Clandestine [C.H]

08

"Are we going to my apartment?" I turn to Calum, confusion clear on my face.

"You said you want to go home, so I'm taking you home," he replies calmly, much to my surprise. He isn't speeding this time nor is he smoking. His hands aren't gripping the wheel tightly and he seems relaxed. There are not many times I have seen him like this and I don't know how to feel about it.

"You're taking me home?" I reiterate what he just said to me. I never thought Calum would listen to me like this. That he would take what I say into consideration and allow for it.

He lets out a deep irritated breath, "Yes, Charlotte, I just said that. You need to learn to listen to me more."

I turn to look straight ahead again, my apartment block coming into view. This is all so weird to me. I haven't known the man long but from what I've seen I would never expect this. Never in a million years.

He pulls into the same parking spot he took the last time we were here and hops out of the car within seconds of doing so. I get out and we make our way into the building, heading straight to the elevator. Calum hits the seventh floor button and we are taken up.

He follows close behind me as I make my way to my apartment. The smell of smoke still lingering in the air from the way it's attached itself to Calum.

We walk inside without a word and Calum drops my bag onto the living room table. He walks over into my kitchen and I watch as he happily makes himself at home. He seems to have no problems with doing so as he goes straight for the fridge, opening it to look for food. "You need to go grocery shopping. There's fuck all in here," he looks at me before reaching back into the fridge, "Where is a pan?" He walks away from the fridge with a box of eggs and butter. He sets them down onto the counter next to my stove.

"Uh. Bottom drawer to the left." I point to the drawer on the left hand side of my stove. He nods his head and takes it out. "What are you doing?" I ask him, sort of slightly irritated that he's doing whatever he likes in my house.

He puts it on the already heated stove, placing a piece of butter and four eggs into the pan. "Making eggs," he taps his fingers on the counter, "Spatula?" He turns around to look at me.

"Top drawer." I point to the top drawer that sits next to the stove. He nods and takes it out. "Uh, I'm just gonna go take a shower," I turn on my feet and start to walk out of the kitchen area.

To be honest, I don't know why I'm telling him but I felt that I had to. Like he would get mad if he didn't know where I went.

"No, you're not," he keeps his eyes on the stove, "The eggs are nearly done, you can shower after else they will get cold," his rough, commanding voice stops in me my tracks. I turn around with a visibly shocked look on my face. "Sit," he instructs me harshly while motioning to the stool at the kitchen island. Reluctantly, I walk myself over and take a seat, not taking my eyes off of him.

"Plates?"

"First cupboard to the right of the fridge."

He switches the stove off and moved the pan off of the once heated stove plate. He grabs two plates from the cupboard and shares the eggs between the two. He places one in front of me and the other next to me, along with the salt and pepper and two forks.

"Eat," his voice is stern as he comes to sit on the chair beside me, diving into his food as well.

I turn to look at him, "Why are you being so nice to me?" I ask him with pure curiosity.

"I'm not," he speaks through gritted teeth. He doesn't look at me when he speaks.

"So then what do you call this," I motion to my food which I have been playing with, with my fork.