Page 71 of Paradox
I can smell coffee, and fresh bread. But I can’t hear the shower.
I can’t hear any noise inside the cabin, in fact, except for the constant crackle of the stove.
Finally brave enough to roll over, I open my eyes and look straight to the loft.
The bed is made and the curtains at the window have been drawn.
The steel percolator is on the stove's warming tray and the fluffy dome of Eden’s sourdough is in the cast iron pan it was baked in. Beside it is a plate, and jars of peanut butter and grape jelly.
It makes me smile, but it also feels strange.
Eden has always had these fleeting moments of kindness, but nothing like this, and never with so many different moving parts.
He’s always been weirdly devoted to keeping me hydrated, then there was the cup of soup and his clean clothes, but they always came with the caveat that I owed him something—that I should consider myself lucky he even thought about me in the first place.
As I sit up, my hand moves to press against my forehead on its own because, holy crap, my head is spinning and my mouth is drier than the Sahara desert.
I’ve been drunk on soju once before, and it’s not a fun trip the next day. Though, this time around, I wouldn’t swap it for anything.
Eden's kisses are in another stratosphere compared to what came before them, and his breath felt like fire against my skin. But even through the haze of soju, I sensed a reluctance from him. Where I would have let him take everything from me last night without regret.
He could have bent me over this very sofa and forced his way inside me, and I’d have thanked him every second of the way. Yet for a man who's done more things than I ever imagined, he just jerked off.
That’s it.
I figured he’d at least want a blow job. It’s what I thought was going to happen when he knelt up over me. But being pinned down by a hand around my throat made it pretty clear it was off the table.
His words were sending me crazy, and his lips felt like they were trying to devour me whole, yet it was his eyes where I saw the disconnect. It was as though he wanted to believe in what he was saying, but his guts were fighting against it…
Throwing off my sleeping bag, I put my feet on the floor and see a fresh bottle of electrolyte water and a box of Tylenol.
I drink down half the bottle then pop two capsules in my mouth.
Where the extra warmth of the stove is typically so inviting, this morning it’s making me nauseous. So I quickly pour myself a mug of coffee and retreat to the kitchen.
Eden may be able to drink this stuff straight from the pot, but I need to dump half a cup of sugar into it.
In the pantry I bypass the white and reach behind it for the brown sugar.
After scooping three huge heaped spoonfuls into my coffee, I load up a fourth and deliver it straight to my mouth. I let my head fall back as it starts melting on my tongue. It’s caramel, and toffee, and soft goodness. And something I know Eden would find a reason to scold me about, which is exactly why the next time I do this it needs to be in front of him.
Smirking to myself, I put the jar back then stir my coffee.
I really shouldn’t like aggravating him as much as I do. And initially, it was far from intentional. But now…
Now it’s like a game. A game that I’ll be playing more and more if it means he’ll choke me like he did last night.
It was so controlled, but still aggressive.
And when he bit my neck—game over.
“Goddamnit, Eden,” I say aloud and head to the dining table.
The sourdough pan is still hot when I pull it in front of me, and no portion of it is missing.
Looking back at the kitchen and to the drying rack, I see nothing that indicates Eden has eaten at all.
For the loaf to have been made, proofed twice, and baked, he must have been awake for hours. So why didn’t he wake me? And why didn’t he eat anything?
