All the bad things {18+}

Rebound Pt.1 | 12

Several weeks pass and i haven't seen him, not for long anyways.
The table is silent and the air is thick, the sounds of our spoons hitting the plates are the only noises.

There's only us here, the guards stand waiting outside the double doors.
He looks sullen and sick. I hate people being sick, not because it was contagious but because of how miserable they looked.
I was half an empath, the things around me affect me.

He looks like he was struggling to eat as well.
"Stop staring at me." He says not looking up from his plate of whatever-the-fuck that transparent thing he's eating is.

"You don't look too good." He lifts his eyes but not his head. He looked ~ pitiful?

"I don't see how that's your problem." He says bringing a spoon to his mouth.

"I'm saying that perhaps you could get your mood up by eating something, I dunno, Hot, spicy?" I suggest.

"I'm not a fan of spicy food." He cooly says.
"Well, today you don't have a choice." I stand up, grabbing him before we walk to the kitchen from the back hallway. It's empty so i put some jollof rice out for him.
We recently hired a Nigerian chef, as per criteria he had to be a man but he knew his stuff.

"What's this?" He asks as I grab a spoon, holding his cheeks between my hands i half force feed him the steaming dish.
I've never initiated contact with him before, it felt strange but seeing him like that ruined all appetite I've worked up.

"D'you like it?" I ask pouring him a bottle of wine. He is a picky eater.

"It's okay, I guess?"
"You guess?"
"Fine, it's good."

I sit beside him, using my phone as he eats. I'm alerted that he stood up once I feel a shift in the air. He walks towards the sink and washes his hands.

I see the plate beside me.
"Hey, Lomonosov." He turns to face me, gestures to the plate i say. "Pick it up. You're a grown man not a toddler."

He rolls his eyes and walks away.
"Moron, pick it up."

He stops. "What did you just call me?"

"Moron," I say with a certain tone that could be defined as aggravating. "Pick it the fuck up."

"Stop it." He hisses.
"If you're going to act like a child, sure as hell I'll treat you like one, now." I point to the plate.
He doesn't move for a second before he picks up the plate begrudgingly.

He stands in front of me, looking over as i look up from my sitting position.
"What are you staring at?" I ask. The low cut skims dress i was wearing was a bit revealing.
No doubt he was looking at my chest.

He cocks his eyebrow and tilts his head to the side before swishing away.
"You look good." He corners out. His tone was flat and didn't denote any thing so I couldn't tell if his words came from a perverse place.

I look down at my breasts, they were perfect if anything. I loved my body and willingly spent money on it. The plastic surgery was not cheap.
I felt awkward having the ass of an African auntie but the chest of a child. Clothes did not look good on me.

I go out into the hallway, i watch him walk away.
Even his steps mirror his mood,
too unsure, a little downcast.
I was worried about him, shouldn't he be hooking up with other people by now?
Honey must've really mattered to him.

I hide behind the corner post, biting on my nail i try to figure out what next.
"I'd love to keep my distance..." I mutter, once again looking at him walk away. "but for some reason I can't stand watching you be this sad."

I grab my phone, looking for his number only to realise that i hadn't saved it.
I was just going to ask him to meet me outside but apparently i now had to meet him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mustering enough courage, i knock on his room door. The steaming fruit cake at hand,

Food is the solution to all problems~ right?

"Petrov, now is not the~" He pulls open the door, revealing me instead of his said guest.
He looks down at me and the offering of peace i bring.

"You're not trying to kill me, are you?" He leans against the door frame, his arms crossed against each other.
He was shirtless, with only grey sweatpants as his clothing.
In usual feminine nature, i look down to see the outline of a certain something.

"Anything you like babe?" He smiles drunkenly.
"Ew, don't be such a whore." I offer the cake.
"I don't like cake, and I'm allergic to raisins."
"But you drink wine and I've seen you eat grapes." I pry.

"I can tolerate those but not that cursed wrinkled shit."
"Oooh, you're cussing. What's gotten into you?" I ask half amused, half intrigued.

"I lost my woman and my kid. I think I'm allowed to be a deviant for now."
There's a moment of silence.

Honey had suffered a miscarriage. She told me that she was happy about it and even called it a free abortion.

She was a bit too cheerful confessing that along with the fact that Lomonosov was an absolute ass kisser to her. I felt bad for him, she might've loved him once but it faded away and she was already continuing with her life all while he drowned him self in liquor to mourn a loss.

"Do you want to come in?" He offers rubbing the back of his neck.
I follow him into his mini penthouse and immediately hold my nose.

"Bro, what the fuck?! This place reeks."

I see several alcohol bottles and ash trays along with the stubs of cigarettes and cigars.
This couldn't be good for him.

"I think you have a problem." I look around, it was fairly clean, yes. But the smell surpassed that of a dead rat.

"Did something die in here?" I ask picking up things to see what lay underneath.
"I doubt..." He flops down onto a sofa, running a hand through his unkept hair. "I didn't want anyone to see me like this."

That's new, so much fermentation and cigar smoke can mimic the stench of death.

I scrunch up my nose, cringing internally. I just want to drop the cake and leave but i can't leave this pitiful cunt like this.

I open the windows and balcony, the light and air makes this place seem ten times better than it was.
I scout the area, taking myself on a tour of some sort.
He had a 'bedroom?' upstairs and a mimic of a living space and office down.

I call Mikhail to bring some cleaning equipment and a change of clothes for me which consisted of shorts and a tank top.

I look at the work in front of me and the bastard snoring lightly in the corner.

"You'd better not kill me after this you cum bucket."

A/N: me when the enemies slowly become lovers. 🥹
Jk, jk, jk.
But seriously Roman, pick up your shit.