𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄 ~ | 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘓𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘤

IV

Chapter Four: 

~ Leave me alone, I want to sleep ~

The next morning Arthur had taken over for me. I had been ordered to go home and rest, which I did begrudgingly. Two days passed in a blur. I had gone home, but not to sleep. I couldn't. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the flaming wreckage of Charles's car. I saw his still body being pulled from the metal tomb.

On the first day, in between checking my phone for updates and pacing the floor, I had managed to snag a few naps here and there. Thea had stopped by every few hours, bringin food and the latest gossip from the hospital, but mostly just to keep my spirits up. She knew better than to ask me to go out.

On the second day, I finally caved and took a shower. The hot water felt like a punishment, stinging my eyes that were red and swollen from crying.

I felt so incredibly guilty for something that wasn't my fault. But that didn't stop the feeling from wrapping around my chest like a vise, making it hard to breathe. I knew I had to pull myself together.

I should not be this upset over a man who didn't even love me anymore, I thought to myself as I chopped onions with more force than necessary. The tears stinging my eyes weren't just from the onions. I told myself it was the lack of sleep, the stress, the fear, but deep down I knew it was more than that.

The kitchen was a mess, but it was a controlled mess. Everything had its place and I had moved it to make my own space, to cook for myself. I had decided that I needed to take care of myself, physically and mentally. So, I put on my favorite playlist and started cooking. It was something I hadn't done in a long time, but the comforting smells of garlic and olive oil filled my apartment, and I found myself lost in the rhythm of it.

Chopping, sautéing, simmering. The clanging of pots and pans was the only sound in the apartment, and for once, it was comforting rather than a reminder of the loneliness. I had decided to make something simple, spaghetti with a marinara sauce.

As the sauce bubbled away, I poured myself a glass of wine. The sound of the TV played in the background, something mindless to keep my thoughts from wandering too much. I took a sip, letting the liquid warm me from the inside out. It was a little after midnight when the knock came.

It was so unexpected that I jumped, the wine sloshing in the glass. I walked to the door, my heart racing. Who would be here this late? I tried too peep at them through the peeping hole.

"Stop, peeping and open the door, you weirdo." Rory's voice called from the other side of the door. I let out a breath.

"How did you know?" I asked, a smile playing on my lips as I swung the door open.

"I could see your shadow. You're not that sneaky." She came inside. Rory looked a little tired, but her eyes lit up when she saw the kitchen. "You're cooking?"

"It's just spaghetti," I said, trying to downplay it.

"It smells amazing," Rory said, walking over to the stove and giving it a sniff. "Need help?"

"Already done," I told her. "Hungry?"

"Always," she said, taking a seat at the bar.

I turned to the stove, opening the spaghetti and pouring into into a pan. You will notice that I did not break it. This is because I am a sane person who does not want to go to Italian hell. Respectfully.