place was my nemesis herb. My mouth tasted like I’d just made out with a Christmas tree.
I peeled the skin back and picked at the meat. The flavor was still there but not as strong. I ate the carrots before trying a piece of squash out of desperation. The texture and taste were as off-putting as I remembered. More so, actually.
There was no fruit, just a glass of milk I chugged to clear away the pine tree taste.
Ms. Vera must not have told Mr. Freddy what I hated.
Hopefully he’s still paying attention to what I’ve left behind.
Like after lunch, there was a knock on the door before the newly-glaring guy came in. He was silent as he grabbed the tray.
“Uh, hey—” I started, wanting to ask for something else to eat. When his angry eyes aimed at me, though, I changed my mind. Putting my knees to my chest like a shield, I wrapped my arms around my legs and stammered an apology. “Sorry, forget I said anything.”
His expression went scary hard, but his tone was gentle when he asked, “What do you need?”
“Nothing.” He glowered, and I scooted into the corner which just made him glower more. Since he didn’t seem willing to leave until I spoke, I said, “I, uh, wanted to say I’m sorry about yesterday. It won’t happen again.”
His expression stayed tight, but he lifted his chin and left.
Okay then.
Apology accepted?
_______________
The next morning, it wasn’t Ms. Vera who woke me. It was the OG glaring goon and he showed up even earlier than Ms. Vera did.
I was grumpy at the early wakeup after having tossed and turned the night before.
I was even grumpier when I got to the sitting room to see there was no coffee on my tray.
And I was damn disgruntled to see my breakfast was a frittata filled with squash, mushrooms, and chopped breakfast sausage.
I ate around the squash, but it was cut small, infiltrating every damn bite. The rest of the frittata was a work of delicious art, so the inclusion of the squash was even more infuriating.
I hate Mr. Freddy.
_______________
Despite the fact I’d started reading during breakfast, I was only a handful of chapters into a dull book about ancient civilizations when the goon brought lunch.
Desperate for human interaction, I set down my iPad to say hi to him, but he put the tray on the table and hauled ass out again like the room was on fire.
Do I smell bad?
At the thought of unpleasant odors, I inhaled, my shoulder slumping in relief when I didn’t catch a whiff of tuna from under the dome. I excitedly whipped it off to see another sandwich. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it wasn’t tuna, so that was a step in the right direction.
I took a tentative bite before grimacing.
The rosemary chicken.
All the times I offered to eat my leftovers, and they finally took me up on it with rosemary freaking chicken.
I opened the sandwich, willing to eat the lettuce, tomato, and cheese again, but there was nothing but the awful rosemary chicken salad.
Pushing it aside, I grabbed the small spoon out of the orange half that was in a small bowl.
Who gives someone half an orange and a weird spoon?
I scooped out a chunk and popped it into my mouth only to quickly realize it wasn’t an orange at all. It was a bitter, tart, disgusting grapefruit.
Stupid grapefruit, piggybacking off a grape’s good name to trick people into thinking it’s delicious, too.
Giving up on lunch all together, I picked up the iPad to read the stupid book.
There’s only so much Mesopotamia a girl can handle before she wishes she was wiped out by conquerors.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sick Fuck
Juliet
I CAN’T DO IT.
I just can’t freaking eat this.
I glared at my dinner—a triple whammy of slices of sage pork covered in a rosemary sauce with sautéed squash. I’d lived on small, crappy meals for years. I should’ve been able to suck it up and choke down the gross food, but I couldn’t do it again. I just couldn’t.
For an entire week, all my meals had consisted exclusively of food I loathed. Tuna sandwiches. Rosemary chicken. Sage pork. Omelets filled with sausage and covered in oregano. Sides of squash and gross grapefruit—something I hadn’t known I hated but I very much did.
I was being punished.
I’d suspected it after a couple days, because, really, what were the chances they kept serving me my most hated foods? But it’d seemed egotistical that meals would be planned around messing