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15: Good Mornings, Bad Days

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15: Good Mornings, Bad Days

Despite what I thought, our food arrived surprisingly quick. My eyes rested hungrily on the Hibachi steak and fried rice as Emmett began ripping into his own meal. I always skipped the serving of vegetables and asked for a double scoop of rice instead.

As I began eating, Emmett watched me curiously. My bites were small, trying not to look like a pig as I ate the food that brought me the most joy in life. When my hand raised to wipe a the sauce from a bite of steak off, I quickly corrected myself and grabbed a napkin.

"You don't have to eat proper just 'cause I'm here," he said slowly with a smirk. "I've seen you eat a package of fries in seven point two seconds. I think I can handle this."

"Well, not everything is about you. Maybe I'm trying to better my lifestyle by using proper, ladylike manners rather than my normal piggy style," I said, narrowing my eyes slightly.

He held up two hands. "By all means, do that." Nodding, I returned to my plate and continued eating as I savored every single bite that hit my tongue.

"Just know you were a lot cuter when you ate like a pig," he added with a smirk. I glared at him and ate silently. There was so much rice; I knew I'd need a to-go box and this could be my breakfast, lunch, and dinner tomorrow.

Honestly, with as much as I'd have left over, that could work for two days.

I took a quick drink of my sweet tea and returned to the food that was desperately awaiting my stomach. "I'll go shopping for some groceries in the guest house tomorrow," he promised.

I nodded and looked around. The place was completely empty and several workers were speaking quick Japanese and gesturing wildly, occasionally glaring at us as they waited for us to leave.

My bites hurried as I realized how irritated they were at our presence. They wanted to close up and here I was, taking little bites to avoid looking like a pig.

"How are you?" Emmett suddenly asked. I paused mid-bite with my fork in the air and gave him a strange look.

"Okay, I guess? A little cold—"

"No, I mean how are you," he repeated. I blew out a breath.

"I'm fine," I shrugged. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, you're homeless, being forced to stay in a place you obviously don't want to be, and—"

"If you know I don't want to stay there, why do you still make me?" I demanded.

"Because you are in a pickle. And when a close friend is in a pickle, I help. It's just who I am," he said. "Besides, I know it's just your pride talking. You don't want to let me have to take care of you. Because I care about you, I'm not going to let your pride get in the way of your survival."

"Well, my pride is all I have these days. You shouldn't take it away from me," I said.

"Why do you say that?"

"I'm broke, homeless, no parents, no family, not even any food to be honest. But I still have my pride," I explained. He nodded thoughtfully.

"But you aren't homeless anymore. And Selena and I are your family," he pointed out.

"That leaves about fifty percent of my family that I actually feel like talking to at the moment," I retorted.

A look mixed between annoyance, exasperation, and hurt flashed across his face and my posture fell slightly. "I'm sorry," I sighed. "I'm being a brat."