Back to you.

Chapter 3.

ACHILLE
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   If someone told me I'd be standing in front of my ex girlfriend, the one who stood me up six months ago, letting her stay in my house and offering to make her her favorite food, I would have walked away to avoid them embarrassing themselves any further.

And yet here I am. After my fight with Elise — the one that she, unfortunately, won — I'm supposed to stick an olive branch out to Valerie since, at the end of the day, we're roommates for a year now.

   She didn't change much over the last six months, she did grow a bit taller but was still smaller than me nevertheless.

   No matter how long I stayed away from Valerie, she was still the same. She still had her long black hair, — it was about the same length since I last saw it, if not a bit taller — she still had her grey doe eyes with a hint of green in them.

   "Did you just, offer to make me food? My favorite food to be exact?" Her gentle voice broke my thought process.

   "Don't think too much into it, sweetheart. It's basic hospitality. Since you are my roommate now."

   "Right, roommates, thanks for this by the way, I know it was a shock for all of this to happen so suddenly but thanks for letting me stay."

   "It's not like I had much of a choice, I owe Elise a favor and she won our argument earlier." I said, running my hand through my hair. Has it always been so hot in this room? The air conditioning is on dammit.

   "Are you and Elise uhm ... you know .. exclusive?" A small tint of pink coated her cheeks as she asked the question. It's either it's really hot in here or we're both so embarrassed it's melting us.

   "Elise has as much interest in the male species as she does talking to a wall," Her eyebrows knit together in slight confusion. I sighed, continuing, "She's a lesbian."

   "Of course a pretty girl like her wouldn't go for a man." She replied with a giggle that made me feel, weird to say the least.

   An awkward silence followed for a while before I spoke again. "I'll get going to make you food now." I said, turning to face the door.

"Do you even remember my favorite food?" I paused for a minute before turning back to her.

   "You always used to order it on dates. It's Fettuccine Chicken Alfredo. Just kind of stuck with me, you know?" I definitely do not have a note filled with everything she loves.

"Right, do you want me to help you make it? I am part Italian after all"

   "Why? Scared I might break the pasta?"

   "I know you will, that's why I'm offering to help to make sure you don't break it."

   "It's not that big of a deal, pretty, it's just pasta. It doesn't have feelings. It won't cry if I break it."

   "Yeah, but I have feelings. I will cry if you break the pasta. My feelings are the pasta's feelings. Respect both of our feelings, and don't break the pasta please."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. She won't let it go unless she has things her way. I guess I'll be losing two fights to two women today. "Sure, of course I won't" I will. "I respect your weirdly shared feelings with an ingredient."

"I'm sensing sarcasm and I don't like it, Dubois." She said, pointing a threatening, not so threatening, finger at me.

"Sarcasm? From me? I would never do that to you, pretty." I said as I shook her finger and walked out of the room to change out of my suit from the earlier photoshoot and to make her her favorite meal.

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Standing in front of the stove, I'm genuinely contemplating breaking the pasta without letting her know. It's a small pot, not like she'll notice right?

I'm sure she doesn't have like Italian superpowers that allow her to figure out that kind of stuff.

This could go two ways, either I break the pasta, she finds out and I get a couple of spoons, and possibly a knife, thrown at me. Or I break the pasta or she doesn't notice and I get to live without having spoons or knives thrown at my head.

Either way I'm breaking the damn pasta. I'm not going to let a tiny, filled with anger and hatred girl boss me around in my own house.

... Right?

Hopefully I'm right. I carefully look around me to make sure she isn't somehow watching me.

The coast is clear, pretty sure her bedroom door is locked so I might be safe.

I take a deep breath and prepare for my inevitable fate. I grab the pasta and just as I'm about to break it, I hear her voice right behind me.

"Emily, I need to hang up. I'm witnessing a crime." I can already feel myself getting sweaty. "Achille, what are you doing with that pasta?"

I carefully turn around and I see that she's changed to more comfortable attire, black silk pajamas. Her long black hair is still down, hiding a small portion of her small, or baby, face. She seems, incredibly displeased, she has her hands on her hips, and an eyebrow raised.

I cleared my throat, straightening up. "I was just about to put it in the pot."

"You're holding it horizontally."

"I like to put my pasta in pots horizontally."

"Why? So you could break it?"

   "I can't believe you'd ever accuse me of such a thing."

   "You're an awful actor and liar." She said crossing her arms.

   "And you're awful at bossing me around," I smirked slightly. "Now guess what."

  "I have a feeling I don't want to know what."

   She walked closer to me, standing right next to the drawers with the utensils in them.

   I'm definitely getting stabbed today. But I'm not stopping.

   "This is what." I looked at her from the corner of my eye before looking at the pot in front of me, breaking the pasta and putting it in the pot.

   Right in front of her.