I tore open a paper bag. A giant bao rolled from its packaging—another thing desperately trying to escape me.
I dropped it back onto the paper with all its overstuffed siblings. I moved back to the larger bag that housed tonight’s banquet, and pulled out the only thing still inside. Cutlery.
My ears pricked, listening to the sound of a deep inhale.
The entrancing scent of supper had slipped past me and through the bars of the cage.
I ignored her for a moment, unable to face her as I continued to open out multiple cartons of food. Chow Mein. Veggies in hot garlic sauce. Disanxian.
The aroma of them all made love in the air, along with what I’d chosen to devour first—hot and sour soup—I think that was what it was. Sipping from a spoon at my lips, that was exactly how it tasted.
“Don't look at me like that.” I placed my spoon in the carton, and I twisted to glance at Jolie, focusing on the bars her fingers held.
“Don’t look at me like you’re hoping I’ll choke. You know it’s a real possibility, and even if you are secretly wishing for my death, you’re not cruel enough for choking to be your chosen method.”
“It’s no secret,” was all she said.
“Your fight isn’t with me. You know that. You know how I feel about you. That I hate that he had to come back, in order for me to get you back.”
She looked away, her eyes rolling into the back of her head to see her brain, no doubt giving her more instructions on how to brutalize me without so much as even touching me.
“He’d been gone for a while, you know. Things were controlled. I thought it would be simple. Easy to get things back in sync, so I stopped the medication. I just wanted you back. You were with worse people. Better the devil you know, right?”
She huffed, in total disagreement.
“Please don’t be mad. I know he’s hurt you. I know you’re upset, but work with me, and we can fix this.”
“How! How can we fix this?” she demanded, her eyes back on me even as her face remained turned.
“You told me once that I was worth fighting for.”
“I was wrong!”
“I know you’re disappointed in me, and I understand why. . . but only he could get you out of that place. I couldn’t. Be mad, but don’t hate me for sending him to save you. Not when my intentions were good. And don’t look at me like you're disappointed that I won't share this with you.”
I could tell by the pitiful look on her exposed face—a face slanted away from my view, in order to hide herbiggest insecurity. She wanted to tell me I had enough for two. . . but I already knew that, and long gone were the days she’d beg for food, even if the banquet laid out on the bed did smell incredible.
She had no interest in accepting my olive branch, so I opted for a slightly different approach.
“You can't be hungry anyway, can you? Not after the giant bite you took out of my shaft in the shower earlier this morning.”
I’d seen the blood that had stained numerous tissues and two pairs of boxer shorts. I’d seen the teeth marks, and I recognized them from the smile constantly attached to all my favorite memories.
“Fuck you.”
I laughed at her blatant refusal of taking the high road.
I had every intention of sharing the food, and no intention of fucking her off further. . . but I needed this out. I wasn’t present for the bite, but I could still feel the lingering pain. “Tell me, did the blood taste nice as it rushed from my injury?” Sarcasm lingered on my tongue, the taste overriding the amazing soup that I’d immediately need another spoonful of.
“I thought that was Hell,” she sneered.
I didn’t want to continue being a jerk, not when I could be civil, for however long it lasted. . . but she had no interest in playing nice with me. I’d already tried that approach. . . and she’d already thrown it in my face.
She set the rules.
I followed them.
She sneered at me again, “And in regards to your earlier question, you wish giant was a word that could be accurately used in a sentence about your dick.”
