks like she survives on coffee and sheer stubbornness. How the fuck has she been keeping herself alive if she isn’t eating?
