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Chapter Fourteen

I scowled at the plate of eggs in front of me. They were scrambled, exactly how I could not stand them.

Lorenzo was frustrated with me. He had been passively aggressive for the last few days. There were many comments about my 'bad behavior', referring to when I punched him.

He spoke from the kitchen sink, interrupting my thoughts. "The food is not going to eat itself."

There was a moment of awkward silence between us. Dishes clanked metal as they were submerged into the bubbly water, hitting the bottom of the basin. A worn-out yellow sponge glided across a porcelain plate. Pieces of food were scrubbed lightly with the rag before they fell off into the dirty pool of suds.

"I'm not hungry." I muttered, pushing the platter towards the center of the table.

The kitchen was deadly silent for all but the casual click and clanks from the dishes being rinsed.

Lorenzo had finished his lunch way before me. He would not stop eyeing me impatiently as I raked the tips of my fork at the eggs.

Who even eats eggs for lunch? He must have chosen them on purpose. He knows I hate the disgusting chicken embryos.

It seems that every time I look at the yellow scrambled pieces, a stronger distaste for them would form.

Ever since one of Amanda's substance-filled buddies held me down and forced me to swallow a raw egg yolk at the age of twelve, they were too much to handle. A gag almost escaped me from the memory of the gooey orange lump sliding down my throat. It tasted like spray butter. I was lucky I did not get salmonella. Hence, I do not like eggs.

Now scrambled eggs? I can thank Lorenzo for that. Every time I took a bite, I would think of how they felt coming back up my neck, in unchewed chunks might I add, when he force-fed me them.

My eyes bore a disdainful glimpse at the plate before me. If my legs were not tightly so securely tied to the legs of the chair I reside in, I would have left the kitchen already. My back cramped from the sitting position that has become more uncomfortable with each passing minute.

Things have seriously been on edge since I punched him a few days ago. You would think we were even Steven since he told me the 'eye for an eye' nonsense after he tore my nail off.

It no longer hurt. At first, the flesh had a gummy texture that I sinfully stuck to everything I touched. Now the misshapen wound has dried into a ridge pattern. The dull purple and black colors on it are ugly. I had never lost a nail before, so it is strange to see one missing from my finger every time I move it.

It is unclear when Lorenzo will snap again. I felt like I have constantly been stepping on glass. One wrong look, and his hard palm would smack my cheek. It would not be long until the powerful slaps are not enough, and maybe he will rip off a few more nails to satisfy his savage desires.

An irritated huff interrupted my thoughts. I looked up at his shape by the sink, making sure to soften my gaze so I would not be punished. The cleaning was finished; all silverware and crockery were neatly arranged on a draining rack. His lower back leaned against the squeaky, clean countertop as he faced me with his arms crossed. A deep frown of disapproval seemed to droop his features.

"I swear you're the most difficult woman I've ever met." Lorenzo commented.

The words shot out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"Do you usually kidnap the women you meet?"

My body became rigid as he rushed forward towards me. I clenched my eyes shut, fully expecting his hand to land on my face. Instead, my wandering hair that clung to my forehead was tucked behind my ear. His warm hand caressed my chin. I opened my eyes carefully, glancing at his demeanor to gauge his level of wrath.