Her Therapist

Chapter 12.

SEBASTIAN

"Omelet sounds good?", I repeat and snap her from her thoughts. She turns her head to me, her lips parted, and her expression still confused.

"Mhm", she hums, and I smile. I really smile, happy that she didn't refuse this nor said she hated it. This is what I call a progress. She moves from the fridge so I can take the rest of the ingredients, I need. I start making my... our breakfast, throwing glances at her.

She is wandering through my house, pouting at the artwork I have hung on the wall. She even snorts at the Girl with the pearl earring and tries to imitate her, posing like her. I chuckle, but thank God, the noise of oil chirping covers it, so she doesn't tell me to stop it. While I wait for the eggs to cook, I lean on the counter and watch her. She keeps wandering, skipping even on her feet, while studying my lonely, but elegant and fancy home. She narrows her eyes at each art, and I need to bite my lip to surpress the laugh each time she starts posing like the people in the photos.

"I know this woman!", she squeaks, pointing her little finger at... I tilt my head to see whom, and when I do, I bite my tongue, which almost starts to bleed.

"Mona Lisa, yes, so?"

"She was in some war, was she?"

I burst into a laugh. She knits her eyebrows, and I scold myself for doing this and ruining her... non-aggressive behavior. "No, um", I rush to correct myself, "she was, um, she is just famous for her mystery."

"Mystery?" She cocks her eyebrow and tilts her head, causing her short hair to fall on her face. She puffs her lips and moves them with only her breath. "What mystery?"

"Well", I flip the egg on the other side, "people aren't sure if she is smiling or not."

"She's not", she says at the same time I say she is.

"How she's not?" I frown. "It's clear that she is smiling. Like a half-smile or something like that."

"That's bullshit, Tomlinson."

I chuckle, adding leek and bacon in the pan. My last name sound so intriguing coming from her lips, but, hell my first name even bet... Mentally facepalming myself I shake my head, and concentrate on cooking, when suddenly I startle when Larsson falls in one of the bar stools that are placed next to the counter, so it does look like a real bar counter. I just miss the drinks. Conor's words, not mine. He even used to put some of them here, whenever he'd come he'd bring one, but I would throw them all away, and lie to him that I drank it. I know that he knows the truth. Scio me scire.

"What's bullshit, Larsson?" My lips curl in a smile.

"I don't like your house", she pouts and rests her chin on her palms, and her elbows on the counter. "In fact, I hate it.

"I'm not surprised", I murmur in my chin, but she doesn't hear me, as she continues describing my house, with her hand waving through the air.

"... it's... Full of people!", she exclaims.

There Esther I have to, for the first time since we met, agree with you. It is full of people.

"I mean, are you obsses...", the sneezing stops her. She shakes her head, and I notice the way her body quivers, and how she covers her legs, shivering. "Shit!"

"Put on that clothes you threw at me beforehand", I order.

"No, I hat..."

"What do you hate, Esther? Clothes? So, do you prefer going around naked? Come on, put it on, you are cold and considering the way we were soaked yesterday, I'm afraid you might have caught a cold."