His Mafia Prince

(MILES)

"I’m an arrogant little shit, remember?"

"Yes, you are. And like you’d say, if the shoe fits." I mutter as I head to the kitchen. I turn on the faucet and let it run for a while. I then bend and slurp the cold water greedily in my mouth. My thirst subsides, and then I head over to the cupboards and get one can of beef soup. I get a dented can of peaches and a loaf of bread hard as a log. The soup is three years out of date and the peaches are more like four.

I’m staving. It’s been days since I last ate. I wouldn’t have tried the food Yellow Eyes brought me. It might have been poisoned for all I know. I decide to try the can of soup. I don’t trust the dented can of peaches though. I don’t want to add poisoning on top of all my other problems. I search the drawers for a can opener and find none. There is however a rusted steak knife. After a clumsy, swear filled struggle, I finally manage to open the lid of the soup can. I sniff the soup. Even though it is outdated, it kind of smells okay. The colour however is off and the vegetables are disintegrated.

From what I know, it is okay to eat out-of-code canned food. If the cans aren’t dented, it is alright. What you can’t expect though is the highly flavoured foods. Right now, I don’t care about the taste. I just need my stomach to stop trying to eat itself.

I search below the cabinets and find another small dented sauté pan. I tip the lid of the can and pour the contents onto the pan. They plop in a congealed blob. I grimace and my stomach turns. Since Arlo grabbed me, I haven’t eaten. I have to get some calories in my body now, disgusting or not.

I observe my surroundings and notice the dusty orange curtains hanging half off the rods. I notice the peeling paint too. As far as appliances go, they aren’t at all promising. There isn’t a stove or a fridge, but at the far corner, there is an ancient two-burner propane camp stove. The odds that the canister still holds some propane is a long shot. Even then, I set the shallow pan on the burner and hope for the best.

Still eating the cereal out of the box, Arlo wanders around. He leans over my shoulder and I give him a grumpy look. "How will you light that?" he asks. "It doesn’t have that lighter thing."

I scowl. My mouth waters at the scent of the cereal thing that he is eating. "It doesn’t," I say as I bend down to examine the burner.