Jackson lives in a small town of Montrose his whole life. After several bodies are found in the area, the police come to a conclusion that a serial killer is on the loose. The investigation has drawn the attention of the FBI, and their team soon put...
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The week went by so fast I hardly noticed.
I didn't see Lana that much either. She leaves every morning before I even wake up. And even though she's home in the evenings she usually just makes something to eat and by the time I get home she's already in her room where she spends the rest of the night.
I can't really explain it, but something changed after our Saturday talk. Maybe it was the easy acceptance of the nonexisting explanation for my need of a roommate from her. Maybe it was the fact that I found out she is indeed quiet and keeps the house somewhat clean. Maybe it's the fact she always leaves something tasty for me to eat. I really don't know, but I found myself not minding her being in my house, in my space.
I decided to tell her that much tonight. That there is no need for her to be hiding in her room every night. That she really is welcome to use the living room-kitchen area. Not just to cook for us, but to really make use of it. To watch TV or whatever.
When I get back from work, she's standing in the kitchen by the stove. The food smells delicious and she's making herself a plate. I go to the fridge to take a beer and notice a glass of wine standing on the corner.
She gives me a brief smile as a greeting but it looks somewhat strained. Then she grabs her plate, the wine and she turns to head to her room, again.
"You know, you don't have to eat in your room every day. There is a table in the kitchen."
She stops in her tracks and turns to me, plate and the glass still in her hands. She glances at the table next to her. "Do you mind me eating in my room?"
"No, not really, I'm just saying, that you don't have to."
"Okay," she says while putting everything on the table. "I just assumed, that the 'you do your things, I'll do my things' meant that you want as much privacy as possible. I didn't want to intrude..."
"You are not." I cut off the rambling before it even starts. I'm still leaning against the counter, drinking my beer, her eyes move from me to the stove and back.
"Did you want me to make your plate?"
"Sure," I agree with a nod and go to sit down at the table.
She puts the plate in front of me with a quite "enjoy," and sits across from me.
I eye the wine when I remember something. "I thought you didn't drink?"
She doesn't look up from her food. "I usually don't."
It's her only answer. Okay then. I start to shovel the food down. It is as tasty as it smelled.
"It's good. Everything you cooked so far was great."
"Thanks." She gives another forced smile and continues to eat quietly. She doesn't even glance in my direction. Well, this wasn't what I had in mind, where is that easy going comfortable mood I expected?
