"The original bad boy . . . calls himself a monster and knows he's a monster."
11|Food Critic
"It's all full. Can I take a seat with you?"
"Of course, Ms. Johnson."
What in the world is she doing here, though?
"Call me Eve." She plops down across from me. "I'm hardly twenty-five and you make me sound so old," she chuckles, tying her brown hair in a ponytail. None of my self-defense instructors are older than college student age, but they hold equal places for my teachers. It feels odd to call your teacher by the first name, especially the ones you have only known for a week or two.
"If you insist," I mumble.
Is there a way I can head inside the restaurant without appearing rude? I turn and lean a little, checking if the busy place settled down or not. Unluckily for me, it hasn't.
"Are you okay?" Ms. J--I mean Eve asks, her eyes scrutinized at me.
"Perfectly fine," I assure.
Her eyebrows furrow and she hands me a napkin. "There's something stuck in your hair on the side." She points to the left side of my head. What? I quickly wipe my hair and see dried blood. I dust it away quickly and blame it on the head butt I gave to Leo.
Since my teacher's right there, I can't help but say, "Thanks. Those self-defense lessons came in handy, today." She looks surprised. "I head-butted a teenage guy and came here to celebrate."
She chuckles softly before picking up the menu on the table.
"These teenagers, nowadays. Some of them really need to be put in their place," she mutters disdainfully. I can't disagree. "And where the hell are the waiters? I'm starving."
I cringe.
She's sitting at my parents' place.
"The restaurant's really busy and on top of that, there's some food critic everyone's trying to impress," I explain, feeling it to be my responsibility. "Don't worry, I'll call one over." I look over and raise a hand at one of the waiters passing by. She gives me a nod and holds a finger she'll be here soon.
"No, no, that's alright," Eve says. She leans forward and pretends as if she's about to tell me a secret. I move forward slightly, smiling a little. "Actually, I'm that food critic. Don't do anything else. I want to see how they treat me as a regular customer."
My smile weakens.
"Ah ha," I nod along.
Should I tell her this is my parents' restaurant or not? I should definitely acknowledge my parents' somehow that the food critic they're fussing over is the wrong one! We don't want our restaurant shut down! NYC is not an extremely affordable place to survive in.
"Why don't we celebrate your first time defense use together?" she suggests. "You can help even help me decide how the food quality is. What say?"
No, thank you.
"I don't think--" I begin.
The waitress, Debby, comes to us holding nothing in her hands because she knows neither I nor my close friends pay for the food here. She looks like she's in a hurry and all I want to scream at her to behave more formally!
"Can you tell me your orders fast?" Debby urges. "The restaurant is hectic."
If I can facepalm myself right now, I would.
Eve is entirely unimpressed by the service. My parents are definitely going to fire Debby for such behavior towards the real food critic. I bring it upon myself to take care of the horrid situation that has fallen.
"I'm a regular customer here," I tell Eve. "These people treat me like their family member, that's why the informality--"
"Valerie, you are family--" Debby stresses.
"Exactly!" I interject cheerfully. "Why don't we give our orders, then? You first, Eve. The restaurant has amazing food and service." Debby blinks at me as if I'd grown three heads. All I want to do is stomp on her perpetually tapping foot indicating her rush. Can't she behave a bit for civilly?
Eve shrugs and picks her dinner choices while I chew on my fingernails. Checking my phone under the table, I find it dead. I used the battery up texting Danie and Isa, when I was waiting alone out here. Giving my parents a heads up on the phone is out of the question. Not that they'd have time to check it, anyways.
"Val? Val?" Eve's voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I sit up properly and stare at her perplexed. "Your order?"
"Right," I bob my head up and down, forgetting everything. "I want the special fried chicken," I tell Debby. It's worth a shot. Mom declined it before, but maybe she'll let it go this time. Not long after Debby leaves taking our drinks order with the meal one, I realize I can use the oldest excuse in the book. "Hey Eve, just give me a moment. I have to use the bathroom. Will be right back."
"Sure."
I march inside the restaurant, making sure Eve's eyes aren't following me. It's impossible with the crowd inside. Is there something special going on today, except for the day being a Friday? I sneak into the kitchen and search for my parents. The waiters tell me they're with the food critic outside!
Frantically, I reach my parents who are standing with a waiter at some ostentatiously dressed woman's table.
"Mom!" I hiss in her ear.
"Not now," she whispers back and pushes me away.
"That's not--" I start.
"Valerie, please give us a moment alone here," Dad says turning and glaring at me.
"Dad, the food critic--"
Leave! he mouths.
Under his death glare, I have no choice but to leave even though I try to mouth that woman is not the food critic. Heading back into the kitchen, I grab a paper and a pen and jot down: The real food critic is sitting right across from me. ~Val
I stab a knife in the paper and let it sit where Mom and Dad can see it.
Surely, they use a knife for most of their food. Then, I head out of the restaurant, sighing and almost crying at my parents' negligence. I'm trying to help for the first time and they won't listen! Rubbing a hand over my face, I head over to Eve and almost trip over nothing visible (probably a ghost).
Right across from Eve, Arsen sits, leaning on my chair.
What the hell is he doing here?
Did he tell her this is my parents' restaurant? Oh I hope not! I jog towards them and bring a chair from the nearby table right next to Arsen. Both of them are a little alarmed by my sudden entry into the scene.
"Do you need something?" Arsen inquires. His arm brushes against mine and he doesn't seem to like that much proximity. Maybe he shouldn't have decided to take a seat a table for two!
"She's with me," Eve informs curtly. "We both came here to enjoy a bite."
Frowning, Arsen's eyes flicker to mine. "You came here to 'enjoy a bite?'" No, no! I'll be busted, if he goes on any further.
"Of course. Any problem?" I ask a little too forcefully. I grab his hand tightly under the table earning his refusal to accept my hand in reprisal. The way he shoots daggers at me with his dark eyes, all I know is that Eve's growing suspicious. "What are you even doing here?" I ask him.
"First, if you'd release my--"
I squeeze his hand even tighter and attempt to gesture with my eyes for him to not continue.
"Are you guys okay?" Eve quizzes. Arsen selects the absolute worst action by actually bringing our hands above the table to reveal that I'm holding his hand hostage. I quickly let go at the summit of embarrassment, feeling almost betrayed by Arsen. Instead of teasing like a normal person or even being smug, Eve does neither. Her eyes don't seem to approve. Her pale face gives away nothing.
No one knows how to react.
This hand-holding-to-shut-someone-up gesture nonsense only works in movies, not in real life.
My eyes lower to the menu which suddenly appears as understandable as Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet.
Basically, I can't believe Arsen has the audacity to do that.
Eve's phone rings, breaking the awkwardness. I sigh in relief as she excuses herself to step away and attend the important call. Out of aggravation, I punch Arsen's arm as hard as I possibly can. He winces at a little.
"What was that for?!" he asks.
"Why did you do that?"
"Do what?"
"That?" I point to my hand.
"I don't see anything wrong with you small and chubby hand," he responds seriously, after examining my hand. Before I can pounce on him for indirectly calling me fat, he resumes, "Why were you touching me earlier, creep? You're so messed up."
Is he really turning the tables on me?
"I didn't want you to tell Eve--"
"Eve?"
"Ms. Johnson, idiot," I answer, shaking my head furiously at him. His expression seems a bit off, but I continue, "Don't tell he this is my parents' restaurant. She's a food critic." He raises an eyebrow and leans back in the chair, letting the front two legs of the chair to rise up and down, up and down, until he stops for a break.
"What do I get in return?" he queries.
"One less witness to the murder you were a part of?" Naturally, neither one of us bring up the unfortunate death that one ugly day. His arrogant nature somehow encourages me to bring that cockiness down. To tell him what kind of a person he is, in reality.
His face hardens.
"We didn't murder him," he hisses. As if I'm going to believe that. I tear my gaze away from his. "He cut his wrist and was at the verge of death, by the time we reached him. Then, the guys decided to take out their anger on him for the suicide and . . . it doesn't matter anymore. The past is past."
"You didn't bring him to a hospital."
"Neither did you," he retorts.
"But at least I tipped off the police at a phone booth." I don't know why I tell him all this. After I ran home and started cleaning my wounds that day, I couldn't handle the guilt washing over me. Immediately, I headed to a local phone booth and informed the cops of the dead man I found. Nevertheless my head bleeding, I made it back home in one piece.
I would hope someone helps my friends if they were ever in need. Unlike Arsen. Who beats up their own friend when he's almost dead? "What kind of monster have you become, Arse?"
"The one you should be afraid of." His dark eyes bore into mine, giving me goosebumps. I almost shudder. This is not the same neighbor and sweetheart I knew almost six years ago.
"What if it's the one wearing a mask?" I whisper.
"You can't mask what you've become, no matter how hard you try."
"Maybe you shouldn't mask?" I say softly.
"Maybe you shouldn't breathe," he suggests rudely.
Eve returns, preventing whatever response I have formed in my head. Behind her hurries Debby with our orders. While Eve receives the appetizers along with her main course, I end up with just my main course.
And trust me, it's nowhere close to fried chicken.
Instead a tofu salad!
"The boss said that's what you talked to her about on the phone a few hours ago," Debby grins. It means Mom hasn't seen my message just yet. I fail to smile in satisfaction at the rabbit food. I'm a carnivore during dinnertime and without chicken, my survival chances are as high as a polar bear's.
I can't believe Mom's still stuck on our call earlier, where she warned me not to order chicken or she'd feed me tofu. Guess she wasn't joking around.
"Thanks," I mutter and swing my fork back and forth in the iceberg lettuce.
"I'll take a lobster dish," Arsen tells Debby. Can he even afford that?
"Sure, if you're paying for it," Debby shoots back.
"I'm with Val and Eve," he says. I want to shake my head and refuse, but he whispers, "If you want my silence, cooperate." I clench my teeth and give Debby a nod who scowls at me. She pivots on her heels and briskly trudges back inside the restaurant. If I know her well, she'll talk to my parents about it.
They'd find something fishy.
Or lobster-y.
And then they might discover my message.
"You guys don't mind if I join you for dinner, right?" Arsen asks us for formality's sake.
"The more the merrier," Eve answers unenthusiastically. She eats her food quietly and I play with mine. Arsen grabs the fork out of my hand, stabs it into a cherry tomato in the salad, and then bites out of it. He always loved those cherry tomatoes. And I hate them. He always ate them for me whenever our families had dinner together and Mom put them in salad.
Till this day, the woman thinks I love cherry tomatoes because those were the only things finished in my salad bowl.
Speaking of the devil--I mean mother, she's heading to us with Debby.
The lobster in the red-haired waitress's hands and the fried chicken in my mother's relieves me.
She knows.
Finally, I can die in peace.
After eating the heavenly chicken dad cooks.
The food is placed on the table and mom gushes, "I'm so sorry for the poor service we have been offering. The place has been terribly busy, today. I hope you're enjoying everything. To compensate for our behavior, your meal is on the house."
"No need--" Eve declines, out of courtesy.
"No, I insist," Mom says.
Arsen attacks the lobster while I the fried chicken. Mom mumbles something, but everyone is deeply immersed in feeding their stomachs. The special treatment falls on us three and my parents do whatever they can to impress Eve. The food critic enters inside the restaurant with Mom to pay a visit to the kitchen. Mom excitedly returns to me and finally notices the third person on the table.
He's deeply focused on the pastry in his plate.
"Arsenal? Frasier? What a surprise!"
Only Mom teasingly ever calls him arsenal.
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A/N
Dedicated to jodie157 Thanks so much for supporting me and work! Really means a lot!
Eve is the food critic! What?!
What will her rating be?
Arsen and his friends beat up a dead man, basically? Yay or nay?
I'm gonna try to make chapters longer. I know most people (myself included) prefer over 25k words a chapter. I'll see what I can do. If anyone wants to make side graphics. Feel free to do so. I'll post those and give the respective credit + dedication. I really appreciate the support, guys!
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