Stories under the Velvet Sky

Chapter Nine: Watch What You Say

Chapter 9: Watch What You Say

My stomach finally had the guts to stop whining at me after I devoured a sandwich or three. Now I was receiving a wide-eyed stare from Adrian as I completed my mid-afternoon snack with a giant glass of chocolate milk. Though there was a reason for him staring at me like that.

“I thought you were lactose intolerant,” he finally spoke up, having followed me from the living room; probably to make sure I didn't injure myself with any of the cooking utensils. Not that he would let me even use any...

I shrugged, gulping down the last of the delicious chocolate beverage, mildly disgusted by the feeling the drink left in my mouth, “Eh, I'll be fine,” I was indeed lactose intolerant, but it wasn't so bad that a glass of milk would incapacitate me, “Don't worry about it. You're not going to be the one sitting on the toilet clutching your stomach later, wondering why the hell you even thought about touching the glass.”

Occasionally, I had the urge to eat or drink things I shouldn't: like milk. If something had lactose in it, in high quantities, say Walnut Shrimp for example, I could expect to be sitting on the porcelain outer rim for, running back and forth between whatever I'm doing, and ungodly 'Oh Crap!' moments. There was probably a pill I could take to not suffer from such symptoms, but I was too lazy to go out and buy it.

Adrian face-palmed, pinching his nose and sighing exasperatedly, “You should have come with a warning label, ' Warning: Noxious Fumes, Do not approach from behind.' or something,” as if that were very funny.

Glaring at him, I made to clean up my mess, only to find that he had already started by taking my dishes from me and was cleaning them in the sink with a sponge and soap, “Stop stealing my chores,” I didn't really have a comeback for his poor taste in humor, so I acted as if he hadn't said anything at all.

Perhaps sensing that I had ignored his remark, he smiled and placed the dishes in the washer, “Sorry, not going to happen,” at least he's honest about it I suppose, “Until your limbs are all healed and the doctor says you can get your casts removed, consider me your willing servant. Within reason of course,” he added with a deep mocking bow.

Oh I feel ever so much better! “Yeah, I don't need a servant, jackass,” I bit, not quite gathering why his declaration made me angry. From what I could understand, just about everything about him ticked me off... so why were we supposedly friends?

“No, you need help, and you're not willing to admit it to yourself that you do,” now he was angry too, scowling and grabbing me around the waist to half-drag, half-carry me into the living room to force me to sit down on the couch,  “I know you're proud of being able to take care of yourself, that's admirable Kathryne, but forcing yourself to do things while your injured will only make things worse,” his brows pushed together, and combined with the frown he was wearing, he looked incredibly concerned for my well-being.

It was.... how to put it... touching? Yes, that's the word I'm looking for, his words were touching. They made me feel all warm and tingly inside. I could feel some of that warmth rushing to my face, turning into a bright red blush, “I don't want to have other people do things for me,” I protested weakly; halfheartedly trying to make my point.

It had been so long since I had depended on others that I'd forgotten how. I wanted to do things myself, for myself, for no other reason than that I would gain something as a result. I didn't do things for other people, or took their wants into account when I did things. It was my way of protecting me from others; from getting too close to others.

Adrian sighed again, moving to sit next to me, looking me dead in the eyes, “I understand how you feel, but depending on another person doesn't make you weak. I won't ask for anything in return, if that makes you feel better,” which it didn't, because now I felt like I was taking advantage of his kindness.