“My food. Don’t touch.” He glares and picks his book back up.
Why do I have this insane feeling that I want to do it again? If he hits me again I swear I’ll hit him back. I’m prepared.
So when he looks back to his book, slowly chewing the food in his mouth I slowly slide my hand over. YES! I got the bacon.
“Put it back,” he states, his eyes not leaving the book. How did he see me?
“But…”
His eyes still don’t leave the book. “Put it back.”
“You don’t control me or my body. I’ll eat what I like.”
“As long as you’re staying here, you’ll look after your body and your unborn child the way you’re supposed to.” His book is now down and his eyes are on me.
“It’s just bacon, you freakin’ pig Nazi. I can’t live on organic. I still need a bit of junk food,” I snap, my voice sounding as exasperated as I feel and I feel extremely exasperated.
“Do as you’re told,” he half shouts.
“No.” I bring the bacon to my mouth, take a bite and chew.
He’s up in an instant. His sudden move startles me so I’m up faster than I’ve been able to get up for the past three months. We stare at each other, his eyes full of warning, my body now shaking. I’m a little bit scared to be honest.
I just want the bacon. I take another bite and he stalks towards me. I step backwards with each step he takes.
“What are you doing?” I ask, paralysed by my fear. I shouldn’t have pushed him. I hardly know him. What if he slaps me or chains me up in my room?
What if he takes my bacon?
“Give me the bacon.”
I blink when my back hits the wall. “It’s just one slice of bacon.”
“You deliberately disobeyed me,” he snaps and holds a napkin out. “Give me the bacon.”
“Fine, fucking have it,” I shout and place it on the napkin, my temper rising.
Suddenly he’s in my face, his hand slamming into the wall beside my head. I whimper as he comes closer until his nose is only an inch from mine. “Curse again and you’ll regret it.”
“What does that mean?”
“Curse again and find out.” He threatens and pulls away, the bacon and napkin crushed in his fist.
I slide down the wall after he leaves the room, taking our plates with him. If I could wrap my hands around my knees I would. Suddenly I don’t want to be here anymore.
Before anyone sees me, I race up the stairs and hide in my room, my mind running through idea after idea. He’s clearly unstable. He has serious control issues that I’m not sure I want to deal with.
Maybe I should just stay out of his way. Maybe I should just leave.
Where will I go, though? I need to be realistic here.
I climb into my bed after kicking off my shoes and bury my head under the covers. This is my safety; this is where I feel the most comfortable so this is where I’m staying. Why do I have to deal with this? I don’t deserve this.
My heart and my breathing are the only sounds I can hear as I shut out the world. My breath is thick as it’s hard to breathe under a quilt, but it’s okay. At least I’m not crying. I’m so sick of needing to cry.
“I’m leaving now, poppet,” Jeanine calls through the door. “Make sure you eat. You didn’t touch your breakfast.”
I bury myself further under the quilt after saying, “Okay.” I’m so tired. So darn tired.
Does this ever get easier?
There’s a knock at the door after the sun makes its descent. “Guinevere?” It’s Gwen. The knocking becomes more insistent. “Guinevere, open the door.”
“Go away,” I say quietly but I know he hears me.
The door opens. I pull the blanket tighter around my head.
“Stop moping and come and eat.” He demands, his tone showing his annoyance.
I don’t respond. I don’t want to eat with him. He needs to leave me in my cave of woe in peace.
He sighs and I hear his footsteps get closer. “Gwen.”
“I’m tired.”
I squeal when the blanket is ripped away from my body and Nathan looms over me, looking every bit as pissed off as I now feel. “This isn’t healthy.”
I try to bury my head under the pillow but he takes that too.
After a moment of squeezing my eyes shut and burying my face under my arms, I’m airborne. “Put me down,” I order, not daring to wiggle as he cradles me to his chest for fear of him dropping me. “Now.”
“Eat and then you can wallow all you want,” he says calmly and carries me from my room. My arms automatically wrap around his shoulders. “You’re very light for someone who’s pregnant.”
“Didn’t realise you made a habit of carrying pregnant women,” I remark.
“You’re also extremely frustrating.”
“I am not.” Maybe only a little bit, but who can blame me?
He lets out a breath and begins to walk carefully down the stairs. “I apologize for upsetting you this morning. Jeanine was rather insistent that I should never take food from a pregnant woman. I’ll try to be more reasonable in the future.”
What the hell should I say to that? “Okay.”
He doesn’t speak, only takes me into the dining room and places me gently on the chair beside his. My nose picks up the aroma of garlic and beef before I even see my plate and my mouth waters at the sight of the stew.
“You cooked this?” I question, impressed with the food.
He gives a little shrug. “It’s just stew.”
“Caleb could barely cook a frozen pizza,” I point out and dip a piece of fresh bread into the broth. Oh my god. “This is better than mine. Thank you.”
His eyes wander over my face for a moment before he begins to eat his own. “I see you’re not religious.”
“Did you want to pray?”
“No.”
“So…”
“It was just an observation.”
I quirk a brow at him. “You observe strange things.”
“Is it wrong of me to want to know the woman who now lives with me a little better?” His eyes fall to his food and his lower lip slips beneath his teeth.
“I suppose not.” I swirl my spoon around the wonderful mixture and pick out a piece of beef and potato. “Well I’m not religious. I wasn’t raised religious but I do believe in God.”
He nods slowly but doesn’t seem all that interested. His face is a mask of indifference and we fall into silence. It’s an uncomfortable one.
I clear the table, just to have something to do while he sits and speaks loudly to somebody on his mobile. My ears perk up when he starts talking about his dad so I wash the dishes in the kitchen, giving me a reason to linger. All I hear is, “Yes, well, what my father says clearly goes.” And then he moves onto talking about stocks and shares and other boring things.
When he’s finished, he steps into the kitchen and loosens the blue tie around his neck. “Thank you for doing the dishes.”
“No problem.” My nesting instinct wouldn’t let me leave them anyway.
“Can I trust you to be present for breakfast in the morning?” I shrug in response. “I’ll take that as a yes.”