𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄 | 𝟏𝟖+

7 || frustrations

alexa, play human by maggie lindemann

DAY 7

Amelia stirred the pasta noodles that were boiling in a pot on the stove as she sipped wine from her red-stained lips. Someone screamed on the horror movie that was playing on the flat screen, making her eyes flicker up momentarily, just as James strided into the room. He wore his typical working out attire from earlier - a graphic tee with the sleeves cutout, and gym shorts that fell above his knee. His long hair was strewn back into a low bun.

"Are you hungry?" she asked him lightly, peeking over the brim of her wine glass.

"Is that all you know how to ask?"

He perched himself at one of the bar stools at the marble island as his lips twitched. She caught his gaze wandering over her pink, knitted cardigan and jeans.

"I wouldn't ask so much if you came out of your room more often," Amelia snapped back as her lips curved just barely.

"I don't come out of my room because all you seem to know how to cook is pasta." His blue eyes seemed a lot lighter tonight than usual. Humor danced around in them, putting her mood at a gentle ease.

"Do you know how to cook?" she asked as she poured the noodles through a strainer that sat in the sink, stepping back a bit as the steam rushed into her face.

"A lot more than some damn pasta."

A frivolous smile danced along his pink lips as he teased her. Perhaps James seriously did have a personality disorder. Amelia had never seen someone with so many mood swings before in all of her career and life. For tonight, though, she would go along with this lighthearted mood he was in. It seemed to be a rare sight.

"I don't believe you," she stated calmly.

Much to her surprise, he grabbed another wine glass from the cabinet next to her and poured himself some of the same red liquid she was sipping. For some reason, she never really took him as a wine kind of guy. She definitely guessed beer or some dark-colored liquor. As he returned back to his seat at the counter, he turned slightly to observe the protagonist screaming on the TV screen once again.

"You know, I haven't watched this TV once since I've been here," he admitted quietly. She noticed his brow furrow in confusion at the chaos unfolding on screen.

Her eyebrows lifted peculiarly at him as she dumped the noodles into two separate bowls before covering them in the pasta sauce she had waiting. "For someone who keeps reminding me how much they don't want me here, you sure are talking a lot."

"Mmm."

She facetiously observed him being intrigued by the scene on TV as she placed a bowl of pasta in front of him. He swiveled back around in his chair, glanced down at the food, and back up at her curiously. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, instead, they just picked at their meal and sipped at their drinks as they listened to the scary movie play in the background.

Just as she was beginning to worry that he was shutting down on her again, he brusquely mumbled, "I don't like talking to you because I feel like you're just analyzing everything that I say."

The wine must have been acting as a liquid courage now.

"That's not all I do," she assured him coolly, stuffing a noodle in her mouth and swallowing before she continued. "I'm also interested in just getting to know you better."

His eyes focused in on his food, stuffing a piece into his mouth, chewing it, and repeating the process a few times without looking up.

"Are you scared for someone to actually get to know you?" Amelia pressed further. This could be her opportunity to get more information out of him, since he was more willing to talk to her tonight than he had been the entire time she had been here.

"What do you think, Ms. Therapist?"

She held her wine glass in front of her face as she watched his eyes flicker up to her, awaiting her response. "I think that you would rather push people away because you feel as though you're undeserving of having a friend."

"Hmm."

James hated how accurate she always was when she spoke. It's like she had a one way ticket into his brain, without his permission, digging around and exposing him all of the time. It was infuriating.

"It's not your fault, you know."

"What are you talking about?" he questioned lowly, finishing off the rest of his wine in one sip.

"Your anger. Your fear. It's not your fault," she emphasized in a clear tone, mimicking him as she downed the rest of her wine as well.

"I don't want to talk about me anymore."

"Okay."

They ate the rest of their pasta in silence, deciding to press no further on the matter and leaving him alone for the time being. Normally, she would have questioned him when she stood up to get more wine and he followed her, but she didn't. Instead, she willingly poured him another glass, still not speaking. Their eyes would meet briefly every few moments, only to look back down again.

Her excitement began to build when she settled down onto the couch to pick another movie to watch, and the cushion next to her sunk in as he decided to sit down, too. Every so often, she would peek over at him, watching at how absorbed he would get into the sappy chick flick she randomly chose to put on - how his forehead would crease, his lips would form a straight line, or how he sipped his wine anxiously.

Amelia was unaware of how much time had passed until she glanced over for the last time to see James completely passed out - his head rested back on the couch cushion, lips parted peacefully. She quietly examined his sleeping features until she too, had fallen asleep.