Page 18 of Ghoul

I simply shrugged in response, afraid if my mouth reopened, I would lose my composure completely.

“Fuck them. Whoever it was doesn’t know shit,” he grumbled in a gruff voice, getting in line and looking over the food behind the glass in the display case. I almost felt bad for him, but I was having too much fun at his expense. It made me a bit of an asshole, but he would have done the same if given the opportunity.

“I see you smiling.” He pointed out my skewed reflection on the metal bar in front of him. “No one said I ate a dick, did they?” He didn’t skip a beat, before turning his head toward the lady wearing a hairnet in front of him, “I’ll have the macaroni and cheese with the meatloaf surprise.”

Her mouth and mine both fell open wide in shock. His eyes lazily flicked back and forth between the two of us, and he wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Uhm, please?” he added, sucking on his bottom lip and releasing it with a pop.

“Sure thing, honey,” the woman spoke after a few seconds and prepared his plate. “Are you having the same, dear?” Her attention switched to me, and I nodded my head, unable to answer her as disbelief flooded me. He really didn’t have any shame whatsoever. He didn’t care who you were or what he said in front of you.

“It was the meatloaf,” he whispered in a playful tone as each of us grabbed a drink and sat across from one another at a nearby table.

“Huh? What was?” I asked, having no idea what he was referring to.

He laughed and poked the blob of meat on his plate with his fork after picking it up. “The worst thing I ever ate in prison.”

Laughter bubbled up through my body and burst out my mouth. “Then why the hell did you order it from here?”

“Wanted to see if it was as shitty as you said.” He smirked and scooped a forkful into his mouth. “Fuck,” he said around the food, pocketing it into his cheek, and took a huge gulp of coffee. “You weren’t kidding. This shit is nasty.”

“Macaroni isn’t terrible,” I announced after stabbing a few noodles and shoving them into my mouth.

“At least we’ll always have mediocre macaroni and meatloaf that tastes like ketchup thrown over an old pair of fucking shoes with the lovely scenery of a brick wall.” He tipped his plastic mug toward the window, pointing out what he said to be true.

A sincere smile crept onto my face, and regardless of what happened, I would always cherish this moment. It wasn’t one filled with romance or unhappiness and probably would be forgotten by most, but it was exactly what I needed.

“Mediocre macaroni and fucking shoes,” I acknowledged his proclamation and glanced up into his light blue eyes with appreciation.

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