Trillionaires' War

Chapter 13

We have a cafeteria for employees with an attached restrauant on the first floor which is larger and nicer. I had my private kitchen built to share with my family, but no one has ever used it except me.

Marcus takes a seat on the island. I pull out all my ingredients to make my pide. It's one of my family's favorite turkish dish. Most who have unlimited funds like my family don't really enjoy cooking, but for me its relaxing. Trying different things, new favors, and just making it your own is satisfying.

I chop some onions and tomatoes. Then I get started in the sauce. I get lost in my art of cooking. I love to bake too, but I limit myself because I'll surely be overweight if I ate everything I baked.

"You love to cook." Marcus randomly states.

I smile at his observation without turning to him. "There used to be a time when I didn't have the option to cook. I remember my love for culinary started when I walked around New York. I saw all these stands with different kinds of food, it looked so delicious. Mind you, New York goes big with pretty much anything so I saw things that were american food, but the ultimate version of them. At the time I started to wished I could have my own mini kitchen to cook and experiment with like those chefs did." I explain.

I remember how creative pizzas were made, and how loaded hot dogs were. The way those street cooks looked so satisfied with a happy customer was the way I wanted to be. I wanted to be able to make my own dishes and just feel that level of satification they had. I wasn't fortunate enough to try any of those delicacies though. I was too broke, but just imagining the taste and seeing the art behind it was enough for me then.

"Why didn't you?"

"Huh?" I lost my self in my thoughts.

"Didn't your foster family let you cook?"

"Actually that was after I had run away from the system. I had no money to my name. I was homeless, jumping from park to park in different states. I always made a few dollars here and there from window washing or picking up trash. The only thing I could afford on certain days was a dollar burrito from walmart. It's funny how creative you get when you're broke." I laugh. "I used to carry a frozen burrito and placed them on top of hot cars to heat it up. It would take hours. I kept switching from car to car when owners would arrive. It was one of the experiences I would never forget. Running away while some person yelled at you." I laugh again. "Their faces were hilarious. They probably thought I was crazy." I smile at the memory. It was hard back then, but I felt liberated for the first time. I managed on my own and only I could dictate where I went. I had finally taken back my choice.

I continue to stir the sauce when I feel him press up against me from behind. His strong arms wrap around me in a warm embrace that flutters my heart. He rests his chin on my shoulder looking at me stir. I can't help the smile on my face widening. He may be rough around the edges to the point where I question his sanity, but he has his moments. Moments like this I treasure. No yelling or arguing. No back and forth power struggle. Just him and I in our little bubble of comfort.

"Tell me more." He whispers in my ear.

"What do you want to know?" There's not much I hide. I'm pretty much an open book.

"Everything."

"I don't even know where to start."

"The homes you lived in. How were they?"

"Some were better than others." I shrug. My memories take me back to the reason why I left to being with. My heart aches at the memory, but I push it away. Remembering it won't do me any good. I hope he doesn't dig any deeper. I busy myself by chopping some more potatoes for garnish.