Turning the tables

Chapter 8 - Hush, little pine tree

"Well, you seem to like my cooking." Bill chuckled, making me huff.
"No, actually, it's horrible, like eating a mud pie and worms," I said sarcastically, Bill pressing a hand to his chest.
"You wound me, Pine tree," Bill said dramatically, leaning back. The chair fell backwards with Bill's weight, a smash and a yelp resounding in the otherwise quiet kitchen. I instantly began laughing, almost choking on some shrimp as I did so. Bill glared at me playfully from the ground, more offended than actually angry.

"Don't laugh! it's not funny!" Bill said although he was bitting back his own bursts of laughter. I continued to laugh, doubling over as my stomach began to hurt. Bill started laughing as well, the kitchen filled with nothing but our laughter. As we laughed, Bill picked himself and the chair up, dusting himself off as he sat back down.
"Okay, okay, no more laughing, pine tree. I could have been severely wounded, but you would have never known because you were too busy laughing at me!" Bill exclaimed, still lightly chuckling. I shook my head, still chuckling as well.
"No, you would have been fine, you're just overdramatic." I said, taking another bite.

"Says the one who sings Babba in the shower." I nearly choked again, having to cover my mouth so I didn't cough out my food. I finished my bite, looking at Bill wide-eyed.
"I'm not the one who started the incident!" I retorted, although my tone was playful. Bill's face fell slightly, and he frowned. I frowned as well, feeling bad for bringing it up. Bill seemed to notice how guilty he looked since he smiled.
"Hey! Hey, it's cool, okay? That's in the past. We're okay now, remember?" Bill cheerily reminded, though the uncertainty in his voice was easy to hear, and I nodded.

"Yeah... We're cool now." It was awkward for a moment before Bill offered his hand.
"Fist bump?" He questioned. I laughed at his attempt to make it less awkward, but I gave in and we fist-bumped.
We both settled back into our chairs, eating dinner while we made small talk about what we had done today. Once dinner was over, I cleaned up the kitchen and washed the dishes, since Bill cooked.

"Thanks, Bill!" I called as I rushed upstairs, getting a distant "Welcome!" from below me, though it sounded slightly uncertain. I went into my room and back up to the loft, where Freud was squeaking for food.
I chuckled and made him his dinner, introducing some of the meat mush since he should be able to eat it by now. The little hedgett gladly lapped down the food, and so I wrote about the hedgett's diet so far. It had only been an hour when I received a knock on my door.

"Come in!" I called from my desk, Bill walking in almost immediately after I had said it.
"Hey, uh... can we talk?" He asked softly, catching my full attention. I turned to look at him, noticing how he was nervously fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
"Uh... Yeah, sure..." I said, standing up and hopping out of the loft, walking over and sitting in my bed. He inched forward slightly, shifting nervously from foot to foot until I patted the spot in front of me on the bed, inviting him to sit with me. He gladly did so, sitting down at the end of my bed.
"So, uh... about last night..." Bill started, and I immediately got defensive.
"What about it?" I asked, shrinking away slightly.

"What was the dream about?" He asked, looking uncertain. I frowned, trying to think of what exactly the dream was about.
"I... I don't remember the details, but we were talking, and... and then the sky split and It was just so... so cold..." I said, starting to tear up. Bill frowned, obviously recalling the incident as well. I quickly whipped my eyes, not wanting to cry in front of him again.
"I should... I should get back to work..." I mumbled, going up into my loft. Bill just nodded, but he didn't leave yet.

"Actually... can we talk about-"
"No," I said firmly before he had a chance to finish.
"I...I don't want to speak about the incident..." I whispered, getting even more upset. Bill was silent, but I knew he had seen me start crying.
Bill left the room, leaving me to cry on my own.

It was nearly midnight, now, and I had stopped crying nearly an hour ago. Bill had attempted to bring me water and chocolate, but I refused. I didn't want to see him, talk to him, let alone eat or drink anything he would give me; I could tell that he felt guilty by the way he looked at me and acted.
Psychology 101 is how to tell guilt apart from manipulation, and he was certainly guilty. He ended up feeding Freud for me, though, since I was shaking too much to do so myself. I guess just because I had stopped crying, it did not mean my nerves had completely calmed. I had tried to thank him, but I found that my voice didn't seem ready to cooperate at the moment.

It was now 12:35 am, and I was finally starting to calm down, my body no longer shaking as much. I was exhausted, and I still felt the tight pain in my chest, but I simply could not allow myself to keep wallowing in my sorrow, not when I had work to do.
I sighed, getting out of bed and going down the stairs to get some coffee. I downed the black coffee within 30 seconds of my first sip, returning to my room to continue working.
However, it seemed like certain god-like beings had different plans for me tonight.