As I make dinner, Louis hums quietly to himself. I'm not sure he even realizes he's doing it; I think it's more of a subconscious thing. I recognize the tune. He's humming Sweet Disposition by Temper Trap and I start to sing the words when he reaches the chorus.
He looks over at me, startled, but smiles when I wink at him. He continues the humming but doesn't join me in singing the lyrics.
"Why aren't you singing along?" I ask finally, when the song is over and Louis has returned his attention to his phone.
He shrugs, but I know there must be a reason as to why he was silent. "Lou, come on. You're never this shy about singing in front of me. I won't judge you. Besides, I've heard you sing so many times I don't have anything to judge. Your voice is beautiful."
He shakes his head quickly, his blue eyes troubled. "I just...I don't know. My voice is horrible compared to yours."
I set down the spoon I was using to stir the spaghetti sauce and turn to Louis. "Babe, we have two completely different tones and you know that. Comparing yourself to me is just dumb."
Louis nods. I frown at his stubbornness and curse myself. Did I say the wrong thing? I put my hand under his chin and raise it so that he's looking right into my eyes.
"Where's that smile?" I tease, grinning despite myself.
Louis bites his lip, trying not to smile, but it doesn't work and a glimpse of a grin peeks through, like the sun poking out from behind a cloud on a dreary day.
"Come on Louis," I continue, starting to tickle his sides.
"No!" Louis squeals, a full smile finally being broadcasted on his gorgeous features.
My phone buzzes from the counter and I jump. Louis' eyes dart to mine.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah it just startled me, that's all," I reply, my words feeling foreign and fake as they leave my mouth.
Louis nods slowly and I can tell he doesn't fully believe me, not really, but I push my doubts aside. "Dinner's almost ready," I add lamely.
"Good, I'm starving!" Louis cries, jumping up and heading to the sink to wash his hands. All mentions and memories of my jumpiness fly out the door, leaving me alone with my guilt and my boyfriend.
"Where did you learn to cook like this?" Louis mutters through a mouthful of spaghetti. "If I could eat this every day of my life, I would."
"Thanks," I respond, laughing a bit as his sauce-smeared face.
"Hazza can I ask you something?" Louis asks after dinner when we're washing the dishes.
"Sure, go ahead," I reply.
"Why did you really jump so much when your phone went off?"
The question and the topic I was trying to avoid. "I was caught up in the moment with you," I lie. "When it went off I kind of jolted back to the real world, I guess."
"Oh, okay," Louis comments nonchalantly, his tone so blasé that I can't tell if he believes me or not.
"I'm going to shower," I say, draining the water from the sink and handing the last dish to Louis to be put away in the cabinet.
"Hurry back," Louis tells me flirtatiously.
I blush and head upstairs. I turn the water scalding hot, the opposite of the way Louis likes it. Whenever I get in the shower after him the water is freezing cold, like he bathed in ice not water.
I relish in the hot water, standing in the shower until the last drop turns cold. I towel off and put on some flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt.
I go downstairs again calling, "Louis, I know what we can do tonight!"
I stop talking, though, when I see Louis sitting at the kitchen table holding my phone, his face impassive and eyes hard, cold, and unemotional.
"When are you coming over, baby?" he asks flatly, and for a split second I'm confused before I realize that he's reading a text.
"What?" I croak, my voice hoarse and dry.
Louis scrolls through more messages. "I miss you sweetheart," he adds.
I snatch my phone from his fist. "You had no right to go on my phone!" I shout angrily.
"Maybe not," Louis tells me, tone fierce, "but you had no right to be mad at me for cheating on you when you were doing the same thing to me."
His words sting and I have no response.
"Sorry that I'm not good enough for you," Louis says sarcastically. "Sorry I couldn't be the person for you."
"Louis you are good enough for me! You are the person for me!" I say, running my hands through my damp hair.
"Right, and there are texts to prove it," Louis replies, pointing at my phone.
"You're the only person I can see myself having a future with," I say, calming down my tone in hopes that he'll listen closer. "I see myself with you in ten years."
Louis tilts his head. "I don't know where I see myself in ten years," he says passively. It breaks my heart hearing him say that to my face, but I try not to let it show.
"But you know what I want to be in ten years?"
"What?" I ask.
"Happy," Louis says, his voice breaking on the second syllable. "Something I thought I was in Paris and something I thought I could be here with you. But now, I'm not so sure."
"You can be happy with me, I can make you happy!" I insist.
"I don't think you can," Louis replies, "because I'm not feeling very happy right now."
The closest thing to me is the empty pot I used to make the spaghetti in, sitting abandoned and forgotten on the counter. It was never put away. I pick it up and hurl it at the wall. It makes a loud crashing noise as it first hits the wall then ricochets to the linoleum. Louis stares at me in horror and opens his mouth to say something. His blue eyes are blazing with rage when he utters five words.
"Get out of my house."