Accidental Housemate

03: crying

03

CRYING

. . .

My bed was surrounded by countless tissues.

As Dave broke the hard truth to me, I had nothing to do but cry it out. If the ex-owner fooled me and robbed all my money, I might’ve as well thrown it in the trash bin myself. How was I foolish enough to be robbed that way by a middle-aged man with a sickly-sweet smile? Did I have no sense? When I signed the papers, did I not feel anything off?

“Perrie, crying won’t solve anything,” Dave called behind the door.

What did he want from me? I was a silent crier; I couldn’t have bothered him. The idea I was living in his flat made me sick enough not to want to meet his eyes for a while. I wanted him as far away from my comfort zone as possible.

“I’m alright,” I yelled back, trying to keep my tone steady.

I heard him huff. “I cooked dinner. Come out to eat,” Dave said before I heard his slippers scurry away.

Cook? He knew how to cook then, but I didn’t. The only food I thought I’d eat for the night was the leftover crackers from the small packet I bought that afternoon. I didn’t expect him to know how to cook, yet there he was, beating me up with his contradiction to my expectations. More proof we were no match to share a house. I was thankful he gave me the room I needed, at least.

I went into the toilet and freshened up. When I deemed my face presentable enough, and my brown eyes weren’t as red anymore, I made my way out to check what he did. Although it was embarrassing to consider myself living in his place, I still tried to convince myself I had a share in that flat. I should keep my nose up high.

“Hey,” I announced my arrival in the kitchen. I doubted he heard my faint greeting though.

Dave was setting up plates and two cups of water. I was silently thankful the person I had to share the place with didn’t seem like a jerk so far. At least I was looking at the bright side. It couldn’t be that bad, right?

“Hey.” He spared me a glance before refocusing on his task.

“You didn’t have to prepare anything for me.”

“It’s called humane decency,” he retorted, sounding offended I expected less from him. “You sound as if you expect the worst from me. Wherever you came from, and whoever you’d been with before, don’t compare me to them.” He gazed up at me. Unlike me, his gaze didn’t waver, and his eyes didn’t glisten with fear.

I hummed, having no more words to say. I sat down by the designated kitchen island, opposite the guy, and grabbed my fork and knife. He had prepared mashed potatoes and two portions of steak. More than I could ever ask for. I figured he had been in the flat for more time than I thought because he had meat to cook already.

“Thank you,” I said, unable to look him in the eyes as I nudged the food with my fork.

“Enjoy.”

Dave ate neatly without talking to me. I didn’t try to initiate a conversation either, so the awkwardness grew thicker. When he was done, he immediately started washing his dish. Seeing him do that, I didn’t think he’d stand living with me… I was less meticulous than the guy, who I expected to be reckless. How ironic.