Page 211 of The Wicked
No, this won’t do.
This time, he didn’t take any potato because there were only a few left; his focus was on the beef. I didn’t know how he did it, but he managed to gather almost everything on his fork. When he took it up and into his mouth, I grabbed the bowl quickly and got off the bed, heading to the far corner of the room as I managed to swallow. “You’re a fucking food bully; what the fuck!” I shot with a glare.
“I don’t like sharing,” he said, bringing the fork in line with his mouth as his tongue came out to lick the metal, somehow making me feel jealous of the nonliving thing.
I got ahold of myself. “It wasmyfood thatIdecided, out of thekindnessof my verysubtleheart, to share with you.Myfood. I should be the one to eat most of it.”
“You speak as though your name was carved into the bowl.”
“Never again. I’ll never eat with you again; you’re one of those kids with wide mouths and throats, always bringing the biggest spoon so they can eat more than the little people. That is mean, no one should do shit like that.”
Amusement danced in his eyes. “I was eating like I normally do.”
I scoffed. “And he calls me an animal. You’re a beast, the worst of your kind, fucking asshole.”
Elio chuckled, getting off the bed while I hugged the bowl to my chest possessively.
“Relax, let’s get water in the kitchen. I’m full; the rest is yours.”
“You ate almost everything; there’s no…rest.”
He dished me a disapproving look. “Follow me.”
We reached the kitchen some minutes later, and he washed the fork he’d used before getting himself and me some water and settling on a stool opposite me.
“Thanks for dinner,” he said. “Both dinners.”
I gave him a fake wide smile, getting on a stool. “Real smooth.”
“Hm,” he said, ring-free fingers thumping on the table, biding his time to ask me a question. When I returned his rings earlier, he didn’t bother to put them back on.
I sneaked a glance at him as I ate the last bit from the bowl, not nearly enough to make me satisfied. “What is it?”
“I’m curious,” he said. “How many languages do you know?”
I picked up the cup, bringing it to my lips before speaking. “Nine.” I drank a few gulps before dropping the glass back down. “Italian, Spanish, English, French, Korean, Russian, Vietnamese, Polish, and Mandarin.”
“How did you learn?”
I shrugged. “I was little. As you’ve seen in your background check, we didn’t have a normal school where I grew up. But our guardian was a linguist. When I had the chance to study more, I decided to focus on languages. There’s just something beautiful about speaking and knowing that not everyone around you understands. You could be selling off someone, and they’d be smiling and thanking you.”
He nodded. “It’s a good skill.”
I smiled.
“Can you read and write in those languages?” he asked.
“Nope. I only speak and understand.”
“English too?”
I paused, my eyes searching his as I shifted uncomfortably. “They didn’t really pay attention to what we studied and how farwe’d learned where I grew up… Um, I try though, with English, but mostly the basic stuff.”
He nodded. “Hm.”
“Well, I should get going; it’s midnight.”
“Stay; leave when the sun comes up.”
