A Thousand Storms

04 chasing

"There's no meat in it," I explained.

She paused, deliberating. When she stared at me with those wide hazel eyes, I couldn't breathe.

"Okay," she said softly.

I nodded. She sat back on the couch and I switched the TV on for her.

"Hey, can you put on Cartoon Network?" she asked.

I held back a smile. There she was— the girl that reversed into my bike and wears animated shirts. I changed the channel and left the remote at the coffee table.

Warming up the pisto, I served it to her on a white plate. She accepted it with both hands and another polite "thank you."

She took a bite, and audibly moaned. Something inside me stirred at the sound.

"Did you make this?" she asked, her bright eyes wide.

I nodded. I could cook—my mother had taught me. Mexican food was my forté. Spanish food, which she was eating right now, I'd learnt how to make myself. She smiled, impressed.

I didn't admit it out loud, but I wanted that smile to be there forever. For once, I felt like I'd done the right thing. For once, I hadn't fucked things up.

"Are you Hispanic?" she asked.

I met her gaze, then nodded slightly. "Yeah."

The room delved into silence as she continued forking the pisto into her mouth at an alarming rate, and I wondered how she was still so damn small. At a little over 6 feet, I practically towered over her short frame.

I sighed. "I'll help you look for it," I said.

She knit her brows together. "What?"

"Whatever you want to find here. I'll help you look for it."

I gave her orange juice, and left, not giving either of is time to think about why I'd said what I did. It had come as second nature, the need to help her. Which was misplaced, because that was not me.

I didn't help people.

A few minutes later, I returned to find the glass empty and Ever sprawled across my couch, very still and very asleep.

Her jeans left nothing to the imagination, probably why the deprived assholes at the garage were getting loud. Logan had kept them at bay, though.

Seeing the female species at Charley's was rare—I knew this. It was another dick move on my part. I shouldn't have asked her to come.

That Cartoon Network t-shirt she had on was riding up, exposing the skin of her stomach. I averted my gaze.

I considered waking her up but... she looked so much like herself in that moment, so at peace, her blonde hair making her look angelic.

I couldn't.

So I dug out a blanket from my cupboard, draped it over her body, and switched off the lights.

I didn't know whether I'd regret it in the morning.

*

Ever

I woke up with a slight buzzing feeling on my palm, and lifted it up to see it covered in a bandage tied with a deft hand. My apartment looked way too neat to be mine. That was because, I realized quickly, it wasn't.

Everything came back to me in flashes. Mason was my neighbour. The broken jars. I'd fallen asleep on his couch.

Stupid, stupid girl. There were things that even a full night's sleep couldn't help you forget, like...