237 Ks Zero Fs Chapter 17
By the time I woke, the sky was almost light.
Conor was still standing rigidly in front of the kitchen island, his eyes a terrifying mess of burst blood vessels. He stared at the braised beef rolling in the Le Creuset dutch oven with a fixed, unblinking gaze.
I yawned and sat down at the dining table.
Just like before, he moved with practiced efficiency. Laid out a placemat for me. Ladled a full bowl of steaming beef stew.
Then he circled carefully behind me. Gathered my loose hair. Used a clip to pin back the stray strands near my forehead.
The entire sequence was fluid, seamless.
“Alright. Show’s over. You can get out now.”
A flash of pain crossed Conor’s face. His hand stopped in midair.
“Just a little longer… okay? Just let me watch you finish this bowl of soup. Then I’ll leave right away.”
I’d reached the limit of my tolerance.
I picked up the bowl of scalding stew and flung it directly at his chest.
The soup was fresh off the stove. Extremely high temperature. The boiling liquid, chunks of meat, and hot grease soaked through his thin shirt instantly, clinging to his skin.
Conor’s whole body jolted violently. He flinched backward on instinct. But he stopped himself. He didn’t dodge. Didn’t make a single sound of pain.
He kept his bloodshot eyes lowered and let the blistering liquid sear his chest. His shoulders locked up like stone from the extreme pain. His fingers curled into fists so tight they trembled at his sides.
“Final warning. Get out.”
Conor waited until the searing, tearing pain in his chest had numbed slightly. Then, shaking, he actually reached out, as if to take my hands and inspect them.
“Did the hot soup… splash you? Are you burned?”
His voice was so hoarse it barely sounded human. “There’s more in the pot. Still hot. Just take a bite, okay? I braised it on low heat all night.”
An unparalleled absurdity washed over me.
“Conor, do you honestly think that if you grovel here like some masochist, if you put on these self-pitying shows of suffering, I’ll go soft like that stupid woman I used to be?”
“Do you actually believe I’ll still stare at a scratch on your hand and ache with worry, the way I used to?”
He bit down hard on his bloodless lips. The skin exposed above his shirt collar was already a horrifying mess of swollen red blisters.
“I’m not expecting you to forgive me…”
“I just want to be good to you.”
I stood, walked to the door, and pulled it open.
“Get out.”
He looked at me. Finally stood. When he reached the door, he pulled something from his coat pocket and placed it on the shoe cabinet in the entryway.
The ten-dollar fake ring I’d bought at Target.
He’d been carrying it on him all this time.
“You… at least keep it.” He said. “Throw it away, toss it. Whatever. But I don’t have the right to dispose of it for you.”
The door closed behind him.
I picked up the ring, walked down to the iron drainage grate at the curb outside the apartment building, and tossed it in without a second thought.