Ruthless

25

Upon entering the kitchen, my immediate focus is drawn to the neglected trash bin nestled in the corner, with the waste and empty disregarded takeout containers scattered around it. Not to mention the overpowering and lingering stench that was in the air.

I redirect my attention away from the mess to avoid feeling queasy. My eyes landed on the pervert who was eagerly devouring his meal, more akin to ravishing it like he hadn't eaten in days. Disgust contorts my face.

"You can sit here," the young man said, prompting me to glance in his direction.

His smile broadens. Disregarding his persistent smile, I shifted my attention downward to find that he had courteously pulled out a chair for me.

Whispering a quiet 'Thank you' before settling into the textured seat.

Describing the chair as uncomfortable would be an understatement; it seemed as though it had been crafted by someone completely unfamiliar with the art of furniture making.

Rather than taking a seat, the young man opted to set a plate for me and serve the meal that had been prepared. The ravenous hunger I felt moments ago dissipated upon seeing the unappetizing food placed in front of me.

While I had no intention of showing disrespect towards any meal, the appearance of the food before me was revolting. Actually, what was even more repulsive was the unwashed plate on which it was served. It was evident that the plate had been reused numerous times without proper cleaning, and it was visibly broken along the sides.

I couldn't fathom how these two even managed to survive. I would have died from food poisoning long ago. In fact, never mind food poisoning—the noxious odor in the air alone could be lethal for anyone. The environment is so toxic.

Inadvertently, I pushed the plate away, and upon looking up, both individuals were gazing at me with questioning expressions. One had a soft, confused gaze, while the other's was as unyielding as stone, filled with contempt.

I can't bring myself to eat this, no matter how hungry I am.

Clearing my throat, I grappled with how to broach the subject tactfully, cautious not to sound offensive.

"Is there any chance you have some chips? I'm not very hungry," I spoke in a subdued, almost apologetic tone.

The man blinked, and a sense of unease crept over me. I felt as if he could see through my lies. He has been nothing but kind to me in the short time I have been here, and I don't wish to cause him any embarrassment. Moreover, I'm unaware of the reasons behind their unconventional way of living.

"It's okay; you don't have to pretend. We understand you find it disgusting," he asserted without hesitation.

My eyes widened momentarily, and I vigorously shook my head, torn between denying and confessing. Before I could utter a word, he spoke again, that smile still on his face.

"It's fine; you don't have to lie," he reassured.

I couldn't discern if it was genuine or forced, but I hope he isn't offended.

"It's just that after my mother passed away, Dad fell into depression, and I was too small to do anything. We never realized that we became accustomed to living like this," he explained.

My chest tightened, and my gaze automatically shifted to the elderly man seated across from me. He continued to stuff his mouth with food, not bothering to swallow the first bite.

I couldn't help being worried that he might choke. I redirected my attention to the young man, deciding to mind my own business after reminding myself that he was old enough to take care of himself.