It must be fate, he says? Please. Even I could have come up with a better pick-up line than that.
I try not to laugh, but I can't help it. The line's hilarious and cheesy as hell. Just when my laughing craze began to die down, his expression pays me no kindness. It's a mixture of amazement and confusion with a hint of fear. My laughter flows out faster and louder and I'm tearing up.
After what seems like hours, my laughter finally stops. I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. "Oh, my God, that was so funny!"
He raises his brow at me. "Want to fill me in?"
"What you just said! 'It must be fate'? That must be the cheesiest line I have ever heard. Ever! Do people really say that?"
I laugh a bit more, recalling his sentence, but stop, seeing the confused line on his face transform to an amused smirk. "What?"
"You have a really pretty voice. You should let it out more often 'cause I'm sure people would love that." My voice immediately dies down and I shut up. His smile widens. "Aww... Did little Mel get embarrassed?" When I didn't reply, he adds, "Cool. I know how to make you shut up now, in case I need to. Though I highly doubt I'd use it."
I want to wipe that smirk of his face right then and there, but instead I bury my face into my sandwich.
"Is that all you have for lunch? Nutella?"
I motion to my bag of desserts.
"And that's better? That's not good for you!" He yanks my half-eaten sandwich off my hands and the other bag of sugar and shoves them in his bag. "Here! Take my lunch."
I eye that bowl of a heart attack just waiting to happen. Is that really any better than my lunch? I want to ask, but decide not to. I just take it, set it down in front of him, and lean over for my lunch.
His arm juts out to block me and forcefully, but gently, sets me down beside him. That arm keeps me there as he takes the poutine and hands it back to me. I didn't show any intention of taking it and he stabs a portion with the fork and places it just before my lips.
"Eat."
I raise my brow at him. Does he seriously expect me to trust a stranger and eat food that I didn't even know where it came from? He must be kidding me.
I stand and walk around him, but he just takes his bag and sets it to the other side. I walk around again, but he does the same thing. Towering over him, I cross my arms and scowl.
"Annoyed?"
More like pissed off.
I jab my finger at his bag and he shakes his head. "Not until you take a bite." He lifts the fork, hoping I'd eat the portion.
Instead, I stick my tongue out at him. I take my bag and my sweater from his side, visibly far away from my lunch, then head for the staircase.
"You can have it," I say, keeping my back to him. "I'm not hungry anyways."
But my stomach betrays me. It moans, painfully. And to make matters worse, it's probably amplified by the empty hallway. Even I could hear it echo in my mind. It's like a raspy note being played through a trumpet at a forte, then crescendoes to a fortissimo.
Heat pools at my cheeks. I didn't bring money today so I couldn't buy anything to quench my hunger. My only option is to go back.
Judging from that smirk and circling motion of the fork, I can tell he knows it too.
"Just one bite," he says happily, "and it'll all be over."
Fuck no. I'm not eating a stranger's food that even God doesn't know where it came from.
