I’ve just finished brewing my coffee when Milene comes out of the hallway and trudges across the living room toward the kitchen. Her hair is a mess, her feet are bare, and she’s carrying that defective animal under her arm like it’s a purse. In the kitchen, she mumbles something as she passes by me, bound for the fridge. She opens the door and takes out a carton of milk, then crosses to the counter. The cat is still under her right arm and currently giving me the evil eye.
After the lunch yesterday, she disappeared into her room and didn’t come out. Obviously, she’s trying her best to avoid me. I take the tangled strand which has fallen over her face and move it away, making sure the back of my fingers brush the skin of her cheek. Milene throws me a sideways look, which I assume is meant to be angry, but the overall impression is somewhat ruined with her yawn.
“What happened to you?” I ask.
“I binge-watched the last season of Stranger Things last night. Finished at four and couldn’t sleep.”
She looks over to the coffee machine in front of her, then switches her gaze to the coffee I’ve prepared for myself and leans forward to inhale the scent. She tentatively reaches out to wrap her hand around the cup and slowly pulls it along the counter. Once she has the coffee in front of her, she looks at me from the corner of her eye, probably awaiting my reaction. Without breaking eye contact, she reaches for the milk and pours a bit into the coffee. My coffee. Which I drink black. Finishing up with the milk, she stretches toward a container of sugar, but it’s out of her reach. Our gazes remain locked. Without taking my eyes off hers, I drag the sugar along the counter until it’s in front of her. It’s a screw-top, so she’ll need to put the cat down.
Instead of doing so, she thrusts the scrawny animal into my arms and proceeds to open the jar. The cat looks even worse up close. Part of its left ear is missing, and it seems like one of its eyes is looking in the wrong direction.
“This is the ugliest cat I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” I say.
Milene’s head snaps up, her eyes widening. “That was mean.”
She reaches for the cat. The damn thing picks that exact moment to wake up from its lethargic state and leaps onto the counter, scratching my wrist with its hind paw.
“It’s not Kurt’s fault. You scared him,” Milene says, takes the cup with my coffee and turns to leave. She takes two steps toward the living room but suddenly stops, turns on her heel, and marches back. She places the coffee on the counter, takes my right hand, and turns it to inspect the inside of my wrist.
“Do you think I’ll live?” I ask, observing the three-inch long scratch.
Milene glides the tip of her finger over my skin along the scratch and looks up at me. “Yes, unfortunately.”
I grab her around the waist with my free hand and crash her body to mine. She yelps, then presses her palms against my chest as if to push me away. Only she doesn’t. A small shudder passes through her body when I slide my palm under her T-shirt and continue up along her spine.
“Whose is this?” I ask and bend my head to bury my nose in her hair.
“What?” she breathes out.
“This is a man’s T-shirt.” It’s one of the oversized shirts I’ve noticed she likes to sleep in.
“I’m not sure. Probably David’s.”
My hand stills in the middle of her back. She’s wearing another man’s T-shirt. “What about the others? Are those his, too?”
“Some. Why?”
I grab the material of her shirt and pull the damn thing over her head.
“Hey!” She covers her naked breasts with her arms and stares at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Give that back.”
She won’t be wearing another man’s things ever again. I walk toward the other side of the kitchen to throw the T-shirt into the trashcan, then head toward her bedroom.
Milene
“You can’t throw away my stuff,” I yell after Salvatore.
He ignores me and keeps walking until he reaches the door of my room, then marches inside.
“Hey!” I dash after him. “You have no business there! Salvatore!”
I find him standing in front of my closet, looking over its contents. He grabs the stack of folded T-shirts I use to sleep in from the middle shelf, crosses the room, and walks out.
“Are you crazy? Give me my clothes back. Right away!”
I’m still standing in the middle of my room with my arms pressed over my boobs when he comes back two minutes later, carrying another pile of T-shirts under his arm. Without any explanation whatsoever, he returns to the closet and lays the shirts on the shelf where mine had been.
“What is this?” I snap. “Another of your power games? You can’t go around throwing away other people’s belongings! Salvatore, are you even listening to me?”
“No.” He closes the closet doors and approaches me, holding one of the shirts he brought in his hands.
I’m just about to lay into him again when he holds up the T-shirt and pulls it down over my head.
“Arms,” he says, holding the shirt.
“You need help,” I say through clenched teeth.
Salvatore bends until our faces are at the same level. It’s ridiculous, how pretty those amber eyes of his are. Or how absolutely excited it makes me every time he pins with his piercing gaze.
“Arms, Milene.”
I press my lips together, unwrap my arms from my chest and slide them into the sleeves he’s holding out for me.
“Satisfied?” I snap.
He looks me over. The hem of his T-shirt almost reaches my knees.
“Very,” he says and casually walks out of the room.
“Control freak!” I shout after him.
When I’m sure he’s gone, I grab a handful of the white cotton and press it to my nose. It smells like him. There is no way I’m going to wear this maniac’s clothes. I close my eyes and inhale again. What the hell am I doing? I quickly take off the T-shirt, throw it onto the floor and head into the bathroom to take a shower. I’m getting rid of every single one of those.
When I leave the bathroom twenty minutes later, however, I grab Salvatore’s T-shirt off the floor and tuck it under my pillow.
