Page 52 of Spark
“You put all that food in the refrigerator and then it felt like a test, and like if I ate it, I’d be a thief, but if I didn’t, you’d be upset with me. You made me promise to be here, then made me feel like I should leave.”
Her eyes are glassy, but she doesn’t cry as she tells me every way I’ve unknowingly fucked up in the last two days. It never occurred to me that she’d feel this way, and that’s my fault. Maybe if we’d known each other for longer than two days before I had to leave for four, we could have sorted this out before I went. But now I need to figure out how to make it up to her. How to rebuild the trust between us.
“I’m sorry, amore mio. Relationships are new to me. A relationship like this when I know you’re mine, but you’re not there yet, is even harder because I want everything, but I don’t want to scare you away. Clearly, I’ve done a shitty job of making you understand what our relationship is. But I’m going to work on that, so you’ll never have a reason to doubt me, or us, ever again.”
“I—” she starts, but I interrupt, talking over her.
“For the next forty-eight hours, I’m going to make sure that my friends stop visiting. You promised me that you wouldn’t leave, and I’m holding you to that. When I text you, you’ll read the message I sent you and reply. But just me. I don’t care if you respond to anyone else’s texts. You can if you want, but I won’t ask you to. That’s your choice. You’ll carry the cell I got for you with you all of the time from now on. You’ll take it to the bathroom and set it on the counter while you shower. You’ll take it to bed with you and charge it every night. When I call, you’ll answer and we’ll talk as often as I can. For the next forty-eight hours, I want you to think about what being mine means and if you want it as much as I do.”
“And if I don’t?” she asks.
“Fuck if I know,” I admit. “I’m hoping you will. If you don’t, I’ll give you enough money to get an apartment in a town of your choice. I’ll help you find a job and make sure you’re safe before I leave you alone to get on with your life, I guess.”
“You’d do that?” she questions.
“I’d like to think I would. But I don’t know if I could leave knowing I’d never see you again,” I confess.
“Do you think two days will change anything?” she asks.
“My entire life changed in a moment when I first saw you. I think a lot of things can happen in forty-eight hours.”
Her eyes look up at me with so much hope, and I don’t know if she even realizes that she wants this as much as I do.
“If you feel mad, I want you to call me. If I don’t answer, I want you to text me everything you’re feeling. Don’t hold back. Don’t filter. Tell me everything, and I’ll take it, and then I’ll figure out a way to either make it better or say sorry.”
“That’s crazy,” she says, smiling with her confusion.
“That’s the bare minimum, amore mio,” I assure her. “But you need to eat. The refrigerator is full. Have you eaten at all since Knight made you that sandwich?” I question.
She nods.
“What? Because nothing has gone.”
“I made too many pancakes. I had the leftovers for breakfast yesterday. Then I had the leftover sandwich for dinner.”
“Jesus,” I hiss. “That’s not enough. Three meals a day, plus snacks, every day, Verity. I’m serious. Food is never a test. Nothing between us is a test. Food is another bare minimum. Nothing except the alcohol is off-limits. I told you before, but this time I want to make sure you hear me. The food is yours; eat it. All of it. At least three meals every day, plus snacks, every day. Okay?”
“Okay,” she says reluctantly.
“And I don’t want you to sleep in here anymore,” I blurt.
“What? Why?” she gasps.
“Sleep in my bed while I’m not here. It’s bigger, the mattress is better, and I have a TV in my room. And I don’t want you sleeping in your clothes anymore. If you don’t have pajamas, you can wear my shirts and boxers, or just my shirts if that’s more comfortable.”
“I’m not sleeping in your bed, or wearing your clothes, that’s?—”
“The bare minimum,” I tell her again, trying to make her understand that making sure she’s comfortable, safe, and well-fed is literally the lowest expectation she should have of me. I want her to expect the world from me and know I’ll do anythingI can to deliver. To rely on me and depend on me to make her dreams into realities.
“Come on,” I say, dropping my hand from her face and curling it around her back instead as I glance at my watch. We’ve been standing here in the doorway to her room for twenty minutes, and I only have twenty more minutes left before I have to leave to get back to work.
Guiding her across the landing, I push open my bedroom door and tug her inside. Honestly, considering I’ve been here for over a year, my bedroom isn’t much more decorated than the room she’s been sleeping in. It does have a closet, though, and a TV hung over the dresser that’s pushed against the wall.
“Climb in,” I say, pulling back my comforter.
“Warrick,” she starts, but I ignore her, lifting her off her feet and placing her down in the bed when she doesn’t get in herself.
“Let me find you a shirt,” I say, reluctantly stepping away from her to open my closet. Grabbing the first T-shirt I find, I bring it back out to her, keeping it in my hand as I sit down on the bed beside her. “Can I help?” I ask.
