Chapter 16 #2
After all, it wouldn’t be the first time this week I’ve done something drastic to save my life.
Fox sits down after a second as well, though he keeps his eyes on me like I might bolt. Not that he’s wrong for doing so, given that I would if I could.
But somehow, I’m pretty sure the door is still just as locked as it was every time I’ve tried it.
My eyes drop back down to the table as Deacon continues talking about chickens.
Something about the coop, its placement, and needing to make sure they have a safe enclosure, though his words go in one ear and out the other for me.
My attention focuses on the large platters, on the little leaves decorating the outside of the china and the gold-painted edges that’re a little chipped in places from all the times the dishes were used, washed and dried, then put back up.
There’s even a little chip missing from the meat platter, and I stare at that instead of looking anywhere else. It feels dangerous to look so close to the main dish itself. Especially when I have a sinking feeling that I know the meat isn’t pork, or beef, or actually veal.
Please, God, let me be wrong, I pray. Though he’s definitely never answered me before, and I doubt he’s rushing to open the heavens now to give me the answer I need.
“I’m not hungry,” I say finally, as my ears ring and drown out the voices of the two men. “I’m not hungry. Please, just let me go back.” I hate the way it sounds like I’m begging, but I can’t stop looking at the platter of meat that’s still steaming from the oven.
“That’s rude.” Without preamble, Deacon grabs the large fork on the meat platter and stabs into a slice of meat.
I flinch as he picks it up and brings it to his plate, where he’s careful to set it next to his carrots and potatoes, instead of letting them touch.
The fork then goes to Fox, who shakes his head at the blond.
“You’re rude,” he scoffs good-naturedly. While I stare at him, he sets down the fork and picks up the platter of potatoes and carrots. Without asking me, Fox deposits a spoonful of them onto my plate, along with a biscuit. “Just eat, would you? Before Deacon has to do an IV.”
When I glance at the blond, he glances up at me without amusement.
“EMT,” he reminds me through a mouthful of food.
“No dying of dehydration or low blood sugar on my watch.” Theatrically, he gives me a thumbs-up and then stabs into another piece of meat while I watch.
His crooked smile is wicked as he brings it to his mouth without looking away, and I’m the one who breaks eye contact when he bites down.
“I can’t do this.” My stomach churns as I look down at the innocent plate of food in front of me. “Please, jus-just tell me it’s pork. Or veal. It really looks like veal.” I know I’m rambling, but I can’t help it. “Tell me it’s not—”
“Well, it’s not any of your friends,” Deacon drawls with absolutely no pity.
“They were out in the heat too long. That would be like leaving your groceries on your porch to bake in the sun. So I’m not sure what the hang-up is here.
Oh, and—”he points the tines of the fork at me—“no brain, either. Ever heard of prions? Kuru disease? Mad Cow? You gotta be real careful with that shit.”
“I wouldn’t know. I stick to normal meat.”
“Normal?” Deacon drops his fork and sits back in his chair to look at me.
“We’re all animals, darling. You. Me, the chickens, your dog.
This isn’t as big a deal as you’re making it out to be.
You’re just used to sitting on that moral high horse of yours, pretty rabbit.
You know what the only difference between us and that is? ”
He doesn’t need to point at the meat for me to know what he’s referencing, and I flinch like he’s threatened me.
“Predator and prey.” Fox’s words are quiet, and when my attention moves back to him, it’s just in time to see him take a bite of meat.
He swallows and gives me an almost pitying half-smile.
“That’s the difference, darlin’. Doesn’t matter if you’re human or bird or any other kind of living creature.
We’re all animals here, like he said.” He trades a look with Deacon, who barely spares him a glance before digging back in.
“But I also like to think we aren’t monsters,” he adds, a bit more kindly.
“Not gonna make you eat anything you don’t want to.
Neither of us are going to shove that down your throat.
” Deacon looks up, like he’s shocked and disappointed by that statement, before shaking his head and going back to his food.
“Just please eat something,” he pleads with a sigh. “I’m too tired to deal with a hunger strike tonight. Can’t you save me that drama?” The weary way he says it has me picking up my fork, and I look down at the food in front of me.
It’s just potatoes and carrots and bread, I remind myself. It’s nothing bad.
Even though something very, very bad is less than eighteen inches away. But Fox has a point. A hunger strike wouldn’t get me anywhere, and it’s getting impossible to ignore just how hungry I am.
How long has it been, even, since I had a real meal?
That thought, somehow, makes my hunger even worse. A yawning abyss seems to open in my stomach, working to gnaw away at my rib bones in hopes of finding sustenance anywhere. With the promise that I’m doing this to get away, I stab into a piece of potato and bring it to my lips.
In spite of myself, I can’t help but admit how good it is. Spiced, buttery, and cooked so well that it’s crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. I barely have to put any effort into chewing before I swallow, and the carrots have the same amazing taste.
Deacon eyeing me catches my attention, and when I look at him, he tips his head to the side; his expression is curious and almost vulnerable for the first time. “I am open to opinions,” he invites, still in his usual cutting tone.
“Opinions?” I glance down. “Oh. Umm. Yeah, it’s, it’s really good. You’re really good at this.” Fox’s chuckle makes me flush, and I move to tear up pieces of my biscuit before eating that as well.
Bacon fat, I think to myself as I eat it. There’s a sweetness to it that reminds me of the cornbread made with bacon fat that I used to eat at my aunt’s house. Though I could be completely off, I suppose, given my complete inability to cook.
Eventually, my politeness and unwillingness to start something I can’t win turns into actually eating. I don’t say no when Fox hands me another biscuit after mine is gone and my plate is empty, except for the pan drippings from the potatoes and carrots.
“Guess you aren’t so hopeless after all,” Deacon remarks at last. I barely spare him a glance. I’m too interested in using the bread to soak up the last of the flavorful liquid. “And, like I’ve said many times before, I am a very good cook.”
“Just not as good as Jed,” Fox agrees and chuckles. Their casual banter has been like white noise while I’ve eaten, and it makes them feel…relatable. Friendly, though there’s no way I’ll ever admit it.
In another life, these are the friends I would’ve found after Sebastian and Emma made sure our whole friend group turned against me.
In another life, where they aren’t cannibals, anyway, and I don’t live hundreds of miles north of here.
“No one’s as good as Jed.” I swear I can hear Deacon roll his eyes, and when I look up at him, he’s sitting back in his chair and gazing over at Fox with teasing anger and affection on his face.
Definitely affection. It’s heartwarming and tooth-achingly sweet, and I feel like a stranger intruding on their date night dinner.
As if sensing my discomfort, Fox suddenly looks over at me, though his hand goes to cover Deacon’s, fingers twining with his. “I’m glad you liked it. Even if you didn’t have any protein.” He glances at the leftover meat, and then at Deacon. “I’ll clean up.”
“Oh, I know you will,” the blond agrees. He hands Fox his plate, then reaches over the table to snatch mine, which also gets handed to Fox. With a quick, tiny grin in my direction, he’s up as well, grabbing both platters of food.
He doesn’t notice the knife that slips and falls almost silently to the wooden table. He’s too busy cracking a joke about Fox’s ass as he follows him, and both of them disappear into the kitchen while my eyes stay riveted on the weapon.
Well, it isn’t much of a weapon. Just a steak knife with a worn handle and little scuffs along the blade. I don’t want to touch it. Not when it’s been used to carve meat that isn’t animal. Or at least, not an animal I’m comfortable carving up.
But still, when I glance up and realize neither of them can see me, my hand snakes out, fingers outstretched. I can hear the two men talking, and the clinking of dishes in the sink. If they haven’t noticed, then…
Almost without thinking about it, my fingers close around the warm handle.
I pull the knife back to me, then slip my hand under the table.
With a few clumsy movements, I manage to hide the knife in the waistband of my borrowed sweatpants.
Hoping for the best, I push to my feet, knowing I need to leave here before they notice.
Not only that, but I need a plan. It would be stupid to just run into the kitchen and launch at them with my newfound escape tool.
“May I be excused?” My voice is shaky as I stare toward the kitchen, trying not to seem jittery.
Letting them know something is off will really be the end of me, and the knife weighs too heavily on my hip where it’s pressed, the oily drippings from the meat feeling like a physical presence on my leg that makes me want to hurl.
Fox pokes his head out, concern etched on his features. He’s drying a dish in his hands with a towel, and he studies my face before asking, “Depends. Are you going to go puke all this up?”
I shake my head slowly, fighting the urge to jump in with a quick denial. That would be way too obvious, and it’s so fucking hard to keep my hand off the knife at my hip. My fingers twitch. “No, I just…” I glance down, trying to think of a believable excuse.
Approaching footsteps make me look up, chin jerking so I can watch Fox walk across the room until he’s right in front of me. The knife feels like a tornado siren, like a dog whistle giving off some sound only audible to him.
He’s going to know.
He’s going to fucking realize, and—
Gently, Fox reaches up to stroke my hair back from my face.
A small smile finds his lips, and he leans forward until his mouth is only inches from mine.
“You can go back upstairs, darlin’,” he hums. But when I turn away, he catches my arm, his fingers only inches from the handle under the waistband.
My breath catches in my throat, my heart racing, and when he drags me back a step, I feel like a terrified, paralyzed rabbit whose heart is about to burst from fear.
“Just don’t do anything stupid, Sadie-Rae,” he warns, lips so close I can feel the exhale of his words. “You know it never works out well for you. And one of these times you get reckless…” His fingers trail up my arm until he cups my jaw.
“We’re going to have to teach you a lesson about good manners.”