𝐌𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐨𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐳. Even being born right next to the cruel and sick crime life never changed the charismatic and positive Mia who wanted to help change the messy world she formed part off.
Becoming a nurse at the age of 25 and joining her d...
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(An. Reading this while listening to Leaving Tonight by The Neighborhood makes it better)
"Good morning," Carlos says entering the kitchen area.
"Good morning," I reply keeping my eyes on the stove. "How are you feeling?" I ask trying to act as normal as possible.
But there's nothing normal about it. I'm not even slightly ready to face him.
"I'm fine, or at least physically." He replies slowly walking in my direction and then stopping. "Are you okay?"
"Kind of," I answer honestly.
The situation feels totally unnatural, I have never felt awkward around him or out of words but today the tension between us could be cut with a knife.
"What are you making?" He fills the silence probably feeling the same way I feel.
God, I hate this so much. This is not how we are, how our relationship works.
"Omelette, with chives." I keep my answers short trying to act casual as I finish up with the food.
"Mia I-"
"Can you pass me a plate?" I interrupt him still not daring to look in his direction.
I can't do this, not right now.
"Of course." That's all he says as he moves towards the cupboards on my right, his voice perfectly calm and collected. "Here." He hands me the plate and this time I have no other alternative than looking at him.
"Thank you," I mutter taking the plate and staring at him for a few more seconds than needed.
He looks better than yesterday morning that's for sure but he still looks miserable. His eyes that are still pretty red match with his dark circles and he looks really pale, the usually tan glow of his skin gone. His dark waves fall messily around the sides of his face and for the first time I notice he has a very subtle stubble. And as good as it looks on him I know it's only there because he has stopped taking care of himself.
But how didn't I notice until now?
"No problem." He mutters also staring at me for way longer than necessary. "Can I help you with something?" He asks finally breaking eye contact.
And thank god because I couldn't bare the feeling of his eyes on me anymore. His gaze holds way too much power. It gets so deep inside me that I lose the ability to think rationally.
"You could make coffee while I set up the table," I say going back into the food and trying to ignore the pull he has.
"Sure." He nods walking to the coffee machine and taking the two mugs that are always on the side for us, a white one (which is mine) and the black one (that's obviously his). "What do you want?"
