7. Addison

7

Addison

T he cold light of morning crept through the gaps in my curtains, pulling me reluctantly from the depths of a restless sleep. I reached for my phone, the screen cold and unyielding under my fingers. Nothing. Not a single message from Eren. After the chaos of last night, his silence was like a void, loud and all-consuming. How could he not reach out? Did last night mean so little to him?

I tossed the phone aside, its clatter against the nightstand mirroring the clatter in my chest. With a deep breath that did little to calm my frayed nerves, I pushed off the sheets and made my way to the kitchen. The chill of the tile floor seeped through the thin fabric of my underwear as I moved, and I rubbed my arms for warmth, my tank top offering little in the way of insulation.

Pausing by the open window, I watched as dusty snowflakes began their silent descent to the ground. They twirled and danced in the air, oblivious to the turmoil inside me. The world outside seemed so serene, so untouched, while inside, a storm raged. Eren's absence felt like a missing heartbeat, unsettling in its silence. Where was he now? Did he even think of me, or was I alone in this tempest?

The kitchen was my refuge, the one place where the chaos of my thoughts could be tamed and ordered like ingredients on a shelf. I yanked open the cupboard, my movements more forceful than necessary, and reached for the flour. The bag gave a soft poof, a cloud of white dusting the counter and my hands. It felt good to focus on something tangible, something that didn't involve deciphering Eren's silence or the bewildering encounter with Michael.

I measured out sugar next; the grains sliding through my fingers like tiny crystals catching the light. Each precise measurement was a step away from last night's humiliation. I was determined to lose myself in the alchemy of baking, where eggs and butter could transform into something golden and perfect.

The mixer whirred to life, a comforting hum that filled the kitchen and drowned out the relentless ticking of the wall clock. I watched as the paddle spun, coaxing disparate ingredients into a smooth batter. There was something deeply satisfying about this process, about creating order from chaos.

As I scraped down the sides of the bowl, my thoughts drifted unbidden to Michael. The way he had stepped in last night, his hands deft as they changed my tire, then later... I shook my head, trying to dislodge the memory. It clung stubbornly, Michael's eyes holding mine in a gaze that seemed to see right through me.

The oven beeped its readiness, jolting me back to the task at hand. I poured the batter into pans with practiced ease, smoothing the tops with a spatula before sliding them into the warmth of the oven. Through the glass door, I watched as they began their slow rise.

I should have been thinking about what to say to Eren when he finally called, planning out each word like ingredients in a recipe. But all I could picture was Michael eating my cookie. My heart thrummed an erratic beat against my ribs.

The timer dinged softly in the background, marking time in increments too small for all that needed sorting in my head. But for now, there was only this: flour on my hands and cake in the oven—the sweet scent of vanilla promising something good yet to come.

As I waited for the cakes to bake, a shiver danced up my spine. The familiar prickling sensation at the back of my neck told me I wasn't alone.

Eyes.

Watching.

It wasn't new; it had been a shadow companion for years, a ghostly presence I could never quite shake. It was like a whisper in a crowded room, insidious and ever-present.

"I'm right here, coward!" My voice shattered the quiet kitchen, bold and defiant. The words echoed off the tiled walls, bold and louder than I expected. "If you're going to do something, do it!"

My hands curled into fists at my sides as I stood firm, staring at the empty doorway. The weight of my challenge hung heavy in the air. My heart hammered in my chest, each beat a drumroll of anticipation.

I waited.

The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, wrapping around me like a shroud. The pressure built in my chest until it felt like I couldn't breathe.

Then, with the precision of an unwelcome guest who knew just when to arrive, the timer buzzed.

I blinked, the sharpness of my voice still hanging in the air. What was I doing? My breaths came in short, ragged pulls, my chest tight with an absurd sense of danger. There was no one there—just shadows and the faint hum of the refrigerator. I felt crazy, standing in my kitchen, yelling at phantoms that existed only in my mind.

I turned back to the oven, its warm glow a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in my bones. With a deep breath, I reached for the oven mitts, sliding them over my hands like armor against the heat and against the madness of the moment. The cakes needed tending to—golden-brown promises of something sweet amidst the bitterness that clouded my thoughts.

The racks slid out with a gentle creak, and I lifted each cake from its hot cradle with care. They were perfect, at least to the eye: risen and firm, yet with a softness that spoke of their tender crumb. I set them on the cooling racks, their warmth seeping into the metal and dissipating into the air around me.

As I stood there, watching tendrils of steam curl up from the cakes, my anger began to fade like smoke into the ceiling. It was replaced by a deep-seated sadness that settled in my chest—a weight that pulled at the corners of my eyes and pressed down on my shoulders.

Last night should have been a celebration—a moment shared between Eren and me. But instead of cherishing it, he had run from it as if it were something shameful. And now here I was, left with a confusion that swirled inside me like batter before it's poured into a pan.

Why had he left? Why had he said nothing? These questions buzzed around in my head as I moved through the motions of baking more—mixing, measuring, pouring—each step a distraction from thoughts I couldn't answer.

The rhythmic scrape of the spatula against the bowl was soothing in its monotony. As I worked, scooping batter into lined cupcake trays, I let myself sink into the process. There was comfort in this—comfort in knowing that when all else seemed lost to chaos and confusion, there was still something I could control.

And so I baked on, seeking solace in sweetness while grappling with a sadness that seemed to grow with each passing moment.

Hours melted into the rhythm of baking, my hands moving of their own accord, lost in the monotony of the task. A sudden knock at the door jarred me from my trance. Flour dusted the air as I wiped my hands on my apron and made my way to answer it.

I pulled open the door to reveal Eren standing there, a bouquet cradled in his arms. He looked unruffled, his sharp features softened only by the light of day and a hint of remorse in his eyes. The green in his shirt mirrored the color of his eyes, intense and searching. His dark hair was tousled, as if he'd run his hands through it one too many times in frustration or nervousness.

"I'm sorry for leaving you alone like that," he said, his voice lacking its usual confidence. The flowers were an unexpected gesture, vibrant against the dull ache in my chest.

I took the bouquet, each petal a silent witness to his apology. Suspicion clouded my gaze as I studied him—the familiar set of his jaw, the earnestness that seemed out of place given last night's abrupt end.

He shifted from foot to foot, looking past me into the sanctuary of my home. "I don't deserve it... but can I come in?"

A war waged within me. Part of me wanted to slam the door in his face, let him feel a fraction of the confusion and abandonment that had plagued me since last night. Yet another part, perhaps against better judgment, nudged me to step back, opening the space between us.

Silence hung heavy as I retreated without a word. I had no intention of breaking it just yet; he owed me more than flowers and sheepish glances. But fairness—perhaps curiosity—tugged at me, urging me to listen to whatever explanation he had brought along with those blooms.

As he stepped over the threshold, our eyes met briefly before I turned away. There was something there in his gaze—an urgency or fear—that made my heart stutter against my will. The door clicked shut behind him with a finality that seemed to echo through the quiet apartment.

Eren stood there in my kitchen—a space that had always been mine alone—his presence an intrusion yet oddly fitting amidst the chaos of emotions he'd stirred up. I remained silent, offering him no comfort as he ventured into an explanation I wasn't sure I wanted to hear.

"Smells good," he commented, breaking the silence that had enveloped the room.

I nodded but remained silent. The oven's warmth did little to ease the chill that had settled between us.

"May I?" He reached for a cookie, his casual demeanor grating on my already frayed nerves.

My teeth clenched. He was delaying the inevitable, trying to charm his way through the tension. It was pissing me off.

"Eren," I said, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me. "If you didn't want to, I don't know, do that with me, why did you?—"

"It's not like I want to be like this," he cut me off, ruffling his hair in a gesture of frustration before taking a hasty bite of the cupcake. Crumbs fell to the floor, unnoticed. "You don't realize it. It's like being handed this pure thing and worrying your hands are going to get it dirty."

I wrinkled my brows, struggling to make sense of his words. "I don't understand what you mean," I said slowly.

He exhaled sharply, looking anywhere but at me. "I don't... I don't like to teach the new baby deer how to walk," he said. "You get what I mean? I want them already knowing what they're doing. I don't want to deal with emotions, with regrets and with... clinginess."

His words hung in the air like a foul odor, and I fought the urge to recoil.

"And you think that's what I'd do?" I asked slowly, each word measured and heavy with disbelief.

"I don't know what you'd do," he admitted, his eyes searching mine for something I couldn't quite grasp. "And honestly, I don't want to find out. I want to know you're... that you're confident in what you're doing. That you don't need me to hold your hand. That you know what you want and you know what I want."

"And what do you want?" My voice came out softer than I intended, carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken fears.

"I'm telling you," Eren said, his gaze never leaving mine. He stopped and took my hand. My muscles tensed, a reflexive response to the unexpected touch, but I didn't pull away. His fingers were warm against my own, a stark contrast to the cool detachment in his voice.

"You care about me, right? I know you do." He was close now, too close. "I saw you with that girl. You would have gone even further, wouldn't you?" His voice dropped lower, his eyes drifting to my lips as if drawn by a force beyond his control. "You don't understand how much I want you, Addy. It's killing me."

"Don't you think I want you too?" My question hung between us, vulnerable and raw. "Eren, I followed you into a room, I let you?—"

"I know, okay? And I'm sorry I left." His hands fell from mine as he backed away, creating space where moments ago there was none. He was defensive now, walls rising up around him brick by brick. "I'm sorry, okay? But it's just... I'm not attracted to... that."

"To what?" The question left my lips before I could catch it.

"To... purity," he said finally, the word hanging in the air like a verdict.

The realization struck cold and sharp; his confession cut through the remnants of warmth that lingered from his touch. It was as if he had laid bare the final piece of a puzzle that painted a picture so different from the one I had hoped for—a picture where my worth was measured by experiences I hadn't yet had and a vulnerability that seemed more liability than virtue.

"But I am..." The words caught in my throat.

"I know," Eren says, his voice softening, as if that would cushion the blow.

I took a breath. "Are you... are you breaking up with me?" I asked, the question a fragile thing in the space between us.

"What? No, of course not," he replied quickly, too quickly. "I care too much about you to do that."

"Then, what are you saying?" I asked, confused again. His words spun around me like a carousel I couldn't get off.

Eren reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear before his hand came to rest against my cheek. I leaned into his touch, grasping at straws, at…anything. "You'd do anything for me, right?" he asked, his eyes searching mine for an answer he wanted.

I almost bristled at his arrogance but his touch felt too good. It grounded me during this conversation that felt like quicksand.

"I have a way we can fix it," he said. His eyes sparkled. It was so damn easy to get lost in them. I almost hated him for it. "We can help you not be so pure."

I swallowed. "How?" I asked.

"Have someone else do it," he said simply, as if the solution were as straightforward as borrowing a cup of sugar from a neighbor. "Have someone else take it from you so I can have you exactly how I want you."

He leaned forward. Just as his lips were about to meet mine, someone pounded on the door with an urgency that startled us both.