Chapter 10: Hunger Games (Luther’s POV)

He left after that. He got his empty bowl, his messy notebook, and left. Not a word. Not an answer. Radio silence. He didn’t visit for a while. I didn’t care- until I did. I usually aimed the food at his head. Lately, my stomach’s been second-guessing my aim. My dad would’ve given me a good beating for this. Like those I used to get in middle school. "Complaining so much cuz you haven’t eaten in a day or two? They could do so much worse to you. And you’re weak, you’re gonna rat me out!" Who they are or what I could rat him out for—I have no idea. Still, between my stomach growling, my head pounding, and my dad scolding, this room might as well be a torture dungeon. I slept during the time Emiliano was away. Or passed out. I can’t really tell the difference anymore. I don’t dream anymore either. That takes energy, I guess. A Redbull could be useful. Or some food. I keep thinking about Emiliano’s soup. I threw the croutons at him. Maybe I should look under the bed, see if one rolled on the floor and ended up there. I got down on the floor, searching for that probably now moldy piece of bread. I am tired. I’m used to humiliation and degrading myself. My father made me indestructible in that sense. But I am not used to being this lonely. Sure-I’m not putting my heart on my sleeve out there, but I had my job. I was good at my job. I, unlike most of the b--tards in Parliament, actually cared about people. Ugh, I fought to make pheromone inhibitors for heat and rut-free and available for any citizen. I was never in heat. Maybe because I’m poisonous. My mom, when she still had a mind of her own, used to say I’m special. That I’m better than any alpha. That I’m the perfect specimen. That still didn’t explain why I am the way I am. All I could do was compensate with this amazing, scrumptious personality and the drop-dead gorgeous looks. But now-now the only thing about to drop dead is me if I don’t eat anything soon. I got it. I stretch my arm as hard as I can, and I can feel it between my fingers. It’s moist and smaller than the size of my nails, but it’s food. As I was about to gobble the piece of toast, I could hear Emiliano clearing his throat behind me. I don’t even get to taste it. "I thought you only eat Michelin's five-star meals." "And I thought to run an experiment, you need to keep your lab rat alive." He chuckled. Something is different. Maybe it’s because I could only drink the chlorine water from the shower in the last days, but he feels off. He wasn’t dressed in his lab suit anymore. His hair was free, shoulder length, maybe freshly cut. He was wearing jeans. The big bad villain wearing Levi’s. It’s cartoonish. "I wanted to take you out to dinner tonight, but I don’t think you can sit straight by yourself." "Sure, Casanova, and then you wanted to marry me on the Coast of Costa Rica and have my kids?" "I am not exactly a family type of guy." "Dine and dash? Or, better said for you, drugged and cut?" "I want to talk, Luther." His tone changed. He seemed almost ... sincere? But can this gube y physically able to tell the truth-even for once? "Talk, but I may not hear you over the sound of my self-digesting, growling stomach." "I’ll take the risk. How about this? I’ll cook you whatever you want- first course, second course, and dessert- if you can have a conversation with me." Yeah, right. Want to talk it out? Great, but I ain’t telling him a thing about the real me. "Fine." "Great." He smiled. Who would put a face like that on a psychopath like this? Feels like a crime against humanity. That’s me. I’m the human in this case. Someone called me a lawyer. "I can provide you two choices: you can briefly tell me what you’re into, or you can show me. I gotta admit, I’m not great with awkward conversation, so I prefer the latter." "What?" "But then again, you were about to deepthroat a piece of mois,t moldy bread without a second thought." "Is this for the flower collection?" "Simple curiosity. I told you, I like to take my time, and, Luther, I like how you don’t break easily." "I’m a top. Now what? You’ll spread your legs for me in the name of your research?" "I was thinking about getting a drop of your blood while you’re experiencing different emotions." Why is he being honest now? That’s worse. That’s unpredictable. I’m hungry. It’s not a big deal. A kiss for a good meal. Is that all it takes? One bite of food and I’m offering myself up like I mean nothing? No, I’m doing what I can to survive. Right? Right. Right?... Is that ringing in my ears? But why does he look like he’s hearing it too? And why, even tho he looks calm, he’s tapping his fingers slightly? Did the ear ringing always sound like police cars? "Kiss me, Luther. Now!" Why is he yelling? Is that the police? Am I saved? He looks mad. I need to buy time until the officers find me. The kiss? The kiss. I could kiss him. I think he cut my finger and took a sample. I can’t concentrate. All I hear is sirens. I press my lips against his. Please, hurry up. Please, save me. His lips curled into a smile. "You can stop the sirens now, Claus! I got the second sample." Huh? It was fake? He faked the police coming? But why- He broke my train of thought. "You didn’t expect someone to come here to save you, right?"