17. Addison

17

Addison

E ren's breathing, steady and deep beside me, was the only sound in the dark room. I lay there, eyes wide open, the moon casting a pale glow through the blinds. The clock on the nightstand ticked away minutes I'd never get back, each one echoing louder in my head. How could I sleep after everything that had unfolded?

A cocktail of emotions churned within me. Anger at Eren bubbled up, its bitter taste filling my mouth. How could he be so oblivious, sleeping so soundly after dropping me into a chaos of confusion and unexpected desires? He'd thrown me into Michael's path as if I were nothing more than a problem to be solved, a toy to be passed around.

And yet, there was this other part of me, a whispering voice that urged me to slip out from under the covers and seek out Michael. My skin prickled with the memory of his touch, my body betraying my turmoil with its yearning.

I turned my head to look at Eren's peaceful face. Did he even realize the conflict he'd caused? Or was he simply that detached from the weight of his actions? My chest tightened at the thought of confronting him, of untangling this web he'd woven around us.

With a quiet sigh, I slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb his slumber. The floor was cool under my feet as I padded across the room and leaned against the windowsill. The night was quiet outside, the world oblivious to the storm raging inside me.

What was it about Michael that pulled me so strongly? His intensity? The way he seemed to see right through me? Or was it simply because he was so fiercely protective in a way Eren never was? No matter how hard I tried to push Michael's image away, it remained there—seared into my mind.

Confusion wrapped around me like a thick fog. Each breath felt heavier than the last as I wrestled with what to do next. Stay and confront Eren in the morning light? Or act on this inexplicable impulse to find Michael and demand answers for feelings I didn't fully understand?

I wrapped my arms around myself, seeking comfort where there was none to be found. This wasn't just about desire; it was about feeling seen and understood in ways I couldn't articulate yet. But one thing was clear: something had shifted within me that night—a shift that couldn't be ignored or undone.

I headed for the kitchen, my one place of solace.

The hum of the oven filled the kitchen, a soothing promise of normalcy. Flour dusted the counter, and the tangy scent of lemon zest hung in the air. I rolled out pie dough, trying to focus on the precision needed for the perfect crust. Baking was my sanctuary, a place where measurements and recipes offered control in a world that felt like it was spinning off its axis.

But as I pressed the dough into the pan, my mind betrayed me, drifting back to Michael's intense gaze. The memory of his hands, strong yet surprisingly gentle, ignited a warmth that spread through my veins like spilled sugar on a hot stove.

I tried to shake off the sensation, focusing on slicing apples with meticulous care. Their crisp snap as I cut through them should have been satisfying, but it only served as a reminder of how easily Michael had sliced through my defenses.

The apples piled into the crust, and I sprinkled them with cinnamon and sugar, the spices failing to sweeten my turbulent thoughts. The lattice work for the top crust was usually a task that required all my attention, weaving strips of dough over and under with rhythmic certainty. But today, each weave felt like an echo of entanglement—a pattern reflecting how Michael had woven himself into my thoughts, uninvited yet impossible to ignore.

As I slid the pie into the oven and set the timer, I leaned against the counter and closed my eyes. Baking had always been my escape, my way of kneading out frustration and rolling out stress until it vanished in the heat of creation. But not today. Today, every step was a reminder of what had transpired between us—of how his presence had seeped into every pore and lingered there.

I exhaled slowly, trying to expel him from my thoughts with each breath. But he clung there, stubborn as overworked dough. With every minute that ticked by on the kitchen clock, it became clearer that this pie wouldn't be enough to distract me from Michael Carter—not today.

The gentle whir of the oven fan filled the silence of the early morning as I tried to convince myself that I was alone. But I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as if someone's gaze bore into me from a distance. Could it be Michael, lurking somewhere in the shadows, his eyes following my every move?

My nipples hardened just thinking it.

Hoping for it.

Could he see?

I abandoned the rolling pin and moved toward the window, my hands leaving smudges on the glass pane as I peered into the darkness. The moon was a sliver in the sky, offering scant light, but it was enough for me to scan the yard for any sign of him. The oak tree where we'd first talked stood still, its branches swaying gently in a breeze I couldn't feel.

Nothing stirred, no figure stepped into the faint light, no eyes met mine with that piercing intensity I'd come to recognize in Michael. A twinge of disappointment tugged at my chest—a reaction that surprised me as much as it confused me. Why should it matter whether or not he was there? Wasn't it better if he had left, if he had given me space?

I leaned my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes briefly. The desire to see something—anything—that hinted at his presence was irrational. Yet I couldn't help but feel a hollow ache at his absence. It was like missing a shadow; you shouldn't notice it's gone until it's there again.

Opening my eyes, I searched once more, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement that would betray him. But there was nothing—just the quiet neighborhood bathed in pale moonlight and an empty street devoid of life.

With a heavy heart, I stepped away from the window and glanced back at my kitchen—the flour-dusted counters, the rolling pin lying abandoned, and the pie in the oven slowly turning golden. This was my world, predictable and safe, yet now it felt smaller somehow, like a space Michael had outgrown without even trying.

I realized then that part of me had hoped to see him out there—a silent guardian watching over me even when unasked. But as I stood there alone with my thoughts and the pie's sweet aroma beginning to fill the room, I understood that his absence was a void no amount of sugar or spice could fill.

The creak of the stairs announced Eren's presence before he even entered the kitchen. I turned, my hands still dusted with flour, as he walked in with a sleepy smile on his face. Before I could react, he pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me as he murmured, "Good morning."

But his touch felt wrong, like a sweater that had shrunk in the wash—too tight, too constricting. The scent of his cologne, once comforting, now seemed cloying and overwhelming. I stiffened in his embrace, my body refusing to melt into his as it once had.

I pulled away, avoiding his gaze as I wiped my hands on a dish towel. "I have to shower," I said, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears. "Can you pull out the pie when the timer goes off?"

"Sure," he replied, his brow furrowing slightly at my sudden retreat.

I turned to leave, eager to escape the weight of his presence and the questions I knew were brewing behind his eyes. But just as I was about to head up the stairs, he called out to me.

"Just think," he said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "In a matter of days, this will be our norm." His eyes glinted with a hint of mischief as he added, "Except I'll get to help put you to bed." He punctuated the statement with a wink.

I nodded, my throat too tight to form a proper response. His words only served to twist the knot of confusion in my stomach tighter. The idea of sharing a bed with Eren, of his hands on my skin, suddenly felt suffocating rather than exciting.

I turned and hurried up the stairs, my heart pounding in my ears. The bathroom door clicked shut behind me, and I leaned against it, closing my eyes as I tried to steady my breathing. The cool tile beneath my feet grounded me, a reminder that I was here, in this moment, even as my thoughts raced ahead to an uncertain future.

I stripped off my clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor, and stepped into the shower. The water cascaded over me, hot and steaming, but it did little to wash away the confusion that churned inside. I lathered my hair with shampoo, my fingers massaging my scalp, and I couldn't help but imagine Michael's hands in place of my own—strong, sure, and electrifying.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the thought, but it clung to me like soap suds. Every touch, every caress, seemed to conjure his image, his presence lingering even in his absence. I scrubbed at my skin, as if I could erase the memory of his touch, but it only made me more aware of every inch of my body that he had explored.

The water pounded against my back as I tilted my face up to the spray, letting it mingle with the tears that had begun to leak from the corners of my eyes. I didn't understand what was happening to me—how one night could unravel everything I thought I knew about myself and what I wanted.

But as I stood there, the steam billowing around me like a cloak; I realized that the distance between Eren and me had grown into a chasm I couldn't bridge with a smile or a touch. Something fundamental had shifted, and no amount of hot water or soap could wash it away.

I turned off the shower and stepped out, wrapping myself in a fluffy towel. As I wiped the steam from the mirror, my reflection stared back at me—eyes wide and searching, as if looking for answers in the glass. But the only certainty I found was the knowledge that I couldn't go back to the way things were before.

Not with Eren.

Not with anyone.

I slipped into my school uniform, the familiar plaid skirt and crisp white blouse feeling foreign against my skin. It was as if they belonged to a different Addison, one who hadn't been touched by Michael's hands or haunted by his intense gaze.

I stood in front of the mirror, blow-dryer in hand, and watched as my damp hair transformed into soft waves. The rhythmic hum of the blow dryer filled my ears, drowning out the thoughts that threatened to consume me. I focused on the task at hand, on the simple act of getting ready for school, hoping it would provide a respite from the emotions that churned inside me.

But even as I applied a light layer of makeup, my mind drifted back to that night—to the way Michael's touch had ignited a fire within me, to the way his eyes had seen through every defense I had carefully constructed. I couldn't shake the feeling of his presence, even now, as if he were a phantom limb I couldn't quite ignore.

I gathered my books and headed downstairs, the scent of freshly baked pie wafting through the air. Eren sat at the kitchen table, a slice of pie in front of him, and looked up as I entered. "You look nice," he said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

I forced a smile in return, but it felt hollow, like a mask I had to wear. "Thanks," I replied, grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter as I shrugged on my winter coat. "I should get going. Don't want to be late."

Eren nodded, his brow furrowing slightly as he studied me. "Is everything okay, Ads? You seem... distant."

I shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "Just tired, I guess. Didn't sleep well last night." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. How could I explain to him the way Michael had turned my world upside down, the way he had awakened desires I didn't even know I had?

I turned to leave, but Eren caught my hand, his fingers lacing through mine. "Hey," he said softly, pulling me closer. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything."

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly tight. "I know," I whispered, but the words felt like a lie. How could I talk to him about this, about the way another man had made me feel more alive than I ever had before?

I pulled my hand from his grasp and headed for the door, my heart pounding in my chest. "I'll see you later," I called over my shoulder, not daring to look back. "Please lock up when you leave."

I stepped outside, the cool morning air hit my face, and I inhaled deeply, trying to clear my head. I hoped that school would provide a distraction, that the routine of classes and homework would help me forget about Michael, even for a little while.

But deep down, I knew it was a futile hope. Michael had left an indelible mark on my soul, and no amount of algebra or history could erase it. He was a part of me now, whether I liked it or not, and I had a feeling that my life would never be the same again.