Last Night

Part 13

"I'm sorry." It was all I could think to say. He'd tried to commit suicide. It hurt to think about, the pain from last night still burning my throat and pounding in my head. Had it hurt more because Ian intentionally did it? Why didn't it work? Did he give up because he still wanted to live? Did Philip realize he'd gone too far? Did he lie there praying someone would stumble upon him again and bring him back? Did he hate me because I never showed up that time?

"Hey, you okay?"

I didn't turn around as I nodded and closed the door behind me. I blinked a few times, but my eyes remained dry. I must have drunk so much that my body wouldn't let me waste any water on crying. The dull ache in my heart pounded in time with my skull while I splashed some water on my face, brushed my teeth, and changed into my jean shorts and wide strapped tanktop.

When I stepped out, I hadn't expected to hear a hissing sound from the kitchen nor the delicious smell of pancakes. I peeked around the fridge and saw Ian standing at the stove. "What are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious? I thought you were supposed to have a great sense of smell?" He smiled at me over his shoulder, before looking back at his task.

There was no stopping it. My jaw dropped a bit, which was awkward because my mouth was watering at the smell of breakfast food, my favorite type. He stood there content with working even though he seemed a little concerned about whatever was happening to the pan. His arms flexed as he lifted it into the air and began scrapping eggs from the bottom of my stainless-steel pan. He'd probably forgotten to add more oil. The smile had faded from his lips and his eyes narrowed at the mess that he'd made.

Before my mouth could drip, my lips closed and curled into a smile. I walked over to him with a shake of my head and turned off the stovetop. "That's plenty for me. When was the last time you made breakfast?"

"1973."

He was full of surprises this morning and being so forthcoming with information was nearly at top of that list, following closely behind being in my bed when I woke up. That was probably going to haunt me later, but I didn't want to think about what that meant now. "Really? That's almost forty years ago."

"The concept is still the same, I'm just a little out of practice."

"A little?" I glanced up at him sidelong. His scent tingled my nose pleasantly as I stood next to him. I swallowed as my mouth had continued to water. "How about we just sit down to eat now?"

He chuckled for a second while that mischievous glint flickered in his eyes. "How about I grab something for myself from my place? Go ahead and start without me. I wouldn't want you to lose your appetite for some reason."

Whatever saliva I'd gathered evaporated when I realized what I'd said. I walked quickly away from him to the corner with my clean dishes and grabbed both a fork and knife. Was I going to turn into an undead creature like him if he bit me one more time?

Ian didn't even look at me as he set the pan down on an unused burner and left.

Thank goodness I hadn't done anything else idiotic like grabbing a butcher knife instead of a butter knife. He was being oddly friendly today so I shouldn't ruin it with paranoia.

Rather than sit down in my Recliner of Refuge, I instead chose to sit on one end of the couch. Placate, don't isolate. That thought ran through my head up until I heard a brief knock on my door and Ian popped back in with a silver thermos. I took a bite of pancakes and a scoop of slightly blackened, scrambled eggs.

He really was going to keep me company. What had I said when he showed up? He said I was about to walk out of the apartment when he'd intervened. Why'd he ask why I was a bad, big sister? My eyes widened, my breath caught in my throat, and I whipped around to stare at him.