Their little rascal

Trentasei: Ellie

~Mantenere i segreti e non comunicare

~Keeping secrets and not communicating

♧~E.L.L.I.E~♧

They were keeping something from me and I knew they were. There's so much evidence as to why I thought so. First off, this morning Romeo got a call and he'd snatched his phone off my hand before I could see who it was. Then they suddenly had to leave and meet up with someone. They didn't tell me who, and I was not stupid to believe it was nothing.

My daddies where acting different and it made me feel bad. They were keeping secrets from me, secrets I wanted to know about because I thought we were finally going to open up to each other and love each other. Without secrets but I guess not.

Romeo and I were currently sited on the dining table, having our lunch. I had lost my appetite a while ago, and succumbed to playing with my food on my plate. I was sad, upset even. I just wanted to show them that I could be trusted.

Romeo looked up from where he sat and groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Why aren't you eating?" He asked, the tone he used told me he wasn't happy at all. I kept my head down and shrugged my shoulder,  didn't want to talk. Not now, not now when I might breakdown in tears because I'm weak and everything they do affects me.

“Eat your food,” Romeo grunts from his end of the long dinner table. My gaze drops to my untouched plate. His staff’s put together a feast for us, especially me—a succulent rack of lamb on a bed of roasted, fresh-off-the-vine peppers. There’s the many dishes of appetizers and soups they’ve prepared, like buttered mushroom puffs and some sort of Italian soup that has bits of meatball, lots of veggies, and white wine making up its flavor palate. So much food it makes me question who Romeo thought was going to eat with us.

It makes no sense having enough food to feed a whole neighborhood just for two people. When I still don’t touch a single item on my plate, his scowl deepens, and his large hands tighten on his knife and fork. “Is there a problem?” he asks with barely restrained patience that tellsme he’s not patient at all. My behaviour is annoying him, good.

I could play along and be the obedient little girl he’s hoping for—I could simply obey and clean my plate like he’d prefer. Instead, my heart
beats faster in rebellion. I meet his cold, dark gaze from across the table, my chin high and shoulders thrust back. “I’m not hungry,” I reply. Lately I've been testing their patience, it was fun.

His nostrils flare. His hands become clenched fists resting on the table. “You are hungry,” he insists. “You haven’t eaten a bite in hours. Please baby, eat something.” I push my plate away and then fold my arms. “I said I’m not hungry.”

“And I said eat your fucking food!” he bellows.
It’s louder than a lion’s roar in the jungle. The abrasive sound reverberates through the room, feeling as if it were screamed in my face despite the fact that he’s not trying to harm me but intimidate me a bit. The delicate glass and silverware almost seem to vibrate precariously in place, threatening to tip over and shatter on the floor. My eyes waters and I feel the need to run away from here.

An even louder silence follows. I don’t dare look at him again. My heart’s racing faster than ever and tension’s corded through me, turning my usual loose and small body unbearably stiff. The only thing I can think to do is sit still in my chair
and stare at an indiscriminate point across the room.