L̸͟͞o̸͟͞c̸͟͞k̸͟͞e̸͟͞d̸͟͞ A̸͟͞w̸͟͞a̸͟͞y̸͟͞❀

Chapter 36

         ☘🅓︎🅘︎🅝︎🅝︎🅔︎🅡︎ 🅣︎🅘︎🅜︎🅔︎ ☘

Dinner time had finally arrived, and Amy felt completely on edge. It seemed like such a small thing to ask for a bit of personal space, but this was Richard—he could be so unpredictable. His moods shifted like the wind, and she never knew which version of him would show up at the dinner table. Would it be the charming, attentive Richard who made her laugh, or the brooding, unpredictable one who could turn a pleasant evening into a tense standoff with just a few careless words?

Stepping into the dining room, her heart raced as she took in the sight of the table laid with mouthwatering dishes. He had truly gone above and beyond for tonight’s meal, even preparing some of her beloved favorites. The rich aroma of garlic and herbs wafted through the air, mingling with the sweetness of roasted vegetables. A perfectly seared steak sat at the center, glistening under the soft glow of candlelight, while a vibrant salad adorned with colorful heirloom tomatoes and creamy feta cheese beckoned her to take a seat.

As she approached the table, she couldn’t help but feel a mix of appreciation and anxiety. Richard had clearly put a lot of effort into this dinner, and part of her wanted to bask in the warmth of his gesture. But the other part of her, the one that had learned to tread carefully around his unpredictable nature since she was younger, remained wary. She could almost hear the ticking clock in her mind, counting down to the moment when the atmosphere might shift, when the tension could rise like steam from the dishes before her.

Richard placed the glasses on the table and inquired, "What took you so long? I called you a little while ago. Were you busy with something?"

"No, I was just thinking", she confessed, her gaze drifting momentarily to the window.

"Thinking? About what?" he pressed, curiosity piqued. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, his brow slightly furrowed as he studied her expression.

"C-Could I tell you after dinner?" she proposed softly, hoping to keep the meal light. She offered him a small, tentative smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The aroma of the food wafting from the kitchen filled the air, but it seemed to fade into the background as the weight of her thoughts lingered.

"Of course," he responded, she felt relieved. He thought that whatever was troubling her must be important. "I just want you to know that I’m here for you, whenever you’re ready."

She nodded, grateful for his understanding. As they settled into their meal, the clinking of cutlery, yet an undercurrent of tension remained. Richard tried to focus on the food but his mind kept wandering back to her earlier words. What could be so important that it required her to sink into her thoughts?

As they ate, he watched her closely. She seemed to be present, yet distant, her mind clearly elsewhere.

Dinner was delightful, just like it always is. Richard's culinary talents have really blossomed during the time they’ve been apart. Each dish he prepared was a testament to his growth, showcasing not only his skill but also his passion for cooking. She marveled at how he had transformed simple ingredients into a feast that delighted the senses, each bite a reminder of the connection they once shared.

As she assisted him in clearing the table, despite his grumbling about how she didn't need to do anything, there was a uncomfortable rhythm to their movements, mostly from her.

Finally they could talk, as they sat on the couch side by side.

Richard looked at the girl and asked, "What’s bothering you, Amy?"

With her hands nervously fidgeting in her lap, she replied, "I-I have something to share, but I-I’m worried you might get upset."

"I can’t guarantee I won’t be upset," he said, giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek. "But I need to know what’s on your mind first."

She took a deep breath and said, "I’ve been here for some time, and I’m starting to feel uncomfortable."

Richard nearly leaped at her words, his panic evident. "Uncomfortable? Is it the house? Is the bed too firm? Is it your clothes? Just tell me what it is, and I’ll fix it," he said, his voice laced with genuine concern, his brow furrowing as he searched her face for clues.

"No, it’s not the house or the clothes," she replied, her tone steady but her eyes betraying a hint of frustration.

"Then what is it?" He looked bewildered, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the puzzle of her discomfort. The room felt charged with tension, and he could sense the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

She inhaled deeply, gathering her thoughts, and finally said, "You."

"Me?" His expression turned to one of disbelief, as if she had just slapped him. "I’m the one making you uncomfortable?" The realization hit him like a cold wave, and he felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

"You don’t give me any space, Richard," she said, her voice softer now, but still firm. "It’s like you’re always hovering, always watching, always trying to cling onto me. I need some space to breathe."

He argued passionately, "I give you plenty of space! You were alone in our room while I was in the kitchen preparing dinner, right? That's space! I allowed you to have that time to yourself, to enjoy your own company without any interruptions from me. And it’s not just that instance; whenever you go to the bathroom or get dressed, I always make sure to give you the privacy you need. I step out, I turn away, I do whatever it takes to ensure you feel comfortable and unobserved. That’s me giving you space!"

"But after I finish in the bathroom or get dressed, you come right back to me, Richard. It feels like I can't catch my breath. I truly appreciate how you choose my outfits, style my hair, and cuddle with me; it makes me happy. But I need some days where I can pick my own clothes, do my hair the way I like, and just have some time to myself," she said, her voice quivering as tears began to well up in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

Richard stood there, his brow furrowed in confusion. He could see the emotion etched on her face, the way her lips trembled slightly as she spoke. It was clear to him that she was struggling to articulate her feelings, and he felt a pang of concern. He paused for a moment, possibly contemplating her words, trying to grasp the depth of her request. Unfortunately, he misunderstood her intent.

"So, you’re saying you don’t want me around anymore? Is that what you mean?" His tone became serious, a hint of hurt creeping into his voice. He crossed his arms defensively, as if bracing himself for a rejection he hadn’t anticipated.

"What? No, that’s not what I’m saying at all!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening in disbelief. "You can still do those things, but I just need a little space sometimes. That’s all I’m asking." She took a step closer, her hands reaching out as if to bridge the gap that had suddenly formed between them. "It’s not about pushing you away. I love how you care for me, but I also need space"

He stood up slowly, his figure looming over her as he directed his dark, intimidating gaze at her. A wave of fear washed over her, unaccustomed to the intensity of his look. The air between them felt charged, thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. She could feel her heart racing, each beat echoing in her ears like a distant drum, urging her to flee or fight.

"You want space, huh?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly, each word dripping with a challenge.

"I'll give you space," he continued, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. But there was something in his tone that suggested this was not merely a concession; it was a threat, a warning. The way he spoke made it clear that he was in control and she was about to see why.