I kiss the top of her head. “I want that for you too.” More than anything, I want that for her. I give her another kiss, a tighter squeeze, then I release her with a soft smile. “All right, homework time. For both of us.” I wink, and she giggles, grabbing her bag off the floor and running upstairs.
And now I feel even weirder than I did twenty minutes ago.
But I can’t leave. Not with the lasagna in the oven and frankly, I don’t want to. I want to see Landon. Try to get a read on him so I can temper my own expectations.
Settling in at the counter in the large kitchen, I listen to music while reading over history essays. And when there are ten minutes left on the lasagna, I pop the garlic bread in the oven and take the salad out of the fridge. I don’t plan to stay. Not unless he asks me himself.
That’s not what this was about, but I can’t help the hope as it blooms inside me.
Removing the foil from the bubbling lasagna so the cheese can finish melting, I check my watch. It’s nearly seven, and I still have so much homework to grade. Essays take forever, especially written by middle schoolers. Even if they are on Roman gods. I mean, how easy is that? Might not be actual history, but to the Romans who believed in their gods fiercely, it is. Picking a god and explaining how he or she impacted the daily lives of the Romans and why they were so important to their culture is a pretty cool assignment.
If I do say so myself.
After doing one last paper, I tuck all my papers back in my bag and set it off to the side. The lasagna smells like another form of heaven, and as I open the oven, armed with oven mitts, my stomach grumbles, and my mouth pools with saliva. It looks better than it smells.
The timer I set on Alexa goes off just as I’m lifting the dish out of the oven. “Alexa, cancel the timer.”
“Smells great in here,” Landon says behind me, and I scream, startling so bad I jump and spin around on instinct. The heavy tray of lasagna sloshes in my hands, seeping over the edge of the dish and onto my oven mitt, burning me through the thick cotton. But it’s heavy and before I know what’s happening, it goes crashing to the floor.
Sauce, noodles, cheese, and meat go flying, splattering every possible surface. The dish smashes, breaking apart and adding to the horrific mess.
For a second all I can do is stand here in abject horror, taking in the carnage of ruined dinner before my eyes. What have I done? Blood rushes through my ears like a freight train, blocking out all other sounds. Landon is standing there, saying something to me, but I can’t handle it.
“I’m so sorry.”
I drop to my knees, ripping off the mitts and going for the broken dish first. I have to clean this up. Stupid, ungrateful bitch. Look what you did, you clumsy cunt. You can’t even make dinner without fucking it up. Is there anything you do right? Anything? Useless. That’s what you are, Elle. Fucking useless.
“I’m so sorry.”
Hot sauce burns through my pants and onto my knees as I gather pieces of the dish, setting them off to the side. How will I ever clean this up?
“Elle. What are you doing? Stop.”
I shake my head.
“Stella, out of here. It’s okay. Everything is fine. Go back upstairs and order a pizza for all of us. I’ve got this. Go.”
Landon’s words crackle in my periphery, but I can’t quite make sense of them. All I see is the mess. All I hear is David in my head as my vision sways and a haze washes over me.
What the fuck is wrong with you?! How could you have fucked this up? How could you possibly be this fucking stupid? A child could have done a better job. I should have married someone with half a brain instead of you. Worthless. Ugly. Ungrateful. Stupid. Bitch.
“Elle!” Landon’s voice booms right in my face, and I snap up, taking him in. He’s incensed, and I can’t stop the sob as it flees my lips, my whole body trembling. “Stop!”
“I’m so sorry. It was an accident. I’ll clean it all up. It’ll be like—”
My words cut off, air whooshing from my lungs as I’m lifted off my knees, off the floor, and dropped onto the counter. “Elle, look at me.”
I can’t. I can’t stop staring at the mess. His hand is on my cheek, forcing me up. His green eyes invade, his face inches from mine, demanding I see him.
“I don’t care about the fucking mess. You’re covered in sauce, you’ve burned your right hand, and your other is bleeding. What were you doing trying to clean that up like this?”
Tears start pouring from my eyes. I can’t stop them. I can’t speak. I can’t answer.
“Oh, Elle.” Landon’s hands wrap into my hair, and he takes my face, burying it in his shoulder. “It’s just a mess. That’s all that is. It can be cleaned.”
I shake my head against him, clenching my eyes shut. “No.” He doesn’t understand. I don’t understand.
“Yes. It was my fault for scaring you, but what were you doing trying to clean that up with your bare hands?”
“I… I…”
I don’t know what that was. It was like I was back in my kitchen in Florida, and David was screaming over me. But I’m not there anymore. I’m here with Landon, who’s holding and shushing and comforting me.
“Come with me.”
“What—”
Only my words cut off again as I’m suddenly lifted off the counter and carried like a bride. “Stella, stay in your room,” Landon orders as he marches up the stairs like I weigh nothing.
“Is Elle okay?”
“She’s fine, but I need to clean up the kitchen.”
“I ordered pizza.”
Pizza. No. It was supposed to be lasagna. “I’m so sor—”
“Don’t you dare tell me you’re sorry. Not one more time.”
Landon carries me down the hall, through his bedroom, and into the master bath, which is easily twice the size of mine. He sets me down on the counter and shuts the door behind us. He goes for my pants, moving me around as he removes them, sliding them carefully down my legs.
My knees are bright red, and I can’t tell if it’s from sauce or burns. They don’t hurt. Nothing hurts because everything is numb. I’ve hated how David treated me for a long time, but in this moment, I truly, genuinely hate him for what he did to me. And I’m not even talking about the cheating with my sister. Fuck the cheating and fuck her.
This is different.
This is inside me.
Water is running, and my shirt is now gone, and Landon is standing silently in front of me, wiping my legs and arms with a cool cloth. He’s twisting my hands, examining every inch, and when he wipes at the blood oozing from a cut, his eyes bounce back and forth between mine and my hand, checking to see if he’s hurting me.
It stings but not enough for me to flinch.
“The burn isn’t bad, and the cut doesn’t require stitches.”
I blink. I nod. I swallow and stare into Landon’s eyes, so filled with worry for me. He’s not mad, and he’s not yelling, and he’s not David. He’s not David.
I lick my lips, feeling another tear drip down my face.
“He used to yell at you if you made a mess?” he surmises.
“Yes.”
“Bad?”
“Yes.”