Page 38 of Cruel Cravings

For now, I don’t think about him.

My stomach’s growling, making me realize I haven’t had a proper meal in days. The vending machine snacks and gas station burgers hardly count. I head into the kitchen and rummage through the cupboards and pantry.

The Klums have a decent selection. Months’ worth of nonperishable items.

I reach for a can of cheddar potato soup and a box of crackers. Still not the most nutritional meal, but it’ll do for now.

The soup bubbles on the stovetop and fills the air with the smell of sharp cheddar. I pour it into a bowl and dig in with a spoon at the family table.

The first spoonful feels like heaven. Warm, creamy goodness that I savor and eat slowly like it’s my last meal.

It’s a quiet, simple moment that nourishes me in more ways than one. I’ve been operating on ten for so long that I drove myself to pass out from hysteria and exhaustion. I let the shadow man work me up and I can’t let that happen again.

Soup devoured and belly full, I set the dishes in the sink and grab the red apple I picked earlier from one of the trees behind the Klum’s cabin.

When I return to the main room, he’s exactly where I left him. Still chained, still silent and watchful. His dark green eyes immediately swing to me by the doorway and he tracks every step across the room that I take. I drag a chair from the other side of the room toward where he’s seated, stopping a few feet away to sit down in front of him.

I’m calm. I’m cold.

Round two, here we go.

“You must be hungry,” I say, snatching the hunting knife into my hand and holding up the red apple. “But you don’t strike me as the type who begs for food, right?”

Predictably, he doesn’t respond.

I spend a second studying the knife, admiring the sleek and sharp blade and how it could easily do damage. It’s so clean and perfect that it shows me my reflection in the light.

Imagine what it would look like coated in blood…

“Lucky for you, I’m a nice person,” I say, finally blinking away from the blade. I look over at him bound to the chair, adding a small smile. “How about I feed you?”

I give a second for him to answer, already aware that he won’t, and then press on.

I take the sharp knife and slice into the apple, cutting an eighth of it away. His gaze tracks my hands as I take the apple slice and pop it into my mouth.

“But first—before I share—I have a few questions you’re going to answer. It’s only fair, right?” I say, the juice from the apple slice bursting in my mouth. I lick it away, my tongue swiping at my bottom lip, and I take note how his gaze once again follows.

He zeros in on my mouth. The bead of juice that drips over the curve of my lip before I lick it off.

I return to the knife, hacking off another slice. The crisp cutting sound becomes threatening and ominous, even as I aim a smile at him.

The smile is cold and mocking. It doesn’t reach the rest of my face. It damn sure doesn’t light up my eyes.

I stare at him as unblinkingly as he’s stared at me and bite into the second slice with a sharp crunch.

“What’s your name?” I ask. “Tell me now.”

He sticks it out. He gives no answer.

I tighten my grip on the knife. “How old are you?”

Still nothing.

“Where are you from?”

More silence.

This is the part where I normally would’ve lost my cool. I flipped my shit earlier as the more questions I asked, the more he defiantly refused to give so much as a yes or no.

---