Was it a dream? I blinked as the realization struck me hard.
I scratched my head, not agreeing that all of this had happened was just my crazy, wild imagination.
Linda, on the other hand, kept talking as she said, "I waited for ten long minutes. If I had not come here, then I would not have found you daydreaming here. The food will get cold, so get Dave before I smack your head to put it together."
She acted as if she was trying to hit me, but stopped in the middle, but it did not let me move in reflex.
"Y-yeah, yeah, got it," I mumbled, still not entirely convinced I wasn’t trapped in some weird hallucination spiral.
That felt way too real to just be my imagination. My cheeks were still burning. My heart was still doing jazz percussion in my ribcage.
But nope, apparently my brain decided to write, direct, and produce an R-rated towel incident while I was just... standing here. Awesome.
Linda gave me a pointed look, the kind of look that screamed ’Don’t test me, child’, and jabbed the ladle in the general direction of Dave’s room before stomping off.
She muttered something about "useless kids" and "men starving to death," but I didn’t catch all of it.
I turned toward Dave’s door again, glaring at it like it had personally wronged me. And okay, technically, it was my imagination that wronged me, but doors are easier to blame.
"Alright, Ele," I whispered to myself, "it’s just lunch. You are not going to think about towels. Or gravity. Or..."
The door creaked open before I could finish my pep talk.
Fully clothed. Hair still damp, but thankfully not glistening shirtless like in my... whatever that was. He looked completely normal.
Which somehow made it worse because now I had to deal with knowing things I shouldn’t have known.
"Linda says lunch is ready," I blurted, already pivoting to leave before my brain could betray me again.
He opened his mouth, but before he could utter any word, I turned my heel and tried to run away, but my fate did not support me in the worst way.
As he gripped my wrist, preventing me from moving further.
What is he trying to do? I wanted to scream, instead I bit my lips trying to calm myself down.
I blinked at him, my brain screaming in all caps.
"What are you doing?" I managed to say, though it came out more like a squeak than an actual question.
His hand wasn’t hurting me, but it was definitely not letting me go either.
Nope. Firm. Intentional. The kind of grip that says you’re not escaping this conversation.
"You’re avoiding me," he said, voice so calm it made me suspicious.
"Avoiding you? Me? Ha!" I barked out a laugh that sounded like a wounded goose. "No, no... I was just... uh... following... hallway protocol.
You know, one-way system. I go this way, you go that way. Safety first." I tugged my wrist, but he might as well have been made of stone.
He just kept staring, like he could see right through me, which was unfair because my brain was currently a crime scene.
I pressed my lips together, trying to look innocent, but I’m pretty sure my face was doing the opposite.
"Dave," I said, in my most serious I’m-totally-in-control voice, "let me go or Linda will kill us and bury us under the ground with her ladle."
His lips twitched. Oh great. He was smirking. But the next moment, he loosened the grip as he folded his arms in the same way he did in my..Whatever, "Okay, we shall first have some food, as we will need some energy to do some things."
My eyes widened as my wild brain again started its crazy imagination.
"What...things? Why would we need..energy to..do it," I stammered at every freaking word, which made his lips curve up even more. Great.
Now, of course, my face decided to go full tomato mode. Because clearly my blood circulation hates me.
I waved my hands around like I could physically swat away my own words. "I didn’t mean it like...ugh, you know what? Forget it. Just... food. Yes. Lunch. That’s all I’m here for."
He tilted his head, eyes glinting like he’d just been handed front-row seats to my mental breakdown. "You seem... nervous," he said, dragging out the word like he was savoring it.
"I’m not nervous," I shot back way too quickly, which, in case you’re wondering, is the number one way to sound exactly like a nervous liar.
"Mhm," he hummed, the sound low and entirely too smug for my peace of mind. "Guess we’ll see how much energy you have after lunch then."
And just like that, my brain short-circuited again. Because seriously, did this man have any idea what my imagination was doing right now? Or was he deliberately feeding it?
I stomped toward the kitchen, muttering under my breath, "This is fine. Totally fine. No one dies from embarrassment, right? ...Right?"
The table was set. Linda, fortunately, seemed to be in a good mood and did not kill me with the ladle of hers. Dave also came in with a cold and a straight mask plastered over his face.
As we all sat at the dinner table, I tried to put as much space between us.
While he sat on the front chair, I sat on the opposite side on the last seat. Linda scowled at me, signalling why I didn’t sit beside him.
In these years, she did everything in her power to help me get near him. And now, seeing the opportunity, I was not trying to get even grab it.
Instead, I was trying to get away from him.
It was evident that she seemed to be confused as to why I was not taking advantage of the situation.
I just smiled unknowingly, to which Linda responded by shaking her head. She might be thinking that I was a fool, and maybe I was.
Shaking my head, I tried to get away from all this overthinking and focused on my food.