บท 12: CHAPTER 12
Morning came, and the first thing I noticed was the ache in my wrist, a dull throb that had settled in overnight. My body was stiff from sleeping on the lumpy couch, but at least I had slept. The fear from the night before still clung to me, a cold shadow that I couldn't shake off.
I blinked, groggy, my vision still adjusting to the dim light filtering through the cracked blinds. And that's when I saw them. Two cans—one of soup, the other of beans—sitting on the floor next to the couch.
I stared at them for a long moment, unsure if I was dreaming, or if they had really appeared there during the night. My stomach growled, and my mind raced, piecing together what this meant.
Did he…?
The thought made me uneasy. I didn't know what to make of it. Was this some kind of peace offering? An apology? Or was it a warning, a reminder that my survival here depended on him? I glanced toward his bedroom door, but it was closed, no sound coming from inside.
Part of me didn't trust it—didn't trust him. But the gnawing hunger in my belly was louder than my fear. I hadn't eaten since before I left my apartment, and the sharp ache in my stomach had become unbearable. I sat up slowly, wincing as my wrist protested the movement.
My hands shook as I reached for the can of soup, the same one I had tried to take the night before. It felt heavier now, its weight pressing down on me, not just physically, but emotionally. I wasn't used to relying on anyone else. I wasn't used to needing help.
But here I was, with no other choice.
I fumbled with the can opener, my hands still unsteady, and the familiar metallic click of the lid gave me a strange sense of relief. The smell hit me as I opened it, a wave of warm, savory aroma that made my mouth water. It wasn't much, but right now it felt like a feast.
I poured the soup into a bowl I found in the kitchen, and with shaking hands, I sat back down on the couch, spoon in hand. The first sip burned my throat, too hot, but I didn't care. I slurped it down greedily, each mouthful a small victory over the hunger that had plagued me for days.
As I ate, my mind wandered back to Him. He hadn't hurt me again—hadn't even spoken to me since last night. And now he had left me food. Maybe it was his way of keeping control, or maybe it was guilt. But I couldn't afford to question his motives. I just needed to survive, and that meant taking what I could get, even if it came from someone like him.
I finished the soup quickly, the warmth spreading through me, making me feel a little more human again. My stomach finally stopped its painful protests, and I leaned back against the couch, exhaustion pulling at me.
But I couldn't let myself relax, not completely. Not here.
I glanced again at the cans beside me, and something twisted in my chest. I didn't want to rely on him—I didn't trust him. But in this world, trust wasn't an option. It was about survival, and right now, he was part of that equation, whether I liked it or not.
As I wiped the last bit of soup from the bowl, I heard the door to his room creak open. My heart jumped, and I froze, waiting, unsure of what was coming next. I could feel his presence before I saw him, the weight of his footsteps heavy on the floor as he came into the living room.
I didn't look up, didn't say anything. I just kept my head down, hoping he wouldn't notice the trembling in my hands.
"You ate," he said, his voice flat.
I nodded, still not meeting his gaze. My stomach churned, fear mixing with the food I had just eaten. I didn't know if this was going to be another outburst, or if he would just ignore me.
"I left it for you." His tone was emotionless, but there was something in the way he said it that made me uneasy. Like he was expecting gratitude, or something more.
"Thanks," I whispered, the word sticking in my throat. It felt wrong to thank him after last night, but what else could I say?
There was a long pause. I could feel his eyes on me, watching, waiting. I didn't move, didn't dare to. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, disappearing back into his room.
The silence that followed felt suffocating, pressing down on me, reminding me of just how trapped I was here. I stared at the cans of food beside me, the uneaten beans still sitting there, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was in over my head.
This wasn't just about surviving the world outside anymore. It was about surviving in here—with him.
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