Outside, I’m calm – I hope – inside, I’m fuming.

Why? Because he’s reminding me that he’s taking care of me. He’s rubbing it in my face that I’m an unwanted visitor who is disrupting his perfect, quiet life with all my problems. Now he has to go shopping to feed me. He has to make dinner for me.

Well, I’ve got a sandwich. I’ll be fine. And I can buy my own food.

But I focus on Sentinel. It was good to see him somewhat alert for a few minutes. And I’d been surprised at how Kyle talked to him. Like Sentinel was his own dog. He’d been reassuring; kind, even.

But then he turned around and talked to me like I’m some burden on his life. What a jerk.

Sentinel looks so relaxed and I feel that surge of emotions rising up in me. Between the stress of the day and Kyle’s reminder of what a disruption I am, I feel like I need to hide. But hiding without my rock is like trying to breathe in the vacuum of space.

Impossible.

Kyle leaves and I begin to stroke Sentinel’s neck as my breaths come quicker. My lungs feel like they’re on fire and there’s a faint feeling in my head like I’d stood up too fast. Lowering my head, I rest it on Sentinel’s neck, feeling like it’s the only safe place to touch him. His head.

Within minutes, I smell food cooking. There’s a sizzle of veggies on a hot pan and a sweet and savory scent in the air. In his sleep, Sentinel’s ears twitch and I lift my head. I stand up and make my way around the counter into the kitchen. Kyle cooks, his face intent on the wok before him.

He’s tossing veggies in the bowl-shaped pan and sets it down for a moment to chop more vegetables in a quick, smooth motion that looks like something a professional chef would do. Then he tosses the veggies in.

“Are those leeks?” I ask, not certain. He looks over at me, his expression unreadable.

“Yeah,” he says, the response curt as he again tosses the veggies in the wok, the motions impressive as he makes the food fly and catches it in scooping motions. I watch as he sets the wok down again and makes quick work of some mushrooms and slices some radishes paper thin.

While he cooks, I wander off, looking at the paintings on the walls in the hallway. They’re bold. My favorite of the three is one that’s red on textured white paint. The other two are variations of each other. They’re blue on white with varying shades of blue from aqua to sapphire.

They evoke emotion like whispers from the past, and I feel tears welling up in me for reasons I can’t quite place. I wander a bit further and catch sight of the master bedroom from the slightly open door. It’s tidy, but the thing that catches my attention is the bed.

It’s huge. The top blanket is sterile white and looks plush, like down. The headboard is tight to the wall and is a cream white leather look alike. Beautiful.

I wander back into the kitchen, wondering about the lack of family things. There aren’t pictures or anything. I get that he’s a young guy living alone – I assume alone – but wouldn’t he at least have something around that hinted at family or a past or something?

“So are you married?” I ask, feeling like it’s a stupid question. I’m mostly worried I’ll have to deal with an angry female version of Kyle. Because he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d be happy with anyone who wasn’t exactly like himself.

“No.”

The one word answer is frustrating. I’m not sure why. Perhaps because he’s so closed off. We’re kind of stuck tougher for a little while, why not get to know each other? If only to really prove to ourselves that we’re polar opposites. Though I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’d felt something when we were standing in front of the thermostat.

He’d reached out to touch me, but instincts had seen the move as what I knew so well – someone quick to temper.

But in hindsight, I wonder what he’d been about to do. He looked like he wanted to kiss me. Which was as far away from what I knew of him as possible.

And my own feelings for him are just as conflicting. He’s handsome, and I’d thought about his lips on mine in that moment. Being close to him has an effect on my brain. It’s like being drunk, slightly out of control, yet still aware.

But when that sensation is gone, I hate him. Everything about him. He’s rude. I mean, sure he did something nice for me, but it wasn’t for me. It clicked when he talked to Sentinel. He loves animals. He hates people. It’s a fucked up mindset, but I get it.

Animals are fucking amazing. Sentinel doesn’t judge me for being broken of mind. He helps me, he loves me all the same, and he knows what to do to keep me safe. With him, there’s no stigma. Especially when I feel like I’m losing my mind. He doesn’t get impatient when a flashback makes me difficult to deal with. He doesn’t tell me to get over my panic attacks. No, he loves me unconditionally.

The kind of love that people are incapable of.