Chains » vampire l.t.

Chapter 9

Chapter 9


June's POV


I headed downstairs after my shower and peeked into the kitchen. Louis wasn't there. I don't think he was even in the house anymore.

I crept inside and pulled out the things I would make for lasagna. I loved lasagna. It's second-best to chicken enchiladas with extra salsa.

I wondered if the stove still worked. Only one way to find out. I turned the knob slowly, and crusted dust fell off. I watched in amazement as the stove heated up. Amazing! It still worked!

I turned on the sink and happily filled up a clean pot full of water. I put it on the heat and took out some noodles. At least, I think I was doing it right. I got the feeling I was doing it wrong.

Maybe there's a cookbook! I searched around the food items, but didn't find anything. I darted upstairs and started searching through my new clothes. I was just starting to think that this was a stupid idea when I shook out an apron and a small cookbook fell out. I grinned. I came back downstairs.

"Hello."

I screamed and jumped fifty feet. The cookbook fell out of my hands and clattered to the ground. My heart pounded a million beats a second in my chest. Louis smirked at me as I calmed down.

"For Pete's sake, Louis!" I yelled. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

He laughed. I blinked. That's weird. He's not at all pissed at me?

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Making--" I started to say but I cut myself off. "Why should I tell you?" I retorted.

He shrugged. "Maybe because if you don't," he said. "You'll regret it." He gave me a small grin, enough to show me the points of his canines.

He had cleaned up. He was wearing a white sweater that contrasted with his skin, and his face was no longer covered in blood-puke. Oh, gross. I swallowed down my vomit.

"I'm making lasagna," I muttered.

Louis raised his eyebrows. "I used to love lasagna," he said.

"You did?" I asked, my head shooting up so I could stare at him.

He nodded. "Yep," he said.

"Do you ever miss it?" I blurted out.

Louis frowned. "What? Lasagna?" he asked.

"No," I clarified. "I mean being a human. Do you miss being a human?"

He looked away from me. "I'd rather not answer that question," he mumbled.

After a few moments of awkward silence, I picked the cookbook back up and headed into the kitchen. I flipped through the cookbook, and found a recipe for lasagna.

"You're doing it wrong," a smooth British voice said, and I scowled. I wasn't aware that he had followed me.

"I'm aware of that," I snapped back. "That's why I have a cookbook with me, duh."

Louis paid no heed to my sharp tone and stood next to me, close enough to have our arms brushing. I shivered.

"And how do you know?" I asked, but the venom was out of my voice.

He shrugged. "My mother did it differently," he said.

"Fine," I huffed. "If you're so smart, do it yourself."

I thrust the cookbook at him. He took a step back.

"I don't want to end up puking again," he scowled. "You do it, I watch, I correct you. Win-win."

I didn't think of it like that, but whatever floated his boat. I was in an unusually sour mood today.

I sighed. "Fine," I repeated. "We'll do it like that."

I strained the noodles over the dusty sink and Louis retreated a few steps.

"We have sauce and noodles," I said, placing them next to each other. "What next?"

"Grate the cheese," Louis said quietly.

I shot him a questioningly look. He pointed.

"The cookbook says it all," he said simply.

I snatched it away and skimmed over it. He was right. Grate the cheese next. Why was he helping me?

I grated the cheese into a bowl and set it aside, beside the other ingredients. Next I picked up a pan, following the directions, and spread sauce on the inside of it. I put the noodles on next, then the ricotta, then the mozzarella and Parmesan. I made three layers. Louis didn't contradict me once.

I turned the heat on higher and set the lasagna on it. Now I had to wait about an hour before eating.

"There," I said in satisfaction. "I did it. And without your help." Louis rolled his eyes. He left the kitchen.

I sat down in a kitchen chair and fiddled with my fingers. What to do now for the next fifty or so minutes? I really wanted to listen to music, but there was no radio or anything in sight. I missed my iPod.

Heck, that's not the only thing I missed. I missed my mother, my father, the US, my freedom, everything. What did I ever do to deserve this? I was going to die young, if Louis didn't drain me. Just perfect.

I'm not sure how long I sat there for, but I do know that Louis came back in after a while.

"Your lasagna is going to burn," he said calmly.

"What?" I asked, looking up.

"It's been an hour," he said. "I think."

I jumped to my feet and turned the heat off, using my bare hands to move the pan off the stove. I yelped when it burned my fingers but I bit my cheek and ignored it best I could.

I grabbed a fork and looked at the lasagna pan uncertainly. I didn't want to seem like a pig....

Oh well. I dug in hungrily. It tasted delicious, but it burned my tongue. Huh, I guess I wasn't that bad of a cook.

A few mouthfuls later, I frowned when I realized something. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and glanced at Louis. He was looking down at the floor for some reason.

"Hey, Louis," I said.

He looked up. "Hmm?" he hummed.

"Is this what blood is like?" I whispered.

He frowned, tilting his head to one side slightly. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I think food is delicious," I elaborated. "But blood is disgusting. But for you, it's the exact opposite. Right?"

He nodded. "That's right," he agreed.

I looked away. I felt... weird. And not in a good way. I think it was all of this blood talk, and spaghetti sauce was in the lasagna. My stomach clenched. Yeah, that's what must be it.

My throat constricted, and I gasped slightly. Okay, now this was definitely not normal....

My vision went hazy, and I started trembling. I couldn't breathe.

"June?" Louis said, taking a step forward. Did he sound... concerned?! I didn't ponder it for too long, because just then my knees buckled.

"What...." I gasped out but couldn't finish my sentence. Then I remembered my allergies. Mushrooms! Were there mushrooms in my lasagna?

Black spots danced before my eyes, and the last thing I remember was Louis staring down at me before I passed out.