12
Kam
I remember seeinga waffle maker when I was hiding all the appliances so Alana wouldn’t have anything to knock me over the head with. I can’t recall where I put it, so I have to check the five different places I’ve stashed different kitchen appliances. The first three places I check are a bust, but I find it in the fourth hiding place. I pull it out of one of the large empty trash bins out back, sitting right on top of about eight cast iron pans. I figured the last place she’d search for anything would be a trash can, so the heavier pans and almost all of the knives are hidden away here.
By the time I’m done, and almost everything’s covered in waffle batter, I’m more frustrated than I was when I started. Aside from the fact that the kitchen looks like a bomb went off, I can’t stop thinking about how I messed up. I couldn’t even argue with her because what could I say? She was completely right. I didn’t think to go back and ask if she was hungry. I get nervous when I have to face her; I have no clue how to interact with her. The few times I have, she’s been vicious, not to mention violent and I’m not used to that. She’s in that room for her safety and mine. Despite what she says, I know I did the right thing.
But, I do have to be more attentive. She’s hungry in there because of me. I know she’s a menace, and I expected her to be mean and nasty, so I shouldn’t be so anxious about facing her that my palms sweat. Yet I am and what makes it worse is that I think she knows it. I’m pretty sure she can smell my nerves just by how she focuses that sharp gaze of hers on me, but who knows? Not me. I’m struggling to read her. I can’t see anything she says or does, coming, and it’s her unpredictability that’s getting to me. It’s like sitting down to a card game, but I don’t know which game is being played until I make the wrong move.
As I cut up strawberries into a bowl on the side for her, I fight against my trepidation and come to the conclusion that I can’t let her scare me off like she’s trying to do. I’m the one in control here, not her. Sheneedsto be in that room, and while she’s there, I’m going to make sure I keep her comfortable until Megan comes back up.
I place the strawberries she requested on the tray next to her plate of waffles and a smaller plate of eggs. I have no clue if she’s one of those people who likes their eggs on the plate to soak up the syrup. Megan isn’t, but I’m quickly learning that everything about Alana, even down to her food choices, is vastly different than Megan.
Lastly, I place a cup of orange juice and a bottle of water on the tray, along with a cup of decaf coffee with cream and sugar beside it.
I stare down at the loaded tray, and all I’m seeing is compensation for my massive fuck up, my way of saying I’m sorry without actually saying it.
I pick the tray up, and as I’m walking down the hall, I take deep breaths to prepare myself. When I get to the door, I’m as ready as I’m going to be. I can’t hold off any longer because I’ve already accidentally starved her. With one final breath, I knock on the door.
She doesn’t answer, so I knock again, but she still doesn’t answer.
I swallow hard, staring at the heavy wooden door in front of me with a few different scenarios running through my mind. She could be standing on the other side, waiting to ambush me. She might be beside the door, arms above her head, ready to knock me out with something heavy as soon as I enter. The chances she made a weapon out of some of the debris is likely now that the entire room is destroyed. Is she going to stab me with a piece of glass from the shattered mirror?
Do I want to go in there right now?
It’s not a choice; I have to. She needs to eat.
So I call out to her through the door.
“Alana?” I shout.
“What!” she yells back.
Her voice sounds like she’s far enough away for me to walk in without getting accosted, so I push the door open.
She’s coming out of the bathroom, the toilet still making noise as she walks back into the room, frowning when she lays eyes on me.
“It’s about time,” she says, climbing back up on the bed. “I’m starving. What? You had to look up how to make them? You know there are directions on the box, right?”
I set the tray on the bed, ignoring her. I have no idea if this will work, but everything right now is an experiment. If I don’t follow her up, then maybe she’ll stop trying to intentionally piss me off once she sees it’s not working anymore. One of us has to be the bigger person.
“Damn,” she says as she takes in what’s on the tray. “This is an assload of food.” Then she looks up at me with a sly, knowing grin on her face. “Do you feel like an asshole for being a shitty kidnapper?”
I glare at her, but I catch the denial that was on the tip of my tongue, and I turn away, so she doesn’t get any confirmation on her very correct accusation. How the hell did she figure that out so easily anyway?
I’m intending to leave, but all the shit on the floor and the state of the room stops me in my tracks.
“Are you going to clean up this mess you made?” I ask her instead as I take it all in.
“I’m not cleaning this shit up.” Her words come out garbled, and when I glance over my shoulder, her mouth is full, her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel with a mouth full of acorns. “It’s hard enough sitting up in bed. You think I’m gonna bend over to clean all of that up?”
“You should have thought about that before you trashed the room,” I say calmly. For me to be so anxious, I’m glad I can actually come off as unbothered. “You can’t live in this. There’s too much you can hurt yourself on.”
“Youshould have thought about that before you locked me in here,” she says with a shrug. “You clean it up. Besides,I might hurt myself,” she mocks me. “You see how much glass is on the floor right now?”
This isn’t going to go anywhere; I already know that. It’s clear that she won’t be cleaning any of this up, and since I don’t want her to get hurt, it looks like I’m going to be the one picking this shit up after her.
I push down a frustrated groan before stalking out the room. I lock it behind me and search out a broom, dustpan, and a tall trash can.