asked so nicely," he mumbled, stepping into the apartment.
She shut the door, securing the locks. "How'd you get in the building?"
"I slipped in behind someone. They didn't say anything about it, which you know, is another reason you should use the peephole. There's no telling who's roaming around this building."
"I'm starting to see that," she said. "Seems like the neighborhood has gone to Hell lately."
"It's always been Hell. It's overrun with Satan's minions."
"And who would Satan be?"
"Do you really want me to answer that?"
She paused, like she was considering his question, before shrugging. Wordlessly, she stalked off in the direction of the kitchen, and Dante followed, watching her. Something boiled in a pot on the stove, a torn-open blue box on the counter beside it.
Kraft Mac 'N Cheese.
"You like your macaroni doused in powdered cheese?"
"Don't judge me," she said, stirring the boiling water with a wooden spoon. "I don't judge you."
"Not judging," he said. "Just curious."
"Well, then, yes. I do." She grabbed the pot to drain the water out of it before tossing some milk and butter in. Ripping the packet of orange powder open, she sprinkled it in and stirred. "I eat hospital food most days, so I'm not exactly picky. Anyway, are you hungry? Do you want some of it?"
She glanced over her shoulder at him. He wanted to say no. He was picky. He hadn't eaten that shit since he was a kid. His mother hadn't been a good cook, and one could only eat food that came from a box so many times before they dreaded eating at all. Besides, Dante had experienced hospital food, too. It was half the reason he never wanted to go back. So he wanted to give her an emphatic hell no, but his stomach opted to growl, overruling him.
"I'm taking that as a yes," she said. "It's not five-star dining, but it's something to put in your stomach, and quite frankly, you look like you need it. If you're not going to sleep, you at least need to eat."
"Are you insinuating I look like shit?"
"I'm insinuating nothing. I'm telling you—you look like crap."
"Crap," he repeated. "Dang. Heck. Friggin. You got something against cursing?"
"I said 'Hell' a second ago."
"Hell's a location. Big difference."
"I have no reason to be vulgar. I think I get my point across just fine without it."
Gabriella dished out the macaroni equally into two bowls before holding one out to Dante.
He took it. "You didn't have to share with me. I didn't come here to steal your food."
"I know." She leaned back against the counter, pulling up a forkful of macaroni and blowing on it. "I'm curious why you did come, though."
"I was in the neighborhood and saw your light on."
"So you thought you'd come and talk to me about keeping my apartment secure?"
"It's a dangerous world."
"It seems you'd know." She took a bite of her food. "Speaking of, how's your side?"
He shrugged as he took a small bite. "Hasn't killed me yet."
"Well, that's something."
Silence surrounded them as they stood in the kitchen, eating. The air was awkward, a strange tension mounting that made Dante's skin prickle. He wasn't sure what to say or what to do. He set his empty bowl in the sink after he'd forced down the last bite and paused beside her. She smelled warm and sweet, like vanilla, with a hint of something uniquely her. He couldn't put his finger on it, as he breathed her in, but tingles crept down his spine at the sensation, like déjà vu was kicking in.
Her eyes narrowed as she set her bowl aside. "Why'd you really come here, Dante?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "Do you want me to leave?"
She hesitated. "I don't think so."
"Well, that clears it all up."
"Tell me about it."
He stared at her, contemplating, before slowly raising his hand, grazing the back of his fingers along her cheek. Her breath hitched—he could see it. Her body tensed, her skin flushing, an instinctual reaction to his touch.
"You know, since I woke up in that hospital, my life has been nothing but sorrow," he said quietly. "I'm fucking miserable. Everything I've done has been for nothing. Everything I touch, I hurt. Do you know what that feels like? I'm poison, Gabriella. And I want to touch you so bad I can taste it, but I don't want to hurt you, too. I don't want to poison you. It's tempting, though, so fucking tempting, because you'd be so goddamn sweet you might drown out just enough sorrow