(Untitled)
Sometimes I honestly don't know what the hell I'm thinking. I have a nice life, I like my life. Sure, I do have the responsibility of getting a slay or two in every night, and that's stopped me from having a couple of really good evenings, but all in all, I do just fine. I have my health, my education, a nice apartment, financial stability. I don't
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Couldn't sleep all night, so out of some sort of compulsive thing, I ended up cleaning. Me. Cleaning. I guess that few months of playing house boy in the German mansion messed with my head. But whatever. I didn't think Carly'd care a ton if I cleaned the living room... so I did.
And now I'm cooking breakfast. Yes, even a guy can know his way around the kitchen. Martha Stewart, eat your freakin' heart out.
Although maybe I should have put on a shirt... I was standing there in nothing but pants while shooting a little more flame under the food cooking to get it just right. Omlettes with peppers and cheese. Somehow I just thought it'd work.
I looked up when I heard footsteps, and yawned. "Morning." I looked back to the food to make sure it didn't burn with another yawn.
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I remember him being an early riser, so its not surprising that he beat me to the kitchen. On some level, I was expecting it.
I was not expecting to find my living room shinier than it was when I went to bed. I sure as hell didn't think he'd cook; when did decide to become Emeril, anyway?
Then there's the six pack. I'm not staring, no, I'm just wondering where it came from. It's definitely not from playing football, because he thinks that sport is for "moronic skyscrapers".
Most people would call them athletes.
"Good morning, sleepyhead." I smiled, wishing that I'd changed out of my pajamas before I decided to check and see if the ex was up and about.
"I know the weather channel is fairly accurate in their reporting, so maybe I missed something. You're cooking--in my kitchen. This can only mean that hell has frozen over, so I'd just like to know, when did that happen?"
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"Hysterical." I said dryly, flipping the eggs that made up the omlette over and dropping peppers and cheese in, then waiting a second before folding it over. Down to a science. "I did a couple of months playing house boy to get cash at a German Mansion in Munich." I decided it'd probably be a good idea to not tell how long the good Mistress and I had gotten along... despite some serious kinks. "You have to learn a lot."
I dropped the omlette -- which was mine, hers was already done -- in a plate. "Plus there was the posing as a chef who could actually cook in Barcelona..." I shrugged, snatching the coffee pot when I saw it was done and pouring some. "... And the little thing in South London where I had to be both cleaning and cooking guy. Which was craptastic, but whatever."
I glanced over at her. "Coffee, or what
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So he's gotten around. If I remember correctly, that was his goal when he left town. In this instance I can't say that I trust my memory. I was too busy telling myself that I didn't need him, I didn't pay attention to the details.
"Sounds like you had fun. Not in London I guess, but for the most part."
Being pleasant in the morning isn't my speciality. Most mornings, I'm morally opposed to waking up early.
"Coffee, or what?"
"Juice, and I can get it myself, thanks. You know you don't have to wait on me."
I walked over to the refrigerator and took out the apple juice, then grabbed a glass out of the cabinent and filled it up halfway.
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I nodded, looking down to realize that my hand still hadn't moved from its place over his. I'm surprised he let me get away with touching him at all; his father is just a really bad topic. He does a good job of saying the right things to make you think that he's over it, but if you know him the way that I do, you know he's not.
I know a little bit about having a shitty father, its not an aspect of your homelife that is easy to block out, or selectively forget. Its just one of those really sucky problems that you can't get away from whether he's six feet under or across the country.
"Okay, then like I said, we don't have to talk about it."
My voice came out softer, which probably wasn't helping the 'let's drop it' suggestions that I kept making, but whatever. I care about him and that's my concerned voice. Smiling a little, I brushed my thumb lightly over his knuckles.
That whole 'actions speak louder than words' thing. Thats what I was going for.
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"Yeah..." I nodded absently, and felt the movement. I looked down, and realized what was going on. "So." I worked the whole snapping out of it angle, and got up, gently pulling my hand away.
"Kids. Yeah. Don't want 'em, don't think it'd work for me anyway. I'm pretty fastlane with everything lately, I don't think I could take care of someone else, y'know?" I started washing my dish and looked over at hers, trying for a subject change. I tried to keep the plea out of my eyes, but I'm pretty sure it was there anyway. Damn stupid emotional crap.
"You done?" I glanced at her plate, looking back to her calmly.
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Note to self; gestures of concern are going to be lost on him. Either he thinks that I'm hitting on him, or he just doesn't want to be touched. The third option-it just being too awkward, is probably the right one. I'm ignoing that idea based on the fact that this doesn't feel awkward to me. I was just acting on instinct, and I always do that.
"Kids. Yeah. Don't want 'em, don't think it'd work for me anyway. I'm pretty fastlane with everything lately, I don't think I could take care of someone else, y'know?"
I opened my mouth to agree with him, then closed it, watching him go over to the sink. In the few hours that he's been here, Sam has cleaned, cooked, and is now starting to wash the dishes.
"You done?"
And now he's offering to take care of mine. I laughed, thinking over his remark about how he couldn't take care of a kid.
"Yeah, I just...you're really not proving your point."
I got up and walked over to stand beside him, putting my dish under the running water as I started to wash it.
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I forgot how nice her laugh was... and can I stop thinking about that sort of thing for crissakes?!
I rolled my eyes. "I'm neurotic, leave me alone." I muttered, dropping off my dishes smoothly and sitting back on the counter again comfortably. And it's not like that isn't the tiniest bit true, all things considered.
"Wait... which point was I proving?" I have to check these things, and shifted a bit to keep comfortable. "I need to keep track, y'know? Easy to lose points around you." I smiled.
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"You're right!" I said, exasperated. "I didn't! I had no clue! I thought I could just walk away after breaking up with you and not still be in l--"
No. No, Howell you stop right there. We don't admit these things.
I grit my teeth and tried calming down, and heard something blow up in her living room. "God damn it." I muttered, and moved past her to find out what it was. The T.V. Great.
"I'll buy you another one." I leaned back against the closest wall that could prop me up, looking and feeling really tired all of the sudden.
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Shit. Just shit.
I couldn't even look at him, but if he thought he stopped that thought in him, he didn't. He loves me, or thinks he does, which is just as bad. It makes his 'no' a little more logical. I'm a little less insulted now, even though he looks like he's about to explode.
"God damn it."
I looked over to see what he'd destroyed, and was relieved to notice that it was only the television. That stuff wrecks your brain anyway, too much reality programming, and not enough quality drama.
"It's alright, I never watch it."
What else am I supposed to say to him? Sorry, I didn't realize that you're in love with me? I'm self centered and spoiled so I couldn't help teasing you?
Nah, it lacked...
It just made me sound too bad.
"Look, I'm sorry that I picked a fight with you, and for um, the thing on the floor..."
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"Yeah." I said quietly. "It doesn't matter, I'll give you the money later." Wasn't like I didn't have it, but the floor seemed more interesting than looking at her right then.
"Look, I'm sorry that I picked a fight with you, and for um, the thing on the floor..."
I shook my head and waved a hand dismissively. "And I'm sorry I said anything in the first place. I don't want to fight with you, okay?" I walked past her, headed back to the guest room.
"And I think maybe it'd be a good idea if I hit a hotel."
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"Okay."
I don't want to fight with him either, he just makes it so easy sometimes. We can't disagree, we have to yell and get angry, and now when we do that, electronics become innocent victims.
"And I think maybe it'd be a good idea if I hit a hotel."
This, I'm not okay with. I'm not entirely sure why, but I'm not. He's going to be in town anyway, and I think it would be stupid of him to make a habit of avoiding me again. I think he's done enough of that, but that's probably just one more thing that he'd disagree with.
The thing is, when we're not fighting or flirting, we get along pretty well. I like being around him when we get along.
"Because of one disagreement?"
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