Abigail

T h i r t e e n

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Abigail hummed a soft melody as she wiped the flour off the counter. Admittedly, she wasted the first few days in her room filled with anxiety. Either rereading the same two books or reorganizing her room, she tried to occupy her boredom which didn't work since she didn't have a lot of things to reorganize, to begin with. After days of building up the courage to leave her room, other than to make food, she spent most of the day out in the garden when it wasn't too chilly. She would peer down at the busy city below her and make up stories about strangers that would walk past. She wanted to explore the city but wasn't brave enough to go by herself; she thought about asking Damien to go with her once he was back. She smiled at the thought, it would be so fun.

Until then she made use of the kitchen. At first, she was still sceptical of using Damien's things; she didn't want to meddle with anything without his explicit permission. But Liz called her silly and reassured her that it was fine and that it wouldn't bother Damien too much since he was barely home to use it anyway.

Liz had visited her twice the past week and a half, each time bringing takeout from her favourite restaurant and in return, Abigail gifted her baked goods to take home. They spoke endlessly and she was happy that they got along. Liz was a well-known writer for a prestigious fashion magazine, that was why she had endless rooms filled with clothes from luxury brands. Abigail was jealous of how interesting her life experiences were only being twenty-five, she wasn't even familiar with the city she lived in let alone cities abroad.

Abigail blew her hair out of her eyes as she washed her hands under the sink. She returned all the ingredients back to the pantry, neat and organized as it was before. She made sure everything she used was clean and back to its original place as if it wasn't even touched. She crouched down by the oven and peered through its glass door watching the dough bake. It was her first time making garlic and rosemary bread, she had her fingers crossed in hopes that it would turn out alright. The kitchen was filled with the warm smell of spices. Her arms were sore from the continuous kneading and her back and arms clicked as she stretched.

She set some honey aside for the honey wash once the bread was done baking. She took an apple from the fruit bowl and sighed, apart from baking, her days felt so unfulfilling. She flipped through a cookbook taking note of the dishes she might try to make.

The familiar two dings rang through the house. Abigail's eyebrows raised, there was someone in the elevator. She froze as she heard the doors slide open, there was someone she didn't know in the house. Her eyes scanned the kitchen looking for something hard that could possibly hurt someone enough to give her time to run away and get help. Her eyes landed on a rolling pin, she grabbed it and lifted it over her shoulder.

She took a deep breath in, pressed up against the wall she tiptoed slowly towards the main room. She stood rigidly and whispered at her weapon wishing it to protect her from the intruder. She peeked over the corner and saw a familiar tall silhouette of a man. Her arm lowered her weapon and she stepped out of hiding.

"Damien?" she breathed out. He turned to her as he took his coat off and clutched the clothing in one hand. He wore a loose t-shirt and baggy cargo pants, he looked different in casual clothes. Abigail shifted as his stare fixed on her, gazing at her up and down. His brow raised at her weapon.

"Abigail." He noted.

She blushed and hid the rolling pin behind her back. "I wasn't expecting you to be back today and thought it might've been an intruder so I needed something to protect myself."

"This is my house," he stated bluntly.

"R-right, of course, sorry."

"A rolling pin is a poor choice for a weapon. If I was an intruder, you'd be dead before you could even take a swing. Next time take a knife with you."