Under My Skin

Chapter 9

All the cabinets remained open as I analyzed their contents while leaning against the island counter. No chips. No cookies. No white bread. No canned soups. No snacks. It was a difficult reality that I had to accept. I grabbed a box of pasta and checked the fridge. I pulled out a few ingredients purchased within the last three days. Someone stocked the fridge while Enzo stayed in the suburbs.

The gas stove clicked three times before the flame ignited under the pot of water. As it heated, I sauteed garlic in a saucepan then crushed tomatoes with my hands into a bowl before pouring it into the same pan. I threw in a few capers, added minced anchovy filets, and tossed chopped kalamata olives on top. As the pasta cooked, I sprinkled red pepper flakes into the sauce for a little kick.

An unwanted guest entered the kitchen to disrupt my flow. Enzo hovered next to me as he watched my process and analyzed every choice. With luck, it was an internal critique. However, his presence ruined the relaxing nature of cooking in a rich man's kitchen.

Enzo dipped his finger in the sauce and licked it.

"It needs more salt." 

While his finger lingered in his mouth, Enzo's eyes met mine.

"I'm sure now that you've stuck your finger in it, there's more than enough."

Enzo pretended to be hurt and professed, "Ahia. Mi stai spezzando il cuore."

I turned back to my cooking and ignored him. The issue was that I only understood the words 'ouch' and 'heart'. Whenever he spoke in Italian, I felt pushed away. Not that I wanted to be closer, but it reminded me how alone I was in this place.

After preparing a bowl of puttanesca for myself, I sat on one of the bar stools and twirled the spaghetti with my fork. Enzo leaned up against the edge of the counter and watched me eat.

"What is it now?" I asked.

Enzo gave me an accusatory look before explaining, "You're not even going to offer me some? I paid for everything you used."

God, he sounded like my father. I shrugged and kept eating.

Enzo continued, "I'll return your phone if you prepare a bowl for me."

I rolled my eyes. 

"First off, I'm not your mother. Second, bribing me with my phone in exchange for an act of affection is materialistic and pathetic."

Enzo's eyes narrowed as I twirled my fork again. His indignation grew as I continued to ignore him. He licked his lips and pierced my eyes with his fiery excitement.

"Are you sure you don't want to call Jade back? She's only left you twenty-three voicemails."

My fork fell into the bowl with a chime. I glared into Enzo's green eyes and declared, "You better not have listened to any of those."

The threat fell flat. After all, I was talking to a man who was okay with torturing and killing people in basements. Enzo slid onto the stool next to me with amusement pulling on the corner of his lips.

"What are you going to do if I did? Maybe I'll listen to one right now." 

Enzo pulled out my cell phone from his pocket. With a glance, I saw hundreds of unchecked notifications.

I tolerated it as much as I could. We listened to well over ten of Jade's lengthy voicemails before I finished eating. Half of them were embarrassing given the language she used to describe Enzo's very attractive appearance and then how much she hated him. I held it together for the library analogy that she got to finish without my father's interruption followed by a sobfest when she thought I died in the shooting.