Damage

Chapter 27

"Hey, thanks for coming over to help out," Michael says, bending down to my height and resting his chin on my right shoulder, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. "I'm shit at this stuff and would probably be lost without you."

"Oh, please, it's no problem." I smile, pushing away the tiny bit of uneasiness, and he lightly kisses my temple before turning to the pasta sauce.

"And I'm sure you're not bad at it," I counter. "For a guy who only knows how to make spaghetti, I bet you make it pretty well."

He laughs and picks up a strand of pasta from the boiling water with a fork before tasting it.

"Well, okay, maybe I wouldn't be lost without you. But I wanted to see you, so there."

We've seen each other every day this past week. A week of feeling a little smothered to say the least, a week of hearing what a great guy Michael is, a week of whatever this is - smiling and not saying anything while he makes jokes with his arm around my back.

I don't think I'm his girlfriend. At most we're dating, and even then not. We've never even gone on a date, and I'm not complaining. We're more than friends, that's for sure. Other people have introduced me as his girlfriend; I fill a lot of the "roles" of one.

But I don't feel like it, it doesn't feel quite right, regardless of how much I like Michael as a person. And I know I've said that a thousand times and am probably starting to sound redundant, but I can't shake the feeling.

"Mia, you okay?" Michael glances over at me when I don't respond and numbly stir the garlic in the pan of oil. "You look like something's bothering you."

"Yeah, of course. I'm fine, just dazed is all. I, um...I wanted to see you too." I smile blankly and he wipes his hands on a towel before moving towards me and resting his index underneath my chin.

"You're acting so strange tonight, what's wrong?"

"Sorry, I - uh. Nothing...nothing." My voice betrays me but Michael doesn't notice, he just smiles and says "good" as if that settles everything. A voice in the back of my head tells me that he would be able to tell - just like he did last time - but I tell it to shush and smile at Michael so he won't suspect anything.

He turns his head slightly to look at the pan and the pot on the stove, "We have a little bit of time until the next step. Do you want something to drink?"

"Just water's good."

"You sure you don't want something a little stronger? It's been a little while since I've had a pretty girl under the age of 21 over at my place for a date, but I know that they usually want alcohol."

I breathe out a laugh, ignoring the way it feels as if something is lodged in my chest. "I'm good."

And then quickly, as if the words are bubbling up from my throat I say, "And I don't know if you can really call this a date, seeing as I'm here helping you cook for a get-together."

"Well, I specifically decided to cook instead of order pizza so I could come up with an excuse to spend more time with you - as fucking stupid as that sounds. And, okay, yes, other people are coming in fifteen minutes or so, but we get some time alone -" he trails off, beginning to snake his arm around my waist and move closer.

I swallow down a nervous laugh before ducking around him and opening the fridge. "Where do you keep the water?"

He laughs, cocking an eyebrow at, truthfully, how odd I'm being before pointing to the cabinet. I stand on my tiptoes to open the small wooden door but just barely reach the handle.

"Do you want some help?" He asks, walking towards me, about to put his hands around my waist and hoist me up.

"No," I laugh, trying to mask how skittish I'm acting. "I got it," I say before climbing up on the counter and grabbing a bottle. Michael takes it from me and rolls up the sleeves of his plaid flannel before opening the bottle and pouring it into a wine glass.