Addicted

Chapter 31

Camilla-

After 50 leaves I creep back into the living room.  Marshall is looking out the window near the driveway, his chest heaving up and down like crazy. I chose the nearest seat, a cozy small couch which I sit down, and cross my legs and glance around the room.

All of a sudden, Marshall rips around, still pissed, veins throbbing on the side of his head. He sits on another couch, on the OPPOSITE side on the room and stares at the wall, arms crossed.

Timid, I ask, " Marshall, it's okay."

He snaps his head towards me, " Yeah, Camilla everything is just peachy now right? Let's just dance around and have a party and fucking take jello shots. I just found out my fucking supposed friend whats to fucking fuck you. But, that's just okay, because well it's 50 Cent and he's just a happy go lucky fellow, right?"

I look down all my hands, afraid of what he's going to do next. Throw something, hit something?

I gulp, hit me?

Is this the fear Kim felt when he got mad. What should I do now? I peek up and he's still looking at me. I look down again. Just act like nothings wrong, Cammy, just act normal.

I get up from the couch, and head back into the kitchen. Make breakfast Camilla, be good woman, act like Marshall isn't be a piss pants.  I head towards the mega fridge, and open it's door. 

Leftover Spaghetti ( I quietly chuckle about that in my head) 

Diet Coke

Butter, Milk, mustard, ketchup

leftover Taco Bell

Letteuce

Tomato 

Pickles

Assorted meats, cheeses

Hamburger

Bacon 

Eggs

Veggies and fruit 

I hum. What the hell am I going to make for breakfast to turn Marshall's frown upside down? 

He likes tacos, maybe make him like taco scrambled eggs? Nasty, Cam, you want to make him smile, not puke. 

I bite my lip, and take out the eggs, I'll make omelettes.  Who doesn't like omelettes?

Inspired, I grab the bacon and the fruit he has. I'll make a fruit salad, I frown,  well, a sad fruit salad, his selection of fruit is a bit boring and very small.  In hum as a crack the eggs and place them in a frying pan, and set the bacon  in another small, frying pan. I add cheese and mushrooms, plus tomatoes and peppers into the omelettes, when when both are finished I turn the heat on low, and cut the pineapple, honeydew and slice strawberries.

As I place all of my goodies on the table, Marshall walks in and looks at the table and see's the bounty of food I have provided. I stand near the stove with my hands clasp and smile pasted on my face.

Marshall then looks at me, " I don't like omelettes,"

My heart sinks, " I can make you scrambled eggs, or sunny side up, or even poached if you want with toast, why didn't I make toast before, I'm such a bad person . . . ." I rant and rant,  feeling hurt.

He gives me his crooked smile, " gotcha, "

My smile, my heart flying and my mind singing a song of thanks.

Maybe, he isn't as good for me as I think he is