CHAPTER 11: Coffee Before Dawn
(Betty's POV)
I wake up to the smell of coffee.
For a second, everything is normal. My room. My bed. My pillow.
Then I remember.
The blood. The police. The wedding.
The man on my couch.
My husband.
I sit up slowly. The knife is still under my pillow. I leave it there.
I walk to the bedroom door. I open it.
He is in the kitchen.
Adrain. Standing at the counter. A mug in his hand. His back is to me.
He turns around.
"You are awake," he says.
"You made coffee."
"You have coffee. I made it."
He walks toward me. He holds out the mug.
I take it.
I look down.
Black. No sugar.
My heart stops.
"How did you know?" I ask.
"Know what?"
"How I take my coffee."
He looks at me. Those dark eyes. So tired. But watching. Always watching.
"I pay attention," he says.
I blink.
"You have been here two days."
"I pay attention," he says again.
I drink the coffee.
It is perfect.
He is still watching me.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing."
"You are staring."
"So are you."
I look away first. My face feels warm.
I walk to the couch. I sit down. He sits on the floor across from me. His back against the wall. His injured side is turned away from the cold.
"You should not be on the floor," I say.
"The floor is fine."
"You are injured."
"The floor does not care."
I shake my head.
He is impossible.
We sit in silence. Drinking coffee. The morning light is gray through the window.
I watch him over the rim of my mug.
The way his fingers curl around the ceramic. Gentle. Careful. Like he is afraid of breaking it.
The way his jaw moves when he swallows.
The way his eyes close for just a second when the warmth hits his chest.
He is not a monster.
He is just a man who has been cold for a very long time.
"You are staring," he says without opening his eyes.
"I am not."
"You are."
I look away.
He opens his eyes. He looks at me.
"You did not tell me," he says.
"Tell you what?"
"How you take your coffee."
I look down at my mug.
"No," I say. "I did not."
"So I noticed."
Silence.
He noticed.
He watched me. He remembered. He made it for me without being asked.
No one has ever done that.
No one has ever paid attention.
I finish my coffee. He takes the mug from my hand. His fingers brush mine.
We both freeze.
Just for a second.
Then he pulls away.
He stands up. He walks to the kitchen. He puts both mugs in the sink.
I watch him.
He is not just surviving in my space.
He is learning me.
My coffee. My habits. The way I breathe when I am thinking.
That is dangerous.
Not because he is a criminal.
Because he sees me.
And no one has seen me in a very long time.