Nemesism [Max Verstappen]

[24] quiet waters run deep

Hello people, welcome to chapter number two of the day!

Idk, I'm just in the zone rn, so I hope you don't mind!

This one is pretty much like the last one, maybe a little heavier, but still fun.

One TW: talk of child neglect and death (oh also horny people)

Enjoy!

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Lucy's diary

I think I'm going to die. But in the positive sense.

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Lucy took over the kitchen. At first she offered to cook to make up for not letting Max get to second base, calm the guilty pit in her stomach... but after seeing how the Dutch man held a knife, she did it as a safety measure for the both of them.

»Can't I do anything?« Max asked, uncomfortable just standing in his kitchen while his guest was cooking for him. »The salad maybe?«

»Hm...« Lucy gave him a side eye, currently chopping up some tomatoes to go with the pasta. »Is the salad cut already?«

»No...«

»Then sit down and let me do it.«

Reluctantly Max followed the order, sitting down by the kitchen isle. He propped his head up on the palm of his hand, watching the girl whirl around the kitchen, doing like three things at once.

He wasn't surprised she was good at cooking - she just seemed like the person who was. Not because she was a girl, just because she... He didn't know why and decided to ask.

»Where did you learn how to cook?«

She didn't turn around, currently stirring the pot the pasta was cooking in. Next to it was a pan, a cream sauce bubbling in it. Lucy shrugged.

»I just had to, I guess. My dad never really did - we mostly lived off sandwiched and microwave dishes - so when I was tall enough to reach the stove I started teaching myself.« She didn't sound sad or resentful about it, speaking in the same monotone voice she always had when her childhood or father was brought up.

»So... you've been cooking for you and your dad since you were a kid?« Max frowned at the thought.

A child providing for the parent. Even he - a person with a very shitty father - didn't have to do that, which made it seem pretty cruel to Max.

»What about your mom? Wasn't she around?«  He'd never thought about it, but now it seemed a bit off, that Lucy only ever talked about her dad. As far as he could remember she'd never mentioned her mother.

Even just seeing her from behind, Max noticed her getting tense, her shoulders pulled up. The stirring stopped for a second. He'd hit a sensitive spot, but was too curious to retract the question.

If she didn't want to answer, she wouldn't.

»She'd dead. Died during my birth.« Monotone, again.

It was off-putting, but not because of the general lack of emotion. People worked through their grief at different paces, but for Lucy, who leaned towards being a very emotional person, it was odd.