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When I’m done chopping tomatoes and mushrooms, ham and cheese, I crack eggs into a bowl and begin to whisk. Eventually, I glance over to her and sigh.
Her face is contorted into a mask of confusion as her brow furrows and she chews on the corner of her lip. Darkness swirls in the green of her eyes and every now and then she rubs her temples as if trying to stave off a headache.
“Ask,” I command and Mikaela bites back a frown before she speaks.
“Why were you outside my door last night?” Her voice is stronger than I think even she thought it would be and I see a flicker of pride in her eyes.
“Because I came to apologise,” I state simply. “And I was worried about you.”
“Oh.” Mikaela shakes her head and her lips purse into a thin line. “Why?”
Placing the bowl and whisk down on the counter before turning to face her, I breathe deeply. Now this feels even harder than before.
“I came to say I was sorry for how I behaved. I was here to tell you I was an idiot, because you’re Jamie’s baby sister and I should never have kissed you or pushed any of my feelings, whatever they may be, on to you.” I watch as she swallows hard before I close my eyes for the briefest moment, telling myself the dejection I saw in her is my own and not truly hers. “I came to tell you I’m going to stop pushing you to talk about it, or give me answers you can’t give me. I just - I want us to be okay again, but it’s harder to say all that than I thought it would be. And I came because, even though you said you didn’t need me, I was worried you were getting yourself into something that could - something that could take you from me again, and the thought of not speaking to you again... I hate it.”
“Were we ever okay, Haston?” Her head tilts to the right as she smiles and I sigh with the relief of seeing laughter dancing behind her eyes.
“Touché.” I grin as I return to the cooking; pouring half of the eggs into the skillet.
“Ben?”
“Yes, Mik.”
She moves to my side quickly, taking the pan from my hand as I watch her, placing it away from the heat, and quickly wrapping her arms around me.
She buries her face in my chest and I wrap around her, holding her close as I breathe in the smell of honeysuckle from her hair.
Wrapped up in her, I close my eyes and try to steady the aching thud of my heart. The softness of her, of having her holding on to me with such ease, is a comfort I know I’m beginning to crave.
Or maybe, just maybe, I aways have.
Mikaela
“Thank you for staying.”
His hand brushes against my neck as he holds me and I shiver beneath his touch.
I pull back slightly, my face upturned as he looks down at me and, for a second, it’s as if nothing dark has happened. Nothing dark, nothing painful. The sting of it all just melts away as he looks at me, his fingers soft against my skin, and I take a deep breath.
Slowly, I push up on my tiptoes and my eyes close. For the briefest of moments I can feel his lips hovering over my own, I feel his breath fanning over my skin and taste the coffee on his breath, and then he sighs and he’s gone and his arms are no longer around me and my chest hurts again.
“You don’t want that, Mik,” he murmurs as he adds ingredients to the pan and shakes his head. “Not really.”
Heat floods my cheeks as I step back and turn away from him, desperately biting back any tears that might spill. I move back to my seat and curl in on myself.
When he places the food in front of me I mumble a thank you and push bites around the plate, aware of his eyes burning into the side of my face.
“Eat, Mikaela.”
I spear a piece omelette and bring it to my mouth.As I chew, I groan.I don’t want to admit it - not when he’s just pushed me away so easily, not when I’m angry at myself for thinking that after his little speech, after I pushed him away without even thinking of what it could be to hold him, he’d even want to kiss me again - but the food is good and my stomach needs it.
Ben
I watch her as she eats.Her eyes don’t meet mine again and she remains in silence the whole time we sit together, but I watch her.I watch her and I hate myself. I hate that I pushed her away, even though every single cell in my body pulls me to her, even when all I can think about is how much I want to erase her pain; to hold her and make her see that she is safe. I hate myself for wanting that when what she needs is a friend, not someone who would take advantage of her vulnerability. I hate that she is vulnerable and I hate that I want her. I want every single piece of her.
Occasionally, she shifts uncomfortably in her chair and my mind roams to the raw red scrapes on her back, scrapes that seem so much harsher in the bright light of day. Pain radiates from her, and she curls in against herself the longer we sit together.
“Mik, I thi-”
