ToxiQue

True Intentions

Felix's heart pounds in his chest as he speaks, trying to push past the suffocating fear. He knows Yoan’s mood has shifted—there’s a hardness in his tone now that makes Felix want to shrink away, but he can’t. His words come out softer, almost pleading, "I just miss my home, that’s all… My mother must be worried about me."

For a moment, Yoan remains silent, methodically cutting his steak, every movement deliberate. Felix watches the fork and knife, the sound of the metal scraping against the plate unnerving in the quiet. Then, Yoan speaks.

"You mean the mother who sold you off to pay her debts?" The words are sharp, cutting through the fragile hope Felix had been holding onto. He feels the blow like a punch to the gut, his throat tightening as tears threaten to surface.

"No…" Felix’s voice is unsteady, cracking as he fights back the emotion rising inside him. "My mother didn’t… it was my father—"

Yoan cuts him off with a cold, dismissive tone. "Isn't it the same, though? The point is, nobody in your family is looking for you." His voice is calm, almost casual, as if he’s merely stating a fact, but the impact on Felix is devastating.

Felix’s breathing becomes shallow, uneven, his mind racing to deny the words. He knows it isn’t true—his mother would never abandon him. She was probably sick with worry, desperate to bring him home. But Yoan’s words weigh on him, planting doubt where there had been hope.

His eyes burn with unshed tears, his chest tightening painfully.
"That’s not true," he wants to say, but the words die on his lips. He can feel the weight of Yoan’s indifference pressing down on him, making him feel small, insignificant. All he wants is to go home, to escape this nightmare, to return to a life where he felt safe, loved.

"Finish your food and go to bed, it’s getting late." Yoan’s voice is dismissive, like Felix’s pain is nothing more than background noise.
Felix’s heart pounds as he sits there, still in disbelief over how easily Yoan had brushed him off. His plea—his desperate need to go home—had been treated like nothing. The frustration and helplessness bubble up inside him, his body trembling with the weight of it.

"I want to go home!" Felix shouts, banging his fist on the table, his voice shaking with emotion. The sound reverberates through the room, but the force of his words feels small against Yoan’s overwhelming presence. He’s had enough. This was his life. How could someone who barely knew him wield such authority over him, act like his pain didn’t matter?

Yoan stops, mid-motion, his fork suspended in the air as he slowly turns his gaze to Felix. His eyes are sharp, a flicker of something dark passing through them. Felix feels a jolt of fear but refuses to back down.

With an irritated flick of his wrist, Yoan throws the fork onto his plate. The glass plate rattles with the impact, the sharp clanking sound echoing through the space, as if warning Felix not to push further. For a moment, the silence is heavy, suffocating, and Felix's heart races, the weight of his defiance sinking in.

"Go to your room," Yoan says, his voice cold, annoyance visible in every feature of his face. It’s not a suggestion, it’s a command, and Felix knows it.

But Felix isn’t finished. His pulse quickens as he clenches his fists, his voice growing bolder despite the tremor in it.
"I don't want to be here, can't you understand that!!?"

The tension between them is palpable, thick in the air, and for a moment, Felix wonders if Yoan might snap. But instead, Yoan’s lips curl into a sick grin, and then—he breaks into laughter. It’s not a laugh of amusement but something twisted, sickening, sending chills down Felix’s spine. The sound is sharp, cutting through the silence, mocking him.