Pandora's Box

Chapter 12

Winter, 2013
Christmas Eve
The White Apartments
Ibiza

People say that they could always recognize the turning point in their life. The businessman would say it was the thrill he felt when he made his first sales as a teen. The computer programmer would say it was the curiosity that sparked when he saw the codes he extracted from an Android application. For Rhys, even at the age of twenty-eight, he had never had a turning point in life. From the death of his parents, to how Benedict somewhat adopted him, to his induction into the CIASF, they had all been gradual changes in his life. His first girlfriend had been a curiosity. Amanda was the nerd in class he had been partnered with for lab. They had worked well together, and had both been curious how a relationship and sex would like. Contrary to popular belief, Rhys had never been the popular guy until he started attending college, and his lanky frame filled out.

Amanda and him had stopped just before high school graduation, because other then their mutual curiosity, they had little else in common for conversation topics. Eventually, he had dated Vivian, who was vivacious and outgoing. She represented a part of life that Rhys had never been privy to. She had also been the one to introduce him to the hard and fast life of alcohol, parties and clubbing.

Benedict, to say the least, did not fancy his relationship with Vivian. He even went as far as to ban her from entering the house he stayed in. That had been a bad time in his relationship with Benedict, until the day his guardian had to come and bail him out of prison. Vivian had came back only after he had gotten out of bars, but he knew better by then. They broke up, and then he met Emmaline.

Emmaline was the one girl in his life that Benedict had actually approved of. They had met in his sophomore year, and she shared his Legal Reasoning class with him, but she had taken it as her minor, while he actually majored in Law. Their breakup had been difficult, but even she  had no turning point to give him, even in their four-year relationship together. She had been laughter and joy, a balm in his stressful job in the CIASF, but she was nothing compared to the strike of lightning that shot him when he walked out of his room and saw Pandora standing at the stove with something smoking in front of her.

All three stoves were going at full blast, with a bubbling pot spilling its contents on to the stove. Dressed in her denim shorts and a white shirt, with mid-morning sun flooding the tiny kitchen she had to work with, Rhys watched with a raised brow as he took in the half-chopped kale on the  other end of the counter, spilled contents of a bowl strewn across the sink, and the girl in question hopping across the kitchen to pick up the bubbling pot.

In her panic, she almost forgot how hot the contents would be, and shrieked when she  touched the handle.

That sound in itself was enough to jolt Rhys out of his reverie, and he shot forward to grab the pot, quickly putting it down and dragging Pandora away from the stove, laughing as he yanked her to run her slightly red palm under the running water. "Would you be a little more careful, Dora? You'll wake the dead with all this noise."

"Oh, did I wake you? I-I'm sorry." she murmured.

He raised a brow, and then laughed with a rueful shake of his head. "No, you didn't. But I think I better remain here to help you lest you burn down the whole building. Our budget doesn't cover that."

"Oh, would you help me? Great!"

And just like that, she had forgotten her guilt. Before he knew it, she began to delegate Rhys to chop onions, dice potatoes. In between working on the food, Dora found enough time to whip up a simple omelette and salad for a simple lunch, which they enjoyed on the balcony of their apartment.

"Does your family do this every year?" He asked, finding himself curious about everything regarding the five feet tall blonde seated opposite him as they picked at the remnants of their lunch. From the tiny kitchen, the smell of a bubbling stock and remains of their midday kitchen disaster lay strewn.