The entire ride home is filled with silence. Both of us too scared to say the wrong things.
But I still see Cyrus's hands flexing as if he is trying to reach for me but holds back at the last moment, hesitating.
He cooks for me regardless, his jaw clenching and his face red with what? I don't know. Anger, annoyance, or heat?
I steal glances at his face, but he doesn't stare my way, not even once. Not when we sit down to eat, not when he passes me a bowl of rice or the side dishes. Not when he keeps adding greens to my bowl, not when he takes all the dishes and sets them in the dishwasher.
I lay on my side of the bed waiting for him to get in as well. But he hasn't come yet.
I told him I'm off to bed before I left the living room, and he gave me a short nod. I thought he was going to follow after me, but he isn't here. It's already 11pm.
