Lost in Salvation

15. Bacon

Lorelei

Sleeping after an encounter with Wren Ledger had proven to be quite difficult. In fact, I don't think I've slept a single wink since. Every time I close my eyes, images flash through my head and I begin to panic. So rather than torture myself, I made the decision to flip through the channels on my bedroom's TV. But after hours of entertaining myself with shitty Lifetime movies, boredom has begun to scratch at my brain, and when the first remnants of sunlight start to split through my curtains, I'm quick to hop out of bed. 

It's almost extraordinary what lack of sleep can do to a predominately healthy person. 

Swaying on my feet for a moment while the static leaves the edges of my vision, I stretch, allowing my muscles to tense like the strain of a tightening rubber band. Worried I may cause a cramp, I release my sore limbs, shaking them out as I do so. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, my stomach decides to express its ever-growing need for food, growling into the otherwise quiet room. I roll my eyes, dread holding my feet in place as if concrete had poured itself on my cleanly carpeted flooring. More than anything, I do not want to go downstairs. I could think of millions of things I would take far greater pleasure in doing than meeting the four stooges in the dining room for breakfast. Honestly, I couldn't imagine a more unpleasant start to my morning. Not to mention my little run in with head of the household last night. God, I'm sure he's since taken great pride in telling the rest of the crew about it, laughing all the while. And if my arrival at the table is as awkward as I predict it will be, I may just have to actually find a way out of this prison. 

But I can't ignore the hunger for much longer as I begin to smell the savory scent of bacon. Coming in slow waves of heaven, it wafts through my room, causing my stomach to throw an absolute tantrum. 

Okay Lorelei, put your big girl pants on. It's just a couple of idiots, you've been through way worse.

Slowly, I peel open my door, carefully peering around the corner as if I expect the Boogeyman to pop out and end my life once and for all. Now that I think about it, that wouldn't be such a bad way to go. I mean come on, murder by fictional monster? That could make headlines. After I've evidently deemed the hallway monster free, I take a deep breath and start down towards the impending breakfast food. Of course, I'll be the judge on whether or not this food is actually edible.

As I approach the stairs, I begin to hear faint chatter, coupled with the sounds of clanking kitchenware. I can almost imagine I'm still at home. If I close my eyes, I can still see my mom, rolling dough in her hands in preparation for her decadent homemade biscuits. Dad, frying eggs in his prized nonstick pan, the two of them laughing along to whatever sarcastic thing I had muttered in my sleepy state. The smiles on their faces are infections, and I nearly smile myself. But just as quickly as the memory came, it fades away, and I'm left with the reality that my mother is dead. I am not in my childhood home enjoying a joyful Sunday breakfast with my family and my father hasn't smiled like that in weeks. No, those happy memories are just that, memories. 

Inhaling a sharp breath that sears my lungs as I bite back tears, I unclasp the fists I subconsciously balled my hands into at my sides, shaking my head as I begin walking down the stairs. 

My feet pad against the hardwood flooring, creating a soft tapping sound as I descend into the lions den, a few of the steps creaking underneath my weight. Heads turn in unison, their meaningless conversations and scrambled eggs quickly forgotten in my presence. A cold silence fills the room and I begin to feel as though a spotlight has been shone directly over my body. Every single one of their hard stares has been pointedly fixed on me, except for Cyrus's, who is to my surprise, the mystery man flipping bacon in a steaming pan. Grease pops, the tiny sound like a booming drum in the quiet room. And as I come to a stop at the bottom of the staircase, I become misserably aware of my scantily clad figure, still dressed in only a silk tank top with matching sleep-shorts, the same ones I encountered Wren in not hours before. Suddenly, I feel completely naked under the angry scrutiny of their gazes, realizing for the first time that I truly am in their realm, not mine. 

Regaining my composure in an attempt to thwart the growing sense of unease that has begun to nip at the back of my mind, I straighten my back, walking towards the dining table. As I grow closer, I can now make out a fully set table complete with coffee, plates filled to the brim with various breakfast foods, and a bowl of fresh fruits sat in the center. My stomach growls once more at the site and smell alone and a silently hope that no one heard it. 

"Morning boys," I tip my chin up, refusing to run back up the stairs and to my room like a scared little girl. Though, I'm positive these guys would rejoice if I did. 

Now standing directly opposite from the rectangular shaped table, I darlingly place my hand on the back of Kenzo's chair, smiling as he cranes his neck to glare up at me. Seriously, if looks could kill, this would be the one. Sitting next to him is his partner in crime, Hunter, and secluded all the way at the left end is Wren. 

Practically growling, Kenzo pushes my much smaller hand away from the chair. "What are you doing?"

"I smelled food so I came to get some. Is that a problem?" Sweetly, I grin down at him, ignoring the murderous look in his eyes. Kidnapper doesn't scare me, truthfully none of them do. We all have the same job and that job is cruel, just because they're a little bit more dickish doesn't make them any more monstrous than me. What does piss me off rather, is what they did all those years ago. 

"Only if you plan to eat it with us." Wren grumbles from behind a newspaper. Wow, I didn't even know they could get newspapers all the way out here, wherever here is. 

Scoffing, I cross my arms. "What else am I supposed to do with it, eat it in my room? I could get food on your nice, clean bedsheets." He doesn't give much of a response to my clear effort at trying to push his buttons so I move on, leveling my gaze with the rest of their's. "And either way, this house is mine now just as much as it is yours. If I want to sit at the table, I will."

With the scrape of a dining room chair, Kenzo is the first to jump up, nearly nocking me over just before I have time to step back. "The hell you are!" He snarls, fists white-knuckled at his sides. 

"Why not?" I taunt back, head tilting in mock curiosity. 

The room grows even thicker with tension than it was before, everyone either waiting in anticipation for Kenzo's response, or in boiling anger at my intrusion. Even Cyrus has finally stopped cooking bacon at this point, abandoning the stove to watch in entertainment. Kenzo's nostrils flare, jaw grinding as forest green eyes tear through my soul. 

"Because this isn't your house, you're barely even a guest. I'd consider you merely a pest," Moving a hand to pick up a singular lock of my hair, he twists the strands between his fingers, studying them. "A pest that needs to be exterminated."

Ever so slightly I make my move, snatching an already cooked piece of bacon off of his plate, stepping back to take a bite right in front of his face.

"Stop me." Chewing for a moment, I moan against the savory flavors that float across my tongue, eyes rolling back at the taste of actual food. Fortunately, I was wrong about their inability to cook because this is delicious. But it isn't for me, sorry stomach. Doing something that is sure to get me on the naughty list, I ball the bacon mush up in my mouth and before Kenzo can register the movement, I spit.