✧ 12 ✧
Charlie was so excited about dinner. It was practically all he talked about since this kind beautiful boy blessed his house with his presence.
"I told you," Ilya jolted up to his feet, protesting, "I'm not staying for dinner."
The feisty teenager tried to compose himself as soon as he remembered who he was talking to—An unstable lonely old man with a muscular hulky body. He could squash him like a bug.
Charlie was surprised at first, but his toothy smile quickly came back.
"Nonsense!" He walked into the kitchen, shaking his head. "I can't let my guests leave without a proper feast. Look what I got for ye."
Charlie pointed at a small cage with a live animal inside it, a feathery animal. He opened the cage door and the animal started fluttering its wings. Charlie pulled it out and held it on the counter.
"Cook fresh, never frozen," Charlie said as he positioned the bird's head on the rough surface. "My mum always said."
"What?" Ilya froze, both eyes wide open. "What are you doing?"
Charlie flashed a smile at Ilya and said, "Serving my dear guest the best bloody chicken ever."
Ilya shook when that chicken flapped and clucked loudly, struggling to get out of Charlie's broad hands. Then Ilya saw Charlie reaching for the biggest knife he had—a cleaver.
"Wait."
Ilya maneuvered around the coffee table and desperately tried to reach the kitchen and stop Charlie from butchering that chicken.
It was too late.
Charlie lifted the knife and sent it down on that chicken's neck. As soon as the blade reached the surface of the counter, the head of that helpless bird was severed from its body.
Swish—Pop!
With an involuntary jerk of his hands, Ilya covered his ears. It was the first time he ever saw such a savage way of killing an animal.
The chicken continued to flap its wings even while missing its head. Blood poured out of the hole in its neck as Charlie waited for it to stop moving.
So much blood. So many horrible noises. Ilya cringed and held back a scream.
He wanted to look away, but his eyes refused to move. His stomach flipped. There was no way he would eat that chicken after what he saw.
Ilya wasn't clueless. He knew that was how humans got chicken meat, but to see it happening in front of his eyes, the killing, the flapping, the gurgling, it was all too barbaric.
Finally, the horrible scene came to an end. The chicken stopped moving. The blood stopped pouring, leaving a messy red stain on the marble surface.
Ilya was surprised that Charlie didn't even blink, which meant he did this often; he didn't even mind the blood on his hands and the red on his sleeves.
Ilya removed his hands from his ears and backed away. Green irises focused on Charlie; that joyful smile coupled with those crazy eyes scared the shit out of Ilya.
It got him thinking, What else is Charlie capable of doing?
"Ye're gonna love my chicken, but wait till ye taste my steak," Charlie said, as he started slicing the chicken. "The meat I got is very tender, it melts in yer mouth."
The steak? Short fast breaths escaped Ilya's heaving lungs. Tender? He slowly took steps back with one thought in his mind, Time to leave this fucking place.
Charlie kept talking about his mom's recipes, but Ilya didn't hear a word after the first mention of meat.
Ilya turned to the front door, his first escape route. However, this time, the key wasn't hanging above it anymore. He scanned the room and couldn't find it. Ilya cursed under his breath, and Charlie caught it.
"What was that?"
Charlie had finished seasoning the chicken and started stirring it with some vegetables in a pan. He stared at Ilya, confused.
"N-nothing." Ilya flinched. "I-I just wanted to watch you cook." He smiled. "You're very talented."
"Ah, well." Charlie shrugged shyly. "I learned a few things from my mum."
Then Charlie got a hold of some furry objects hanging near the refrigerator.
Ilya covered his mouth when he realized they were dead rabbits. He hadn't noticed them before because they were wild ones with brown and gray fur that matched the sad colors of Charlie's house.
Charlie started slicing them as well, dissecting and pulling their limbs apart. The blood was everywhere; on the counter, on the floor, even on Charlie's face.
With his hands on his mouth, Ilya burped and tried to hold it in, but it was too late. He swallowed his own vomit. There was so much blood, and the smell, that awful smell of rotten meat made sense now.
This wasn't a normal kitchen. This was a slaughterhouse.
When Ilya caught Charlie licking some of the blood off of his lips, He looked away and rubbed a hand on his churning stomach.
What kind of person does that? Ilya thought. A serial killer?... No...
Ilya had goosebumps when he added up everything that happened here since he arrived; the way Charlie kept him here and made sure that he never leaves, the way he cooked for him and fed him, the way he took his drugs away for him to be clean, the way he took his clothes off without his consent, the weird smells, the disgusting kitchen, the creepy smiles, the fake friendliness, the unfazed killing of live animals, and now the blood-licking.
Charlie doesn't give a shit about me, Ilya panicked. He was making sure that I had enough juicy meat on my bones.
His eyes widened.
Charlie is a cannibal!
A soft gasp escaped his mouth. A tight knot sank to the pit of his stomach. Short breaths left his trembling lips. The realization shocked him to the point it made his legs weak and shaky, he had to hold onto a chair or else he'd fall.
I need to get out of here. Now!
The green of his eyes shifted towards the window, gazing at it from the side, waiting for an opportunity to reach it without grabbing Charlie's attention.
As soon as Charlie started rambling again about his mom's recipes, Ilya noticed that the big guy was too busy cooking that he didn't even lift his head once. Ilya realized that that was his chance to try something.
He tiptoed to the window, watching his steps so he wouldn't accidentally step on any noisy garbage and attract attention. Once he was in front of the window, he grabbed it with both hands. He lifted it in an attempt to get it to open, but it didn't.
The window was stuck.
"What are you doing?"
A rumbling voice, too close to his ear, made Ilya jump with a gasp.
A pair of big hazel eyes stared right at him.