Psychopath (Harry Styles Fanfic)

episode three

                                                             [ three ]

Evelyn.

Dad was always fond of cooking.

I've noticed his love for cooking ever since I was a child. Even when mum was still with us, he was usually the one who would prepare our meals. Some would find his passion for cooking impressive, but a few would find it quite unusual considering it's most likely for the wife to do the kitchen work and whatnot.

He was a busy man, yet he still managed to do it without complaining about it. Rather than seeing it as a burden, he saw it as leisure. Every time he would cook, his face would always look so relaxed - content, even, and not a single hint of vexation would be seen from him.

"Evelyn, could you hand me the recipe?"

"Sure."

Whenever I was home alone, I would usually just order my food, or sometimes go to Tyler's house because quite frankly, he was the better cook. I, on the other hand, was the worst cook.

But ever since mum passed away, I started helping out dad in the kitchen again. Dad and I were the only ones left in our house, and I thought maybe it was just right that I'd face my weakness. After all, I can't rely on fast food forever.

You see, cooking was never my forte. In fact, I found it mortifying; as exaggerated as it sounds. There was a point in my childhood wherein I thought I wanted to learn how to cook myself, but a certain incident led me to think otherwise. If I remember clearly, it was when I was observing dad in the kitchen while he was cooking one time. I was quite eager to learn. The eagerness and curiosity was burning within me, and it was later that I realized that there was something else that was burning - my hair.

I was situated too close to the fire.

Others would find the incident funny, but for me, it was anything but that.

During these past few days though, I've been getting the hang of it; slowly but surely. Only, I still couldn't bring myself to go near the stove. But all in all, I don't regret anything because not only was I beginning to overcome my fear of fire, but I also discovered a different side of dad. Sure, he was still strict with me in the kitchen, but he seemed a bit more approachable this time; approachable in the sense that I would have the guts to ask him questions I've never asked him before.

"Dad?" I called; my voice rather soft.

"Yes?"

"Have you always loved cooking?"

He looked like he was taken aback by my sudden question; his jaw tensed slightly and his eyes unable to look at mine. He was quiet for a while as his focus was on the recipe he was reading. "No, actually." he finally replied.