Chapter 27

"I don't know where anything is," Esther admitted, in a sheepish voice, standing in the middle of my kitchen.

Maybe I should tell her that if she truly felt a need to repay me, she could just read a book out loud, any book really, so I could hear her voice for a prolonged amount of time. Maybe she could read, and I could record her, and then I'd be able to listen to her voice all the time.

The thought felt shamefully pleasant.

I walked over to her with a smile, pushing that ridiculous idea out of my head. "What do you need?"

"A small pot. But only if you have vinegar."

"Pretty sure I have that somewhere," I replied and rummaged through a couple of cabinets. "Pots and pans are here," I told Esther, pointing to the right spot.

If she was actually going to stay in my penthouse, she should know where things were.

I wanted here to feel comfortable enough to actually want to stay.

I didn't want her to have to go back to her grandmother's house if her mother and her boyfriend were still there.

I wanted to do everything I could to protect her, for as long as it was possible.

I knew what it was like, to feel alone and powerless.

I wondered why she wasn't staying on campus. It would fix her problem. Maybe it was a money thing. I felt like she was studying on a scholarship, and that would have covered the costs of living too, but maybe I was wrong.

Maybe she'd saved up just enough for her tuition, but not enough for housing.

Would she say yes if I offered to pay everything for her? She probably wouldn't...

"Do you have food allergies? Or things you just really dislike to eat."

"Everything that is in this fridge, I will eat."

"Even the old pickle juice?" Esther asked with a teasing smile, while holding out a canned mason jar.

I frowned. "I have pickles?"

Esther shook her head, and the jar. "No pickles. Just the juice."

Fucking Trey.

"If you can refrain from serving me pickle juice, I would be eternally grateful."

"I'll see what I can do," she replied with a grin.

It was nice. To see her smile. To see her getting busy in my kitchen, moving around. She was entirely focussed on her purpose, and it was nice to watch.

She looked cute when she was focussing on something. This wasn't the first time I noticed it. I snuck more than one glance at her anytime we worked on our school project together and she got particularly concentrated on her work.

It was the little serious lines forming between her eyebrows and the way she bit the inside of her cheek.

It was nice because she was so distracted with her work she didn't notice my staring. And I realized I liked staring at Esther.

I noticed, as I watched her, that she washed her hands a dozen times. It wasn't an exaggeration, I counted. I wondered if this was a coping mechanism. Often, when people were abused they tried taking back their control by repeating comforting actions.

I knew more about Esther than I did a few weeks ago, but she was still quite the mystery to me.

It made me wonder about all of the things I didn't know about her. In the grand scheme of things, I knew very little about her.

"Do you need help with anything?" I asked.

The answer was the same was the other seven times I had asked. A deafening no.

She was making poached eggs. I wondered where she'd learned to do them. I asked.

"My grandmother always bought a lot of eggs, so I just learned to make a quite a few different recipes. You get tired of scrambles eggs after a while," she explained.

I wasn't sure what to say. Did she want comforting words? I knew a lot of people didn't like pity or having others feeling sorry for them. I didn't mind, but I knew Esther was proud. And I almost had to kidnap her to get her to to my help, so it felt like being overly comforting might be the wrong route.

The best route was probably the one that would keep her talking. For me, it was.

"What's you're favourite way to make eggs?"

She tilted her head a bit, thinking about it. Her brown hair brushed against her shoulder. I wondered if she always had short hair, or if it was a recent change. "I like making hard boiled eggs, but like, marinated ones, to put in ramen."

"Sounds good."

"I'll make you some one day."

I smiled at her. "I would love that."

It was her turn to ask, "What's your favourite way to make eggs?"

I frowned. "You know what? I've never really thought about it before. I might not have eaten enough eggs."

"What's your favourite food?" she asked, going in another direction.

I answered quickly, easily, because this was something I knew. "It's gonna sound disgusting, but the chicken sandwich in the vending machine at the hospital where my father used to work."

"Because it was good, or because of the memories."

"Both I think. But it's honestly, surprisingly good. I'll bring you some one day."

She smiled at me. "I would love that."

A bit more than half an hour later, I had a plate set in front of me.

Esther sat beside me with hers. I was glad that she hadn't made my portions bigger than hers. She was fair.

She'd made Eggs Benedict, with hash browns on the side.

"No one has ever made me homemade hash browns before," I told her, admiring her work.

Clearly, the fact that Esther had grew up poor had made her crafty with her food.

Everything looked delicious. It was a good thing I had let her make me breakfast. If I had been the one to cook, we would have eaten cereals.

"Potatoes are another ingredient I've extensively experimented with."

"There are no bad potatoes," I said, nodding, and took a bite of the crunchy hash browns. I almost burned my tongue in the process, but it was still delicious.

Absolutely worth the burn.

"Maybe just boiled potatoes with nothing else are bad," she said, an amused smile on her lips, probably because of my antics.

"But not that bad,"

"Not that good either."

I turned my me head, looking her in the eyes. "Thank you for making me breakfast."

She didn't hold my gaze for too long, and stared back at her food. "Thank you for letting me sleep here," she said in her soft voice.

"You can stay here you know. I know you never actually agreed to it, but as I told you yesterday, you should stay here," I started to ramble on uselessly. "It's empty most of the time anyway. I've been thinking about renting it because of that, but I don't really like the idea of strangers in my space. I'd actually feel relieved if you stayed here. It's better for my insurances if there's someone living here."

"I just don't like forcing people to do things for me when I should be able to take care of myself," she continued in a quiet voice.

"You're not forcing me to do anything."

"I just feel..." she let out a sigh and looked back in my eyes, "so useless. For not being able to take care of myself."

I set my fork down, holding her gaze. "Asking for help is not being useless Esther. Do you even ever ask for help?"

"Not really..."

"Then you should start doing it now."

And I should be honest with her. I should tell her about what I asked my grandfather. If I kept this to myself, it could break her trust with me. And I wanted Esther to know she could count on me. I wanted her to know that I cared.

"In the spirit of asking for help... Or not asking for help. Well. I have something to confess."

She immediately looked worried. "What?"

"My grandfather, he'd a big deal lawyer. And I asked him to check about your mother and her boyfriend. I don't know any of the details," I addedquickly, because I didn't want her to feel self conscient. If she ever really wanted to tell me what had happened, I would listen, but otherwise, I would act like I knew as little as possible. This was her secret to share. "But I know your restraining order was not approved."

"Yeah."

"It's going to get approved now."

"What? How?"

"My grandfather is a scary old man when he wants to. Nobody can stop him if he sets his mind to it."

Esther shook her head, her eyes on her plate. "I can't pay for his hours."

"You don't have to."

"You didn't have to do this," she continued, and I could see her fighting off tears. I hated the fact that I was making her cry like this, but I needed her to know things would be alright.

"Look, it's not even about you really. It's about justice and about punishing people that do bad things. I know you said you don't want to be angry and I assume you don't want vengeance, but if you let people like him walk all over people like you, they're never going to stop. They need to be step on people like my grandfather."

"I'm never going to be able to repay you for any of this," she just said, in the most heartbreaking voice.

I wished I could hug her. I felt like it would make things better if I could hug her. But I understood now, why she'd always been distant with people around her. So I could respect it.

"I know I'm new to this whole having friends' thing, but I'm pretty sure being friends with someone isn't about repaying them for the things they do. It's about being there when they need you. You need me right now. You need help. Even if you don't want to admit it. And I'm more than happy to give it."

He didn't reply right away. She didn't look in my eyes. But that was fine. "Thank you. For helping. For being my friend. For being here."

"You're welcome. I'm only really doing it because of the Eggs Benedict," I said, trying to lighten the mood again, and took a bite from it.

"You should feel quite privileged that I made you that hollandaise sauce."

"Yes. Very."

"I think with everything you've done though I should have made you pancakes too."

"Another time," I said, smiling at her.

I held my breath, waiting for her to agree.

She smiled back. "Another time."

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Happy Tuesday my lovelies.

Sorry for last week. It was a bit of mess because I was never able to catch up with my writing, but now, I have the next chapter pretty much almost done, so we should be back on track! Thanks for being patient with me.

The thing is, I've also been kind of working on a couple of Esther POV chapters on the side, and that definitely did not help.

Anyway! Sorry again! See you guys next week! <3