Status: Sorry to leave you hanging guys! The keyboard on my laptop is malfunctioning.
Stop Pretending That You're Sorry
38
I woke up naked and alone. Again. It seemed like this was going to be a regular thing with John, something I wasn’t too pleased about.
Thankfully though when I wrapped myself in sheet and headed out into the other room, it was John, not Max, propped up on the couch eating breakfast. Unlike Max he didn’t have his feet up on the table, and he sat with his back straight. Overall he didn’t look very relaxed.
I plopped down on the couch next to him, not the best of ideas since the milk in his cereal spilled a tiny bit upon impact.
He swore under his breath and stalked off to the kitchen, returning with carpet cleaner and rags.
“Um, is everything okay, John?”
He was acting odd. Something was definitely off.
“Fine. Yeah. Good. I just need to clean this up.”
“I can do it if you want, it was my fault anyway-“
“No, it’s fine.” By the look on his face those words had come out a lot sharper than he’d intended. He sat back on the ground and sighed. “Regan, I’m sorry, I am so sorry. I’m just feeling a little stressed.”
Stressed? After that amazing sex? The hell?
At that exact moment Max strolled in, still wearing the clothes he’d had on yesterday only slightly more ruffled now, with his hair looking shaggier than normal, grinning from ear to ear. Someone obviously got laid.
“Good morning!” Then he paused. “There’s tension. Why is there tension?”
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” John said, scrubbing at the couch.
Max frowned. “You haven’t been taking your meds, have you? Go take your meds.”
“Oh fuck off, would you, Max?”
It was deadly quiet after that. Eventually Max turned on his heel and headed back out the door.
“John, what the hell? Why are you freaking out?” I said, placing my hand over his that was still trying to clean the couch, stilling it.
“Nothing, I’m fine. Seriously.”
God, what the hell was his problem?
Thankfully though when I wrapped myself in sheet and headed out into the other room, it was John, not Max, propped up on the couch eating breakfast. Unlike Max he didn’t have his feet up on the table, and he sat with his back straight. Overall he didn’t look very relaxed.
I plopped down on the couch next to him, not the best of ideas since the milk in his cereal spilled a tiny bit upon impact.
He swore under his breath and stalked off to the kitchen, returning with carpet cleaner and rags.
“Um, is everything okay, John?”
He was acting odd. Something was definitely off.
“Fine. Yeah. Good. I just need to clean this up.”
“I can do it if you want, it was my fault anyway-“
“No, it’s fine.” By the look on his face those words had come out a lot sharper than he’d intended. He sat back on the ground and sighed. “Regan, I’m sorry, I am so sorry. I’m just feeling a little stressed.”
Stressed? After that amazing sex? The hell?
At that exact moment Max strolled in, still wearing the clothes he’d had on yesterday only slightly more ruffled now, with his hair looking shaggier than normal, grinning from ear to ear. Someone obviously got laid.
“Good morning!” Then he paused. “There’s tension. Why is there tension?”
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” John said, scrubbing at the couch.
Max frowned. “You haven’t been taking your meds, have you? Go take your meds.”
“Oh fuck off, would you, Max?”
It was deadly quiet after that. Eventually Max turned on his heel and headed back out the door.
“John, what the hell? Why are you freaking out?” I said, placing my hand over his that was still trying to clean the couch, stilling it.
“Nothing, I’m fine. Seriously.”
God, what the hell was his problem?
♠ ♠ ♠
It's short. I'm sorry. Don't worry the plot's about to take off. I promise.