He doesn’t respond to my jabs as I watch the coffee maker sputter the last bit of my caffeine addiction into a ceramic mug. Instead, he tells me, “You have a message.”
He’s so tall, it only takes four strides for him to close the gap between us and reach me, holding out a folded piece of paper.
“Did you read it?” I ask him before taking the small piece of parchment.
His stare is hard and unforgiving as he answers, “Yes.” Pissed off from the lack of privacy, I easily toss the precious piece of paper onto the counter. I have no idea who it’s from, but I continue moving around my warden to look for sugar in the cabinets.
“Does Carter know?” I ask him when I finally find it. I close the door slowly, holding the box of sugar tighter than I should.
“Yes.”
I nod and then ask, “Is it from him?”
I would be surprised if it was, since he didn’t have much else to say last night, and Eli proves my assumption correct with a single word.
“No.”
I swallow down the sudden pang of anxiety, wondering who it’s from and what it says, but I don’t dare let on to Eli.
“You don’t have to hate me,” he says as I continue to walk around him and Addison as she fries something on the stove.
“You don’t have to hover,” I answer him immediately.
Without another word, he leaves, and I feel guilty although I know I shouldn’t.
“What are you cooking?” I ask Addison after he’s left, staring at the piece of paper without reaching for it.
“Eggs, do you want some?” she asks, peeking at me and then at the paper. I’m surprised she doesn’t ask about it; I can see the question in her eyes.
“Sure,” I answer just to be friendly. I don’t think I could eat if I tried though. I’m already sick to my stomach.
“How do you like them?” she asks before flipping her own in the pan.
“Over easy, please, and thank you,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice upbeat and waiting to open the note until I’m alone.
“Yolk?” Addison makes a face. “Eww. Really I don’t know if we can be friends anymore.” She’s only joking though. I know she is, but the thought of losing her sends a wave of nausea through me.
“Fine,” I tell her back in as playful of a voice I can manage, “I’ll eat them however you’re making them. I like eggs however they come,” I lie. I’ve only ever had eggs over easy. I don’t even eat hard-boiled eggs. I can’t justify why I lie to her or why I’m so nervous and feeling so alone. But I do and am.
“I can make them how ever.” Addison shrugs and then adds, “Over easy is the easiest way anyway. I just don’t like the taste of yolks.”
Her easygoing reply settles the nerves still racing through me, but I glance back at the note and notice when her gaze follows me there. Still, she doesn’t ask questions and I get the feeling that’s a learned habit of hers.
I watch as she cracks two eggs on the side of the pan, then takes a bite of hers from a plate on the right side of the stove.
“I can totally cook them if you want to eat,” I offer, feeling guilty. I can’t shake all these awful feelings running through me.
“I like it,” Addison tells me and then takes another bite. The pan sizzles as the tension runs through my shoulders and the note stares back at me.
“Can I tell you something else?” Addison asks me, scraping her fork on the plate rather than looking at me. When I don’t answer she peeks up at me and I’m quick to nod my head.
“I like that they’re here in a way.”
“Who?” I ask her, feeling my forehead wrinkle with confusion.
“Eli and Cason.” She doesn’t hide the guilt in her tone. “I know they’re basically keeping us hostage but seeing all those people on the TV this morning,” she pauses and visibly swallows. “Hearing the update on the death toll in this gang war?” She rolls her eyes as she repeats what the reporter called it. Looking over her shoulder at me and then reaching for another plate, she tells me, “At least I know we’re safe.”
I can only nod and accept the plate. I’ve been ‘safe’ all my life. There’s no such thing as safe, only the illusion of it. Telling Addison that won’t help her though.
My fork shuffles the eggs around on the plate while Addison watches, but she doesn’t say anything about it. I try to take a bite and then another, but it’s flavorless and it only makes the pit in my stomach feel heavier.
“Are you going to read it?” she asks me and then tilts her head toward the note.