Fated (Bloodhound x Eve (OC))

Fine

"Do what you want, Eve. I won't stop you. But if you ask me, when someone tells you...or in your case, doesn't tell you what you truly mean to them, I think you should believe them."

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Eve groaned against the light that poured into her bedroom and rubbed her dry, scratchy eyes. The tall, glass walls of her house were beautiful and allowed for a gorgeous view of the lush greenery that thrived outside, but let in the bright rays of the early morning sun. She rolled over in bed and pulled the blankets over her head, but it was too late. She was awake.

She poked her head out just long enough to check her phone. It lay silently in bed beside her with no new messages, but she peeked at it anyway, rereading the last two messages between Bloodhound and her.

'I made it home okay.' she had sent two nights ago.

'I am glad you are safe.'

After that message, she watched the three dots appear and disappear as if Bloodhound was typing a very long message. But, after fifteen minutes of expectant staring, the dots disappeared. Eve had slept restlessly with her phone in her hand the last two nights, hoping for anything else. No other message came.

Starting her day with disappointment, she rolled out of bed, every inch of her body protesting. Her stomach muscles were tight, her eyes puffy, the aftermath of days spent in bed crying. It was pointless to lay around like that, but after she came here from Bloodhound's house and peeled off her wet clothes, all she could do was tuck herself into bed and weep. It was pathetic.

Her stomach gurgled loudly and emitted a high-pitched squeak. Breakfast today would be her fourth meal in a row of plain pasta topped with butter, the only items she had left in the barren kitchen. She desperately needed to go to the store – but not today. That was all she had the energy to make, anyway.

Eve stumbled out of bed, pulling the comforter with her against the chill of the air conditioning. The thermostat buttons were confusing, and she had only succeeded in somehow making it colder instead of warmer. A layer of dust coated everything, rising to tickle her nose as she moved about, the end of her blanket dragging on the floor. In the bright light, she could see the particles floating in the air, specks dancing like embers in the orange glow of morning.

While the water for her coffee began to boil, she thought she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. Her heart sank once again at the lack of new messages. What did she expect? She'd broken things off with Bloodhound, and they were clearly glad to be rid of her. They had no reason to check in on her anymore. She shoved her phone back into her pocket and finished making her coffee. There was no creamer, no milk, no sugar. She forced down the bitter drink out of sheer necessity, needing the caffeine to get her day started.

The house was unnervingly quiet. Bloodhound's rustic cabin was comforting, always filled with the noises of wood settling, a fire popping, or Artur cooing and preening. The windows there were almost always open there unless it was too hot or cold, allowing in the sounds and smells of the forest, the chirping of the plump robins, and the tinkling windchime on the porch.

Now, all she heard was the sound of a clock ticking away the seconds and her breathing — it was disconcerting. Her house smelled musty from disuse, the air stale without the opening of windows and doors. She put her hands on her hips and looked around. The house was in desperate need of a good scrub, and she could thrust all of her frustration into the process.

Eve threw back the last few sips of the bitter brew with a grimace, then ripped all the sheets off the bed and tossed them into the wash with the comforter. Under the kitchen sink, she found the basic cleaning supplies she needed, towels and various sprays. She wiped and dusted every surface she could reach, and despite the heat outside, opened the windows to let fresh air into the overly spacious rooms. The house was far too big for one – even for two, really – but cleaning helped distract her from the wild sway of emotions that she didn't feel ready to process yet.