Chapter 25

I wanted to press her further, but before I could she was standing, stretching her legs and looking around the room. "Is there anything to eat?"

Her sudden change of subject was like a slap in the face, but I knew it was her way of avoiding the topic. "Yeah, I've got some leftovers in the fridge. Help yourself."

As she padded into the kitchen, I couldn't help but follow her with my eyes, watching the way the oversized shirt clung to her curves and the shorts rode low on her hips. Despite the gravity of our situation, I felt a stirring of desire.

The kitchen was spotless, a stark contrast to the mess we'd left behind in the living room. She rummaged through the fridge, the light casting a soft glow on her skin. She pulled out a Tupperware container and peeked inside. "Looks like lasagna," she said, popping it into the microwave.

The microwave beeped, and she grabbed a plate from the cupboard. The aroma of garlic and tomato sauce filled the air as she took a bite. She hummed in pleasure, closing her eyes. "This is amazing."

"My mom's recipe," I said, leaning against the kitchen counter. "It's been a while since I've had a home-cooked meal."

Her eyes snapped open, a hint of surprise flitting across her face. "You made this?"

"Yeah," I replied, a small smile playing on my lips. "It's not much, but it's something."

She took another bite, nodding in approval. "It's perfect."

"Thanks," I said, feeling a warmth spread through my chest at her praise. "So, what's your story, really?"

Her eyes searched mine, as if looking for a glimmer of judgment. Finally, she sighed. "I don't have much of one. Just a girl who's made some bad choices, trying to figure out how to make it right."

The words hung in the air, laden with a heaviness that was palpable. I knew there was more she wasn't saying, but I didn't push it. Instead, I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest. "Well, everyone's got a past. But that doesn't define you, you know?"

She took another bite, considering my words. "Maybe," she murmured. "But it sure as hell feels like it's chasing me."

I nodded, understanding more than she knew. "Well, you're safe here for now. Whatever it is."

Her eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of something deeper. A silent plea, perhaps. I didn't know what she needed, but I was willing to give it to her. Safety, comfort, maybe even answers if I could find them. "Thanks, Ethan," she said, her voice soft.

The kitchen grew quiet as she ate, the only sound the occasional clink of her fork against the plate. I found myself lost in thought, wondering what had brought her to this point. The quiet was broken by the sound of Flanagan's nails on the hardwood floor as he trotted into the room, tail wagging. He looked at her, then at me, as if to say, "Why aren't we playing?"

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the dog, and she bent down to scratch behind his ears. "You're a good boy, aren't you?" she cooed, and he responded with a happy bark.

I watched them, feeling a pang of something close to jealousy. "So, you're good with animals, huh?"

She laughed softly, looking back up at me. "I guess so. I mean, I've always had pets. It's nice to see them so friendly, you know? It's a nice change from..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked away, seemingly lost in thought.

"From what?" I asked gently. "You can tell me."

She hesitated for a moment before answering, "From people." She looked down at her plate, picking at a piece of carrot. "I just... I've made some mistakes, and I've had to live with them. It's not always easy."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken pain. I wanted to comfort her, to tell her that everything would be alright, but I knew that wasn't true. Not yet. Instead, I reached out and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We all make mistakes," I said. "And we all have our own burdens to bear."

She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine for something I wasn't sure I could give her. "Do you think it ever gets easier?" she asked. "Carrying all that weight?"

I considered her question, thinking of my own experiences and the people I'd met over the years. "I don't know if it gets easier, per se," I said. "But you learn to live with it, I guess. You find ways to cope, to make it bearable."

She looked away, her expression unreadable. "I've tried so many things," she murmured. "But nothing seems to help for very long."

I didn't know what to say to that. I'd never been in her shoes, never had to carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. But I knew that sometimes, just having someone to talk to could make a difference. Even if it was only temporary.

"Look," I began, trying to choose my words carefully, "I don't know if it'll help, but... if you ever want to talk, you can always come to me. You can tell me anything, and I'll listen. Okay?"

She looked up at me, her expression softening. "Thanks, Ethan," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I appreciate that."