Page 27 of Rest In Knotty Pieces

I jerk so hard I slam my elbow into the wall, but I don’t even acknowledge the pain. All my focus is on him.

“Here.”

He holds it out.

I don’t dare take it.

With a grumbling huff, he places it on the floor, slides it towards me, then stands up and bounds off, out of the room. The blue-haired giant walks in, and again, he takes the danger out of the room, leaving me feeling exhausted. He spots me straight away and carries a tray to me.

He crouches, trying to look small, and puts the tray on the ground. It’s got so much on it, it’s a wonder he didn’t spill anything trying to bring it in. There’s scrambled eggs and sunny side up, bacon, sausage, tomato, onion, pancakes, toast, jam, butter, three types of cereal, a bottle of water, a cup of tea, a cup of coffee, and an electrolyte drink.

I’ve never seen so much food in my life. I don’t know what to look at.Is this a trap? Am I going to die if I eat this? A last meal?

“Sage and Blaze went overboard,” he says in a low voice. “I added this.” He points to the small orange and the tips of his ears turn red.

I don’t know what to make of it. If he’s going to kill me, why is he so embarrassed?

He stands up and stomps away, leaving me alone with the tray.

I reach for the orange.

I’m bent over the toilet, throwing up the cereal, sure they’ve poisoned me, the orange clutched in my hand when I feel the presence of someone invade my space. I’m helpless, retching violently. My fingers clutch the porcelain hard. I watch out of the corner of my watering eyes as the omega comes in and sits on the side of the bathtub, watching with a great deal of interest.

“Dumbasses.”

I think he’s talking to me, but he’s staring into space, not even looking my way. I grab some paper and wipe my mouth with a shaking hand and slump against the wall. I’m all sweaty, and my stomach aches.

“Stand up.”

The order comes with such command I don’t even think of disobeying.

He waits until I stand up, then gestures for me to follow him. At this point in time, I don’t have the ability or will to fight anymore, so I trail after him, dragging my feet. He leads me back into the kitchen and points at a stool.

“Sit.”

I pull it out and sit, my shoulders tense.

His movements are slow and methodical. He doesn’t talk to me; he doesn’t look at me. I hold the orange to my chest and glance around, taking in the black cabinets that go floor to ceiling, except where the stove and kitchen sink is. There’s a massive wooden island that is clearly where they prepare food and another bench coming out from that with three stools on one side. I’m sitting at the one furthest from the omega. There’s a door behind me and one in front, while the omega’s is on my left. I do not like having my back exposed.

Despite the kitchen having a homey feel, it appears to be all new.

And again, no windows.

The omega turns, frustrated, and lets out a rattling hiss, before he spots something that makes him smile. He goes and slams a palm to it and with a whoosh, another hidden door opens.

My jaw drops open as I see all the food in there. It’s like a shop. There’s so much.

“That’s five,” he mutters.

I want to ask what’s five. How did he know it was there? What’s in the back?

He goes in and comes out with a container that says sugar.

I watch as he dumps some into the pot he’s got on the stove.

“This is a Sanderson family recipe. When you get sick, when you need comfort, Yvonne makes big pots of this. It’s easy on the stomach but filling and helps you get your energy back.”

After that, he stays silent while he cooks.