Page 21 of Love and War

7

Killian

Empty.

Her fridge was empty.

The pantry was empty.

I mean, everything was basically empty.

But why?

I mean, she’s a type one diabetic. She needs things, like food. Yet she doesn’t have anything. I didn’t count the few things of juice or the fucking milk. If I would have known this, I would’ve spanked her ass until it was red. Red enough, she couldn’t sit down.

I could feel my anger spiking the more I thought about it. The way she put herself in danger, her blood sugar could fall, and she would have nothing to help. No wonder she slammed the fridge door when I walked in. She didn’t want me to see that she had absolutely nothing.

Walking into the living room I searched around. She had wrappers of different kinds of nuts laying around, juice bottles, Gatorade bottles. Ballet shoes and leotards thrown around.

I was seconds away from going to wake her up and force her to her knees. To demand to know why she hadn’t been taking care of herself. I didn’t care about the mess, I’ve seen worse. But she hasn’t been caring for herself. Swallowing my anger, fighting the urge to do just that, I pulled my phone out, shooting a text off to Taylor that I needed him to do some grocery shopping. Once that was settled, I looked around her house. Taking a deep breath I got to work, picking up all the trash, three garbage bags full. I threw her dirty clothes into the laundry room, which was also a mess of clothes, unsure if they were clean or dirty. Deciding to just throw a load in, I moved on to the kitchen.

A little over an hour later I had most of her house picked up. Taylor had shown up, and after thirty minutes, and what felt like over a hundred bags later, I finished putting her groceries away.

I was still reeling with the urge to storm into her room, but I had to remind myself that I was trying to get in her good graces.

Distracting myself, I pulled out a thing of chicken, some mozzarella, and parmesan. Getting a cutting board out, I sliced the chicken breast in half, rolled it in some eggs and then the panko. Once those were in a pan frying, I poured in some chicken broth, diced tomato, and the penne pasta.

Just as I poured the mozzarella and parmesan into the pan with the cooked pasta, the sound of her bedroom opening stopped me in place. Aziza stopped in her tracks as she saw me standing there stirring the pasta. Her eyes widened along with my own. She was completely naked. Her hair was now tied up in a messy bun, but besides that she wore nothing. My dick instantly got hard, and the only thing I could think about was shoving my cock into her. Adjusting myself, I tried to think of anything else.

“You’re here,” she muttered.

“I am,” I said, not sure how I spoke, with her still standing there naked. Of course, she would be naked. How could I forget I stripped her naked when I put her to bed.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” Shutting off the stove, I moved the pan to the back burner.

“Exactly that, why are you here, Killian?” Slowly her arms crossed over her chest as she glared at me. Just as quickly her eyes widened again as she glanced down at herself, suddenly realizing she was naked. “Oh…oh…no.” Backing away, her arms tried to cover her very naked body.

“I’ll be back,” she mumbled before running off.

Chuckling, I pulled two plates down, plating the penne pasta then the chicken in the middle. I could hear Aziza moving around in her room, throwing things down.

Placing them down on the kitchen table, I grabbed two water bottles. By the time I sat down at the table waiting for her, it had been ten minutes. She was stalling and refusing to come out.

“You don’t get out here in the next thirty seconds, I swear I’m—”

“You’ll do what?” she hissed walking into the kitchen. No wonder it took her so long. Her hair was wet, so she must have showered. “You can leave. Like right now, literally go now.” She stood in front of the hallway, not daring to come any closer.

“No.” I met her pissed off expression. This wasn’t the first time we’d had a standoff. She always got mad at me for random things I did. When I was fifteen, she got mad at me when I refused to let her play video games at Zander's house.

“This is my goddamn house, Killian,” she growled out. “If I don’t want you here, I get the right to toss you out!”

“No.”

“Get out.”

“No.”

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