𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

[𝟑𝟒] 𝐓𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐌𝐞 𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐞

I shovel my soup into my mouth angrily, the ghost of a scowl still on my face. I can't see said scowl, but hell if I can feel it.

"Grace, stop."

I ignore the words of my now ex-boyfriend.

After he concluded that he wasn't going to kiss me and got up from the couch, I told him that it was over.

I mean, what the fuck do you do with a dude that won't meet your needs? Get rid of them, obviously. If they aren't willing to provide you with the entertainment and satisfaction you so obviously crave and depend on, then there is no use for them.

Never had the thought of Sam not satisfying my every need crossed my mind. And now that he hasn't supplied me with the additional happiness that he brings into my life every day, I no longer want anything to do with him.

I'm a gift. A gift that deserves to be nourished and loved. A gift that needs to be-

"Gracelyn,"

"Shut the fuck up, I'm thinking!"

"About?" He disregards my tone, biting into his sandwich.

"How you stare at me while I eat. It's weird," I lie. I understand why he does it and I'm grateful that he knows me well enough to know not to trust me. If his eyes aren't on me during the entirety of my meals, I'll end up "accidentally" spilling my soup all over the floor or pouring it into a disposable container in my lap.

His eyes narrow into slits as he watches me down another spoonful of soup, "You literally poured your noodles into a disposable container on one of our first dates, Grace. I don't trust you around soup or bowled dishes."

I gasp loudly, clenching my heart through my shirt like I can't believe what he just accused me of.

"I would never," I deny his accusation, crossing my arms over my chest.

"You finished?" He asks, standing up and coming around the table to my side with his now empty plate.

"Yeah," I answer, picking up my bowl and handing it to him, "I'm still having a little trouble with soup."

"'Cause your mom made it a lot?"

I look up at him, my brows furrowing as I nod. He walks to the sink and rinses off our dishes before placing them in the sink.

"The first time I came over with my brother, your mom made us soup. And then when I came over with Grant for Spencer's fifteenth, the main thing was soup."

I scrunch up my nose, "That's embarrassing."

"No, I loved it," Now that's a lie.

"Liar," I accuse, laughing softly.

"Oh, clearly."

Silence fills the room and I start to fiddle with my fingers.

This is all so weird to me. Being home, being... me, in some sense. Things have been good but for some reason, I feel I'm missing something.