Storm and Silence Fanfic

The Mess and the Eggs

~2 November 1840~

The next morning I wake up to an empty bed. Rick is in the corner of the room putting on his tailcoat and checking his hair in the mirror. I frown at all the clothes on him and sit up in bed.

    "Lillian. You're awake. I need breakfast. You have ten minutes."

    He walks into the bathroom.

    Yeah, right, pal. Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I'm going to be the one to cook and clean. I have bigger ambitions than that!

    He comes out of the bathroom and his eyes narrow at my form still resting in the bed.

    "What are you doing, wife? I said I need breakfast."

    "Yes, I heard you." I cross my arms over my chest, and the blanket drops, no longer covering me. My husband growls and starts towards me. He pushes me back and kisses me relentlessly.

    He climbs on the bed, ready to force me to bend to his will. I don't think I can handle much more of this.

    "Are you sure you won't just obey my commands?"

    My eyes narrow.

    "Never."

    It takes me about an hour before I realize I will never win this game and tell him I'm going to go make breakfast, but only because I'm hungry and that it has nothing to do with what he told me.

    He gives me one of those looks and gets up, acting like nothing just happened, and walks out the door.

    Breakfast.

    How does one make breakfast, exactly?

    I get out of the bed as soon as I'm able. My legs feel a bit like jelly and my head is so light I feel like it might float away. I realize I'm not wearing anything, so I head to one of the armoires and pull open a drawer. It's not mine. All that I see in it is one white mens shirt.

    All he has besides the clothes on his back is an extra shirt. I shake my head. This man...

    I put it on and head downstairs. It smells like him. Like musk and money.

    Once I get to the kitchen, I start opening and closing cabinets and drawers, trying to figure out where everything is. The kitchen, at least, isn't as bare as Rick's wardrobe, and I wonder if that chef he mentioned once before had his things brought here.

    I find some eggs in the icebox and decided to make that. It can't be that hard to make eggs, right?

    Wrong.

    Every time I try to break it open, pieces of the shell land in the bowl. How do you get those out? They're so slippery!

    Maybe if I transfer the egg to a plate it will be easier to remove the shell. It might not move around every time I try to touch it.

    My plan almost worked. Except one of the yolks broke and ran all over the edge and onto the counter. It started leaking and falling onto the floor. I grab the bowl with all the other ruined eggs and try to catch the yolk in there, except my slippery hands dropped bowl. It doesn't shatter, but it flipped upside down and splattered everywhere.

    I close my eyes and mutter one of the Arabian expletives I learned in the desert. It was the first one that popped into my head.

    I hear footsteps upstairs and my eyes widen. He should be down here any minute, expecting breakfast.