Natalia
"Morning," I say sleepily to Abel as I shuffle into the kitchen.
He smiles at me. "Morning," he replies. "I made you pancakes." He pushes the plate of pancakes towards me and I thank him and start eating.
It's the first time that I'm eating properly since yesterday morning.
Abel leans against the counter, watching me with a smile on his face.
I suddenly feel insecure and squirm in my seat. "What?" I ask, laughing a little breathlessly.
Abel shakes his head. "Nothing," he says. "Did you sleep well?"
I nod. "Yeah," I say in between a mouthful of pancakes. "Thank you for letting me sleep in your room."
"No problem," he replies. He's about to say something else but is cut off by the sound of my phone ringing.
Groaning to myself, I fish it out from my pocket and look at the screen to find that Jessica is calling me.
Why is she calling me? Didn't she tell me that she wants me dead? That her life would be better off without me?
She's the one that threw me out of the house in the rain and told me to sleep on the streets, so what the hell does she want from me now?
That woman frustrates the hell out of me.
"Is everything okay?" Abel asks now, frowning.
I look up to find Abel staring at me with concern. I notice that I'm gripping the knife and fork a little too hard and my breathing has become heavier.
I smile weakly. "Everything's fine," I tell him, loosening my grip on the knife and fork.
"Aren't you going to get that?" Abel asks, nodding towards my phone.
I shake my head and turn the phone to face it downwards. "It's a random number," I say dismissively.
"I'm going to shower, okay?" Abel says and I nod and continue to finish my breakfast.
As I'm finishing the pancakes, my mind goes back to two months ago when me and Abel had sex right on this counter - it was the best sex I've ever had.
I can still feel the presence of his hands all over my body and the feeling of his wet tongue between my legs.
I realise that my body is trembling thinking about it. I want him so bad right now, but I can't risk him seeing my body that's covered in bruises.
I don't think I'd ever be able to bring myself to tell him - or anyone - about what's going on.
It would just make me feel so weak and vulnerable and honestly, I don't want their sympathy.
Besides, I've made it this far by myself, I'm sure I can scrape it to another year.
Jumping off the chair, I grab my plate and start to wash it. When I'm done, I place it in the draw. I've been here enough times to know where everything goes.
