My fingers slide through his hair, combing it into a sort of mohawk. Cook hums, pushing his head further into my touch. As his eyes flutter open, he groans, rolling over to reveal a cross tattoo that takes up most of his side. During the night he'd had some sort of fit and thrown all the cover off. I have them wrapped around my body trying to keep warm. The heater in the house is not turned on or it's busted I don't really know.
On the bedside table, my phone springs to life buzzing its way towards the edge of the stand. My dad's name flashes across the screen. This is the fifth time he's called this morning. I hit the red ignore button before turning the thing off completely. I'll go home when I'm ready. I want at least a few more hours of peace. It's quiet at Cook's place. No one is yelling or crying or vomiting. Here there are only the creaks of the house slowly falling into the earth and soft music that comes from the other side of the wall. This place actually feels like a home.
"Good morning Annabelle," Cook whispers pulling me from my thoughts. "I see you stole the blankets."
"You threw them off last night. Don't you remember? You had some kind of fit, started screaming. Something about Ems. I tried to wake you up but you wouldn't."
Cook groans, rubbing his eyes with his thumbs before pushing himself up into a sitting position. "Shit."
"Cook, you've got a situation," I nod towards his boxers. His dick is noticeably hard. I can't help but giggle a little.
"Don't mind him," Cook answers back before pulling some of the blankets over his lower half. "I didn't keep you up did I?"
"No. You just had the one fit then you went back to sleep. Who is Ems?"
"No one. It's not really important. What would you like to do today?"
I lean back against the headboard, Cook's head coming to rest on my shoulder. I go back to playing with his hair, enjoying the feeling of his warm breath on my skin. I don't remember the last time I was this close to someone who wasn't a family member. It's frightening yet comfortable at the same time. I've decided Cook isn't going to hurt me, but I'm still worried. Things don't stay good for long. Everything has a way of getting fucked up eventually.
"You can't avoid it forever, Cook. We can talk," I respond.
"It's nothing. Let's get breakfast and then find some proper furniture. Sound good?"
Before I can respond, Cook is out of bed. He pulls on a pair of jeans before lighting a fag and offering me one. I take it and inhale deeply as I follow him to the kitchen. I sit and watch as he prepares eggs and bacon. The smells fill the kitchen quickly, making me feel a little queasy. I never liked the smell of breakfast.
"You alright, Annabelle?"
I shrug, "You know you can call me Anna. That's what everyone else calls me."
Cook grins before putting a plate of food down in front of me, "I'm not everyone else, babes."
"Yeah."
Cook eats slowly, scrolling through his phone occasionally making a call. None last more than a few minutes each and the person on the other end always does most of the talking. I zone out, pushing around the food on my plate. The thought of eating it makes my stomach churn. This was a mistake. I should have gone home last night. I should leave right now before this goes any further. How long is Cook actually going to want to spend time with me? How long until he decides I'm not fit to be anyone's friend?
"What happened to your arm?" Cook questions, his fingers playing over a row of scars that run up and down my forearm. His eyes flick from me to them and back. I pull my arm away, quickly hiding it behind my back.
"Bit klutzy, I guess."
Cook nods, glancing down at my plate, "You not hungry?"
"I'm not feeling so great this morning. Sorry I made you cook extra."
"No problem. Do you wanna stay home instead? We could watch telly or we could talk. I'll even read to you if you want to me to. Do you need to go to your mum?"
"No Cook, I don't need my mum," I answer back suddenly overcome with frustration. "Do you always try this hard? I mean you just look like the kind of guy who could give a fuck. You're always loaded. I've never once seen you actually talk to someone. You don't even hold doors for people. You don't have to pretend for me. If you want to be a prick you can be. I won't get offended."
"Go get dressed Annabelle. I'll clean this shit up."
"Cook – " I mumble but he doesn't look at me. "I didn't mean to – "
"I know you think you know me Annabelle but you don't!" Cook yells, slamming his fist down on the counter. "You might have been watching me for who knows how long but you don't know a fucking thing about me! You can't just come in here and assume. So let me get one thing straight, okay? We are friends now. You stay here when you don't wanna go home and we do stuff together. You don't ask questions. I don't ask questions. We just – it's just like last night."
I nod, "I didn't mean to upset you."
"I know," Cook lets out a long sigh, his fingers raking through his hair as he shakes his head. "I know.
I walk slowly back to the bedroom, blinking back tears. The Cook of my head never yells. This was a mistake. I get dressed in a daze. The room spins. I miss the leg of my tights and tumble to the ground. For a second I lay there, finger jammed through the hole now ripped in the fragile material. How easy it'd be, to just lie here and never move again. Everything would slowly disappear, there would be no my world and the real world. I couldn't get hurt. I couldn't hurt anyone.
"Annabelle I'm gonna come in okay?" There's the gentle sound of knuckles against wood and then the door slowly swings open.
I scramble to my feet trying to get my skirt and t-shirt on before he comes in. I get my head stuck in an armhole and begin to fall again. Strong arms steady me. My shirt is lifted and gently pulled back down. Cook threads my head and arms through their proper holes. I give him a weak smile. I must look like an idiot. Who can't even put on their own shirt?
"You okay now?" Cook questions as he pulls on striped polo and a black jacket. "Here –"
A grey jumper is thrown at me, landing in a heap on the floor. I pick it up and pull it on over my shirt. The purple one I had on yesterday is in the corner, still dripping wet from my walk through the rain and snow. "Thank you."
Cook turns around, his eyes trailing up and down my body. His jumper is much too big and slides off my shoulder, the arms hanging well below my hands. I roll the sleeves and tie up the sweater so that one side of my black skirt can be seen. Cook's gaze makes me slightly uncomfortable and I try to avoid it as much as I can. I'm not used to people looking at me. I don't like being observed.
"You look good. Let's go," Cook finally says before grabbing my hand and leading me towards the front door.
"Cook, I'm gonna have to go get my clothes eventually," I mumble as he drives down the street towards the shops. His eyes stay glued to the road. His fingers curled so tightly around the steering wheel that his knuckles turn white. He doesn't go a tick over or under the speed limit. I've never seen anybody drive like this. A question sits on the tip of my tongue but I swallow it down remembering Cook's outburst from this morning. I begin to pick off the polish from my nails.
"You can pick out whatever you want while we're out."
"I've only got about 10 quid with me. I have clothes at my house, Cook. I can walk there from your place."
"We aren't using your money today."
"Cook."
"Annabelle," Cook answers cracking a smile as we park. "Look, I've got money. I can pay. It isn't that big of a deal. Let's just go in and give it a look, okay? If you don't see anything that you like you can go home after today and get whatever you want from your house."
I let out a sigh of defeat. I don't really think there is much point in arguing with Cook. "Why do you want to spend your money on me?"
"No questions, Annabelle. Let's go."
With that he gets out of the car. For a second it looks like he might come around and open my door but he doesn't. Instead, he heads towards the store leaving me to catch up with him.