CHAPTER 7
MIA
The perception of reality is often something abstract to me. It's not that I don't want to live in it.
It's because sometimes it escapes me in a way I don't really know what is real and what is not.
I'm not always like this though. Sometimes I just feel… fine. Others like interaction with humans seems like an impossible thing, something foreign like a whisper of a ghost.
I may have many ghosts living in my mind right now.
“You know what, let’s make a stop,” Zane’s voice says determinedly, and I watch as he pulls up against what looks like a mountain.
“Come on,” he calls, and I follow him to the edge, where I find a beautiful view. There is so much that I can’t even describe the feeling.
“This is LA, Mia,” he says with a smile, but I’m much busier taking in the view.
“Can we go there?” I find myself asking and he smiles.
“Yes, we can, but I think it would be better to put some food in your stomach first, you’ve been annoyingly hungry for a long time.”
Did he notice? I didn't think he could hear these things.
Zane drives a little farther until we pull up to a place that instantly reminds me of the diner I was at in Dallas. But this time, I’m not in hospital scrubs, so I don’t stand out.
As soon as the scent of food hits me, my stomach growls—loudly, as if it's declaring, "Yes, I want that!"
I let out a happy exclamation, unable to hold back my excitement.
Zane, who’s walking ahead with his usual relaxed, effortless stride, glances over his shoulder. His lips twitch into a smirk. He definitely heard that.
“You know you don’t have to be so loud, right?” he remarks in a light, almost teasing tone, though his gaze remains unreadable, a little too observant. Something tells me he doesn’t find my jokes nearly as amusing as I find his.
“It’s not like I can control that,” I shoot back, following him inside.
The restaurant’s ambiance is an odd but charming mix of rustic warmth and modern minimalism—like someone took a countryside farmhouse and gave it a sleek, contemporary makeover. Large windows frame the space, letting in golden sunlight, while trees sway lazily outside. The air is thick with the scent of butter, spices, and something sweet.
Zane picks a table by one of the windows, and I drop into the seat across from him, my impatience growing by the second. My stomach is still protesting its empty state. I don’t even care what we’re eating at this point. Anything will do.
“So… what is this?” I ask, resting my elbows on the table and tilting my head.
He ignores my dramatic tone and flips open the menu, tapping a page with his finger.
“It’s simple. Waffle sandwich. This one is chicken and cheese.”
I blink. “Waffles?” The word is foreign on my tongue.
I’ve never heard of waffles before. My diet was always carefully controlled—no excess carbs, no ‘unnecessary’ fats. Paulina used to say gaining weight would make me useless, that no man would want a wife who wasn’t perfect. But Katie… Katie would sneak me candy when no one was looking. Sometimes even gum. Once, a slice of Tres Leches cake. But waffles? Completely new territory.
Zane rolls his eyes, but I catch the way his mouth twitches, like he’s fighting a smirk. “You’ll understand when you try them. They’re crisp on the outside, soft inside. This one has cheese baked into the crust and shredded chicken on top.” He pauses, watching me, as if waiting for me to fully absorb the technical breakdown. “It’s a classic combination, okay? Nothing weird.”
“I don’t know… sounds like a strange name.”
But then the waiter sets the plate in front of me, and any doubts I had instantly vanish.
The waffles are golden, almost glistening, with crispy edges that look impossibly perfect. A generous heap of shredded chicken sits on top, seasoned with something I can’t quite place, but the scent alone is enough to make my mouth water. Pockets of melted cheese peek out from the edges, stretching slightly as the heat radiates from the dish.
“Okay, so… just cut and eat? Or is there some secret ceremony I need to know about?”
Zane thanks the waiter with a simple nod and picks up his fork. He gives me a look that clearly says, "Go ahead," but, as usual, doesn’t bother to say it out loud.
“Just cut and eat, Mia,” he says, his voice laced with quiet amusement.
I don’t hesitate. I dig in, cutting a generous bite and popping it into my mouth.
The moment it hits my tongue, I freeze. My brain struggles to keep up, overwhelmed by the burst of flavors. It’s salty and sweet at the same time, the richness of the cheese melting into the soft, buttery waffles, while the chicken adds the perfect amount of spice. It’s so good I could cry.
“That… that’s amazing!” I exclaim, pointing my fork at him accusingly. “Why has no one ever told me waffles could be like this? Can we get more? Like… a lifetime supply?”
Zane chuckles, a rare, genuine sound that makes me pause. He hardly ever looks this at ease. But right now—sitting across from me, watching me discover food heaven—he does.
“I told you you’d like it,” he says, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a flicker of lightness in his voice.
“Okay, but you didn’t explain that it was going to be a party in my mouth,” I protest, taking another eager bite. “This isn’t food. It’s art.”
His chuckle deepens, shaking his head slightly. “You’re so dramatic.”
“It’s a superpower,” I declare, grinning.
He just shakes his head again, but he’s still smirking as he eats.
After a few more blissful bites, I push my chair back. “I’m going to the bathroom,” I announce.
Zane immediately looks up, his gaze flickering with something unreadable, like he’s debating whether or not I can be trusted to go alone.
“I’ll be fine,” I reassure him, rolling my eyes. “I’m a quick learner.”
I know he's probably still thinking about last time—the whole food incident where I nearly killed someone. But, seriously, that was like two days ago! It's in the past now, right? I mean, we’ve moved on, haven’t we? At least I have.
He doesn’t argue, though, so I head toward the hallway leading to the restrooms.
That’s when I hear it.
A commotion outside. Raised voices.
“You think you can steal from us and just walk away, kid?”
I freeze. Peering through the window, I see a group of men surrounding a small boy—no older than ten. One of them, a burly man with a cruel sneer, looms over him. He reminds me of One. Same black hair. Same dirty, hollow stare.
I haven’t seen One in years. I don’t even know what he looks like now.
The man pulls a gun from his pocket, along with his equally armed lackeys.
“You messed with my business, kid.”
The boy stays silent, eyes empty.
The man scoffs, then grabs something from the ground—
A small puppy.
The boy’s blank expression crumbles. Tears well in his eyes.
“I’ll kill your dog,” the man sneers. “Then we’ll see if you learn to mind your own damn business.”
A sharp, burning rage ignites in my chest.
I step forward.
“Wow,” I say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “All this firepower just to handle a kid? Impressive.”
The man’s head snaps toward me, dark eyes narrowing.
“Stay out of this, bitch. Go back to whatever brothel you crawled out of.”
I feign offense. “Oh? That’s how you talk to women?” I tilt my head. “You should apologize. And let the boy and the dog go.”
The man laughs like I just told the funniest joke in the world.
“And who the hell are you to tell me how to raise my kid?”
I ignore him, turning to the boy instead. “Parents suck, huh? Mine’s an asshole too.” I flash a grin. “I’m Mia. What’s your name?”
The boy hesitates. “Ace.” His voice shakes.
“Listen, Mia, you’ve got two seconds to walk away before I—”
My mind goes quiet.
I want to kill him.
Zane won’t like that.
But you miss killing, don’t you?
I do.
"I saw you come in with a delicate man. Maybe I should have some fun with both of you, you nosy slut."
That’s it, all my patience snaps.
With a swift motion, I slide the knife deep into his throat, feeling the satisfying slickness of blood as it spurts out, coating my hands.
His choking gasps are louder now, a gurgling mess of blood filling his mouth. I can’t help but smile as his body writhes. The boy smiles too.
"Stop talking, you're such a bore," I murmur, watching him squirm in his final moments.
Then I realize—Zane is going to be absolutely furious about this.
Shit, you idiot.
I walk over to him slowly, almost cautiously, knowing I'm about to face his wrath.
Zane is watching me from the restaurant, mid-bite, expression frozen in pure confusion.
I smile at him sweetly.
“Zane,” I whisper, gesturing him over.
He sighs. “What now? Can’t turn on the faucet?”
“Well… more like, I can’t hide a body.”
Zane’s fork clatters onto his plate.
“What the fuck, Mia.”