He eyed her from the height he stood above her, his angry mask dissolving into pity and sympathy. As if each jagged, sharp angle of his face was peeled away to reveal another person behind it, someone who could feel the same pain he inflicted.
"There's a dustpan and broom in the pantry closet. While you manage that, I'll clear what's left of the table. When you're finished, I'll be in the kitchen washing dishes. You should meet me there so you can help."
She nodded her head, unable to speak around the lump of hatred that festered at the base of her throat.
His heavy steps ticked off the growing distance he placed between them, unhurried and sure, they spoke volumes about the control he knew he'd gained over her so easily. After his taunting steps had faded completely, she picked herself up off the floor and found the closet with the broom and dustpan waiting.
Perhaps it was her bitter tears that made her move slowly to clean up the mess, or a subconscious effort to delay the time she'd have to pretend that washing dishes with a madman wasn't a pitiful thing. But like any chore, she came to the end of it, dumping what was left of her rebellion in a plastic trashcan lined with a white, plastic bag.
Max stood facing the sink, his shoulders moving beneath the black fabric of his shirt, his shoulder length hair a tangled mess where it hung in wild waves. Alice stood and stared at him for several minutes wondering if he knew she loitered behind him watching the way his arms worked back and forth polishing away the remnants of the dinner he’d cooked for their first night together.
Her eyes traced the lines of his shoulders and back, the muscles that lay corded and partially hidden beneath the folds of his once finely pressed shirt. Wrinkled now, the dark fabric was stretched taut over his shoulder blades before falling into a disheveled mess where it followed the tight dip towards his hips. Had they not come together in such a horrible way, she would have found herself attracted to the man that silently washed dishes, would have been impressed with the physique that spoke to everything masculine and strong about him.
A kitchen island stood between them with white cabinets and black granite counters. It was a touch of modern against the vintage features of the Queen Anne style house. She wondered when he’d remodeled the place, but knew from the stainless steel appliances that it couldn’t have been that long since he had the expensive appliances installed. Her eyes looked at the litany of gadgets that littered the front of the large refrigerator and wondered why any person would need a coffee maker in the freezer door. Fools and their money were so easily parted.
Stepping closer, she continued keeping Max in her peripheral vision as she glanced here and there about the room, her eyes tracking a random path until landing on the bright steel of the cleaver that lay inanimate on the counter behind Max. Temptation flashing beneath the lights of the room, her fingers curled into her palm, her fingernails carving half moon circles into her skin as she pondered what could be done with a weapon as sturdy as the one laying within her reach.
Taking a tentative step forward, she crept as silently as a mouse, and moved closer with her muscles clenched tightly over her body, waiting for him to notice. He neither turned, moved, nor said a word as she approached the fierce object that could lead her to salvation.
Reaching out with a shaking hand, she brushed her fingertips over the smooth surface of the handle, pulling back at the last minute for fear that he somehow knew what she was doing. But Max didn’t react, instead taking one dish from the soapy water to scrub it with the brush he held and rinse it beneath the steady stream of the faucet.
Inching her arm back towards the cleaver, she imagined imbedding the sharply honed blade into the back of his skull. Wrapping her thin fingers around the handle, she cringed to hear its weight slide across the counter as she found the strength to pick it up.
“Do you know how much force it would take to do whatever it is you’re planning on doing?”
The instant his voice broke the silence, her fingers released the handle, the heavy blade falling to clamor over the dark stone tile that sat pristine beneath her feet. She flinched at the sound of metal and wood against the floor and glanced down to see the stone hadn’t been broken.