"At this point, I'll be grateful for your pieces."
*****
Jessica Franklin is at her wit ends, literally. With two sisters depending on her and a mountain of debts on her neck, she needs a way out before she breaks down...
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"Jessica?" Devon calls out, snapping me out of my trance. I immediately push my gaze up to his face, ignoring the burn I feel on my cheeks. "What are you doing here?"
"U-um, I want to invite you for dinner. It's ready," I stutter out, feeling as breathless as a schoolgirl in a boy's room. I shouldn't be feeling like this. "I didn't hear your voice, so I came in. I should have known you were occupied. I'm sorry for intruding."
"Oh, it's no big deal," he says, an easy smile on his face. "Let me just get dressed, and I'll be up in a minute." He answers. I let out a quick nod before turning on my heels and bolting out of his room, my heart pounding inside of me. The image of Devon's partly unclad body forever burned into my mind.
Before I get to the table, however, I wipe all the traces of my flustered self and wear a composed look on my face. Devon joins us much later, dressed in a simple grey cardigan and a fitting glass. We say a quick prayer before digging into the food before us.
As always, Devon finds the meal delicious, and he doesn't hesitate to give compliments, drawing out blushes from me and giggles from Emma. It's a lively dinner, and I hate how much I enjoy having Devon around. When he isn't looking, I'll steal a peek at him, and all I can think about is how great he looks without his clothes and how much I ache to touch him in that moment. Once, he catches me, causing me to freeze.
"Is there something on my face?" He asks, his mouth full. I shake my head, diverting my attention to the plate of food before me. I can feel Emma's stare at me, but I ignore that as well.
Dinner ends, and Devon offers to help clear the table. This time, I don't refuse. A wide smile plays on his lips as Emma disappears to her room, leaving us alone. He gathers the used plates, placing them into the sink. Side by side, we begin washing them, the warm water flowing over our hands as we cleanse each dish. The sound of running water fills the air, accompanied by the gentle clinks and clatters of utensils. I take in the soothing rhythm of our synchronized movements, observing how Devon rinses off the soap, the water droplets glistening on the clean plates before he stores them away. The simple act of washing dishes becomes a shared moment, transforming the chore into a peaceful connection between us.
"This is rather therapeutic." He mutters after a while, breaking the silence between us. I glance at him, a small smile on my face, quietly conceding. "It feels really... I'm trying to find the words to use."
Intimate.
"Cozy." He finishes, snapping his fingers. I let out a chuckle.
"That's not the word I'll use but, yes," I mutter and he grins at me, doing a little shimmy. We continue washing but water keeps getting into his sleeves so he rolls it up, adjusting his glasses. I glance at him, during that and my eyes catch something unexpected. They are cut marks lining up his entire arms, each a different color tone than his actual skin. I recognize them for what they are and my heart drops, my eyes widening.
