72. Perspective

I watch her turn away from me once more and the stab of pain that shoots through my heart does not go unnoticed this time. She has made sure to confide herself in this apartment we could have both called home, with thick walls made of anger and resent.

At this point, I had no idea how to approach her anymore, and Knox did not bother to even try anymore. We were both focused on something else right now. Or so we thought. Because no matter how much we tried to force her into a dark corner of our mind, at the end of the day, we craved nothing else but the comfort of her scent, of her hold, of her warmth and her gentle voice.

The smell of cinnamon, oranges and pine tree was heavy in the house, all mixed with spices and sugar she used to bake and cook. For whom did she cook and bother so much? I knew that if I walked in the kitchen, I'd find food prepared for my dinner, just as usual, and lots of other things ready for tomorrow.

Did she have guests coming over? Was this all for her? Who d