Fallen

4. Scrambled Eggs

    I wake up to the sound of his deep breaths, I can tell he is taking in his thoughts, his brain full of unknowns. It is 9:04 a.m. according to the alarm clock on my bedside table, but no matter the time I am always tired and fatigued.

Doesn't he have anything better to do than watch me sleep?

    He quickly notices that I am awake, but retreats and doesn't say anything. We sit in complete silence for another 15 minutes, our thoughts keeping our brains occupied. He stands up and clears his throat, I can't tell if it's just a gesture or if it's from his discomfort, but he speaks anyways.

"Umm... do you want breakfast?", he questions.

    I want to die, the last thing I would be thinking about in a time like this is food; but I nod anyway, it would enable me to have a few minutes of time alone.

"Okay, but you have to come downstairs with me, that way you're not alone," he says it quickly, like ripping off a band-aid.

    I kick the covers off my feet and stand up next to him, I never noticed his height, but in the light I can see that he towers over me. He leads the way downstairs; his steps are graceful for someone so tall.

    The last step hits the hardest, knocking my thoughts back into place. Here I was with a total stranger, one of the many faces I see at school, occasionally warm with a pleasant smile; but most of the time they talk and whisper and murmur, hidden behind their façade of kindness. They are like a group of insects that buzz and fly and sting, but worst of all, they never seem to leave my side- my own personal hive of bees.

"Do you want eggs and toast?", he says lightly, as if one wrong word would leave me spiraling into a vortex of tears and pain.

    I nod my reply and he walks over to my fully stocked refrigerator, too much food for just two people; but my mom insists that one day she will just magically have the time to cook the beautiful meals she used to prepare before her promotion, now we just get takeout. He grabs the ingredients, cradles them in hands, and then turns on the stove. As he cracks and scrambles the eggs, neither of us know what to say, but in this movement, really what is there to say?

    I sit in my house, in my kitchen, at my table, in my seat, just like yesterday and the day before that. My life is full of dreadful routine, nothing ever changes, I hate that. So, I find it ironic that when I so desperately wanted the cycle to end, I fled; but here I am, completely out of my comfort zone with a stranger and none of it would have happened if I wasn't here anymore.

    As he finishes up with cooking, the smoky scent of charred food spreads throughout the kitchen. He places the slightly burnt eggs on my plate, in an ordinary situation this might have been funny- the boy can't even cook eggs. I fiddle around with my fork, scraping the edges of the plate and poking the ruined food, but I realize he is watching me. I pick up the largest piece I can bear and gently swallow. The crispy eggs go down like little pieces of rubber sliding down my throat, each bite more unwanted than the next. 

    Saturdays are usually the days I like best. I can sleep practically all day and no one is there to nag on me or force me into doings things I don't want to do; but again, he has changed that. He sits next to me and jabs at his eggs with his fork, but unlike me, he is hungry and eats in a hurry. He probably wants to leave, I don't blame him. He eats all of his food quickly, and looks up from his empty plate. I can tell that his blue eyes are hiding something, something that will not be easy to find.