Page 36 of Light in Your Eyes
I close the door behind me with my foot and place the tray of food on the nightstand.
Kellan glares in my direction, already standing up with his arms crossed over his chest.
His temper makes my head spin, so I answer with the same irritated tone. "As far as I remember, you were sleeping on that chair, so forgive me if I didn't want to wake you up," I say sarcastically. "I also remember someone telling me to make it like I don't even exist in this room."
His lips form a thin line. "I was planning on asking you to come downstairs with me for breakfast."
My mouth hangs open.
He actually thought about that. I didn't expect it.
Slight guilt sips into me.
"Well, you don't have to do that anymore." My voice softens. "I brought our breakfast here."
He sniffs, and the sight is amusing.
"Yeah. It smells good," he mumbles. "Is it—"
"Mushroom soup," I finish for him, guessing that it's the food he's asking about because of its mouthwateringaroma.
I walk up to him with the bowl of mushroom soup in my hands. I place it on his desk, and he immediately sits behind it.
"Someone's hungry." I chuckle lightly. "Is it your favorite food?"
Kellan doesn't even bother to deny it, so I guess that it is.
He takes the spoon and carefully feeds himself, but then he suddenly splatters it, causing me to yelp in surprise.
"Careful. It's still hot—"
"Did you put fucking corn in it?" he hollers, it's almost comical to look at.
"What?" I echo.
"Corn," he hisses.
A light bulb pops in my head. He hates corn.
"I didn't know that you didn't like it," I blurt. "I wasn't the one who cooked it either, so it wasn't my fault."
He drops the spoon onto the tray, causing it to clatter with a loud sound, echoing in the room. His disappointment is all over his face, so I can't help but feel empathy.
"You can still eat it. I can help you with that." I approach him, but his body language is not so welcoming.
"What do you mean?" he asks.
"I can feed you and make sure that the corn won't get into the spoon," I say.
He doesn't say anything right away, but one would cower under his angry stare. "Are you saying that you're going to fucking feed me?"
"Come on," I say. "Don't be a baby. It's not the time to argue. You're hungry. You're starving for your favorite food—"
"I'm not letting you feed me," he says with implacable authority.
I almost growl in frustration. "Then you can say bye-bye to your mushroom soup. How are you going to eat it without my help? How would you separate the tiny corns? My God, everybody likes corn. How in the world do you not like it—"
"Shut the fuck up," he barks to make me stop talking. "Goddammit, your voice is annoying."
