DEMON SENSE (Completed)

Chapter 10

                      DEMON SENSE

                         Chapter 10

My reflection sported a putrid purple and green bruise along my cheekbone where my face had gotten a little too up-close and personal with Larson’s elbow last night. Our first training session had taken a lot out of me. Muscles I weren’t even aware existed ached. Even my bones felt sore. Pain notwithstanding, I was eager to learn more; even if it meant getting my ass kicked again. Which it did.

I towel dried my hair the best I could before wrapping it around me. I eyed the hideous thing on my face as if glaring alone would cause the bruise to vanish. It didn’t. So, I did the next best thing—I painted over it with a boatload of foundation.

By the time I was finished applying my make-up, the battle wound was undetectable. Well, almost. If I angled my face in the mirror just so, I could see that the area on my upper left cheekbone had somewhat swelled up. Other than that, I looked as good as new, ready to fight another day.

Back in my room, I debated what to wear. The lazy aching part of me wanted to slide into loose sweats and a comfortable t-shirt. The excited, fashion conscious side of me wanted to impress my aunt, and refused to look so sloppy and unkempt, no matter how comfy those sweats would prove to be.

I shimmied into my favorite beige shorts, pairing them with a loose navy blouse and my brown flip-flops. At least the top was comfortable. Grabbing a hair tie from my purse, I threw my locks up into a messy bun as I made my way from the guest room to the downstairs kitchen.

Nathan was standing at the kitchen island whisking eggs in a shiny metallic bowl. He was wearing his typical black slacks, Italian leather shoes and, of course, a casual black cotton tee. To my disbelief, my bodyguard was actually sans trench coat this morning.

“Do you know how to make anything else—aside from breakfast entrees and PB-and-Js?”

Nathan continued to whisk, but he did spare me an inscrutable glance. He shrugged, “No. However, what I do know how to make, I make extremely well.”

I couldn’t argue with that. “Touché.”

A bowl of fruit sat neglected by the kitchen sink so I decided to make myself useful. Turning on the facet, I washed off the strawberries and raspberries under the cool stream of tap water.

By the time I finished washing the fruit, Nathan was standing over the stove pushing the eggs around in a pan with a spatchula.

“What time are you expecting your Aunt?” He flipped over some of the solidifying pieces.

“She said she’d head over after work—so probably six or so.” I looked around the kitchen. “Where do you keep the knives?”

He opened a drawer to his right, and withdrew a sharp, small chef’s knife. “Here.”

I walked over to take the knife, but he pulled it just out of my reach at the last minute. Nathan looked down at me, scrutinizing.

“Is that Larson’s doing?” He asked.

The way he was looking at me made thinking difficult. “Wha—” but before I could finish saying that one word, I realized he was talking about the shiner on my face. How he noticed it so easily surprised me. “Hey—don’t go getting all crazy on him again. He’s only trying to help,” I said in defense.

“I am not fond of his methods,” he replied, rotating a knob to lower the stove heat without taking his eyes off me.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to like it, but that doesn’t change things. If I’m going to learn, this is the way to do it.” I snatched the knife from him and turned on my heel. Taking the fruit to the island, I proceeded to slice the strawberries, maybe a little too aggressively.