I thought he was going to toss his silverware onto his plate then proceed to sweep both of our plates to the floor so he could fuck me on the dining room table.
He did toss his silverware on the plate, and it did land there with a clatter. He also stood up. But he did not sweep the plates to the floor like they did in the movies. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked off.
I was left turned on, confused, rejected and not at all hungry. But I ate the food anyway. Because I had no clue what else to do.
I cleaned up the dinner, carefully putting Hades’s portion in a glass Tupperware container and placing it in my organized fridge. Everything in my house was meticulously organized and cleaned because I’d had nothing else to do this past week. Apart from walking Sirius, I hadn’t left the house. Not even to get coffee. Marilyn had come every morning with pastries and caffeine, and Jeb came in the afternoons with all of the groceries I could ever need. And I did need a lot, considering Anderson had eaten every meal here. He hadn’t grumbled about the lack of meat. In fact, he’d demanded the recipe for my meatless nachos after he ate three servings.
Kallum had also come over a couple of times, his facial expression similar to the one he’d been wearing at the hospital. He’d made it very clear that he was not pleased with Anderson and the Sons of Templar being involved in any of this. But because I still looked fucking terrible, he was still tiptoeing around me. What was it about the sight of a bruised woman that made men decide to then treat her gentle? After the damage was already done?
Because I had wonderful friends, I hadn’t needed to leave the house, which was good because I really, really hadn’t wanted to. I didn’t want to deal with the stares, the well-meaning questions from people I’d been so proud of being friendly with before this happened.
So, because I hadn’t left the house, my pantry and fridge were bulging with food that not only Jeb had made, but things I’d baked too. Baking was my solace. The measuring, the mixing, the eating of the uncooked batter … it was a sacred tradition that was only overindulged in when I was feeling particularly out of control.
Despite all of the vegan and non-vegan baked goods in my kitchen, I spent the evening making cookies. Because I didn’t know what else to do, where else to go. Sirius was nowhere to be seen, and I hadn’t heard the roar of a Harley after Hades had stormed off, so I deduced that he hadn’t left me alone. I wasn’t going to be so pathetic as to go running around the house looking for him, though. He’d made it clear he didn’t want to be around me.
I was doing my best to pretend that I didn’t want to be around him either. It had worked rather well until he and Sirius had come into the kitchen well after midnight, well after I’d made three batches of cookies.
I’d just finished putting away all my dishes because I did not like waking up to a dirty kitchen.
And it was then, in that moment, that something snapped. I wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was the fact I hadn’t properly dealt with what had happened to me. I hadn’t cried. Not a single tear. Had barely uttered a word about the entire experience, not even to Marilyn who’d made it clear she was there to listen, to provide a shoulder. Or at the very least, a large glass of wine.
Thus far, she’d respected my silence and ignored the elephant in the room. She hadn’t wanted to push, but maybe if she had, I would’ve been able to spew all of my emotional trauma all over her instead of all over Hades.
“Why don’t you like me?” I demanded, putting my hands on my hips, glaring at the man wearing all black who was probably armed.
The tone, the glare and the unmistakable female battle stance were likely unwise in the face of a muscled biker—a muscled, armed biker—but I had a bad temper. Always had. I tended to look on the bright side, almost always. But when I got pissed off, like really pissed off, there was no stopping me or my temper. It had gotten me in trouble on more than one occasion.
I didn’t let him answer. Instead, I began pacing, glaring at him. “I mean, first of all, I saved your freaking life,” I snapped, holding one finger up. “I ruined one of my favorite towels saving your life.” I held up another finger. “I did not demand any kind of thank you or reimbursement for that.” I abandoned the finger thing but kept pacing. “Then I went about my life, doing my best to keep out of your way despite you coming into Fate and being mean to me. I wasn’t mean back. I’m never mean back. Because I’m a nice person. I write thank you cards. I help old ladies get their groceries into their cars. I donate blood. I never correct the people who talk down to me, assuming I never finished high school because I’m a stripper. That includes you, by the way.”