The Man Of Little Words (Thomas Hewitt x Reader)

Chapter 7

The birds were singing, a regular luxury I enjoyed taking part of was listening to their songs while I pieced together every bit of information for my blogs. That was something I was going to agonizingly miss, making my lil blogs. But there isn't any sense in missing it because I AM getting out of here. I was yanked away from my thoughts by the sound of the porch creaking due to Thomas stepping up on it. I had let my eyes float back to focus while I hoisted my tired body up the old steps.

Once I was back inside I let my sore feet lead me to the kitchen to start cooking like Luda had asked. The oddest thing I had witnessed Thomas doing... other than killing people... was cutting vegetables and cooking just like his mom even though they had no blood relation you could definitely tell who had raised him. He moved the same way she did; with swiftness but careful to not drop or cut anything other than the veggies. He knew how to handle a blade clearly. I would not want to be on the other end of that knife ever; having that mentally agreed upon, I decided it's best to be as gentle as possible with the giant. I couldn't take him one on one unless I had a firearm, so for now the world is peaceful and bright as I stood in the dimly lit kitchen that had spiderwebs in the corners that trapped dozens of moths.

I was broken from my mental ramblings by Thomas who had poked my shoulder a little harder than what I would've liked. First instinct, rub the painful spot. After I clasped my hand around the spot where he had poked me I stared at him with raised brows and tucked lips, "Hmm?". Thomas furrowed his brows together for a moment and looked around like he was thinking he brought his attention back to me and brought his arms to his chest then made stirring motions with one hand and made a half circle with the other. I parted my lips with curiosity, "Uhhhhh a tornado?" I asked only to receive him dramatically smacking his sides with both hands then pointed at the veggies and started making the motions with his hands again. I stared blankly and slowly shook my head in confusion. That's when it hit me, "OHHH, you want a pot?" I asked, mentally smacking myself for not getting his clues earlier. He threw his arms in the air, his finger tips grazed the ceiling. I couldn't help but let out a laugh over the miscommunication error. I got on the floor and pulled out a pot from the cabinet. I returned to my standing position and set the pot on the counter. I was getting ready to turn back to him but that wasn't until I heard low chuckles coming from behind the mask. His personal silence has been broken for the first time during my "visit". I had been caught staring at him by his threatening gaze as he snapped his head in my direction, making my air lockup in my throat. He took a loud step towards me then pointed at the cut veggies then pointed at the pot, he let out a grunt then returned to his spot and continued cutting. I stood next to him but tried to put as much distance as possible between us and obeyed his commands with the new placement of the cut greens. I could see Thomas moving through my peripheral, he had laid the knife down and approached the fridge. All my muscles were tensed as he crossed my personal space to get to the vintage machine; but he treated the situation as though I wasn't in the room with him, which to be fair made me more comfortable about being stuck in this small room with him until lunch was done. I noticed he had pulled out a bag of pre diced meat and dumped it in the pot. I shuffled my body a couple inches away and debated on whether or not to speak but my need to help and protect my temporary reputation won the debate, "Would you like for me to do the seasonings? If you want something in particular you can just show it to me." I offered him with a smile. He had looked at me through the corners of his eyes and gave a shrug of his shoulders which made me feel less nervous. He left from the counter to bring all the cooking ware to the sink to wash it, while he was washing the dishes I started to season the food, turning the stove on a low flame and steady mixing. My hearing was overwhelmed by the sound of the food cooking, the dishes clanging in the sink, and the faintest sound of... Chains(?). I tried to ignore the last sound and rule it as either my imagination or something that was being worked on somewhere in the house but my gut couldn't help but try to reveal the truth to my skeptical brain. I cleared my throat and decided to try and make conversation with Thomas, a weak attempt but an attempt none the less, "So, how do you like it here? As a state I mean? Or have you ever been out of state?" I asked while digging my toes into the bottoms of my shoes; a nervous habit I picked up throughout the years. I heard him drop silverware in the sink dramatically loud. I gave the reaction he wanted and looked at him, not quickly but nonchalantly. He shrugged, keeping his focus on the dishes. "Would you ever want to leave here?" I asked just wanting to make conversation, I couldn't care less where he had been or wanted to be. But at that moment I realized I asked the worst question I could ever imagine. His head jerked up causing his dark tangle of locks to jolt off his back briefly, he glared at me causing his brow to grow heavier. I let my eyes fall back to the food, then to him, back to the food, then back to him once more where I had let my gaze stay until he shook his head abruptly. I gave him a slight nod in understanding, "I'm from West Virginia, ya know? I'm a very long ways away from home. I miss it sometimes." I said with a smile while simultaneously putting emphasis on 'home'. An almost sympathetic huff had left his lips, making my smile get more genuine. Maybe guilting him would be my way of him letting me escape. He may not be the brains of the operation but he certainly has the brawn, downfall of the brawns is they always have the most heart.