His purpose (you die, I die)

Chapter six

Staring contest – a game in which two people maintain eye contact for as long as possible, the loser being the one who is first to blink or look away.

Although this was rather popular in third grade, I found myself in a staring contest right now. He was looking at me, and I was looking at him. It was a game of who'd back down first, and although his honey brown eyes were rather intimidating, I was a sore loser. Even though this wasn't defined as a staring contest, or spoken of as such, it still felt like I was going to lose if I looked away.

We were sitting in the living room, two bowls of untouched chicken soup in front of us. It took a total amount of six fuck's, four shit's and three mierda's for us to make it this far. This only backed up my previous point, that he was in no shape to leave, but I wasn't about to say that because for now, my death wish was not that strong.

"You're not a fan of chicken soup?" I finally spoke, breaking the deepening silence between us.

He narrowed his eyes for what felt like a nano second, before going back to his usual careless expression.
"You haven't touched yours either"

I looked down at my untouched bowl of chicken soup and smiled. Touché.
"You're the guest, you should be the first one to eat, anything else would be rather rude"
A hint of amusement rose on his face, did he find this amusing? Or was I just bad at reading facial expressions.

"How do I know that you haven't put anything in it" As I mentioned earlier, this man seemed to have some serious trust issues, and judging by the fact that he was shot only days ago, it seemed understandable. He lacked logic though.

"I understand your lack of trust based on how you ended up here, but why would I save your life only to take it again by poisoning your chicken soup?" I asked, it was my nicer way of saying, think smart not hard. He still didn't seem to believe me though, which resulted in me taking a spoonful of his soup and eating it.

"Looks like we're both going to die then" I said, the confusion on his face disappeared and then a smile pulled on his lips. Amusement.

I put my spoon back in my own soup and started eating. Making sure to let out some mmm sounds, to make it clear how delicious my soup was. This was a technique we used at the hospital to make kids eat after surgery, when they had lost their appetite. He was no kid, by to looks of it I would say he was in his mid-twenties maybe, but the sight him slowly picking up his spoon meant that the technique worked rather way.

Excitement written all over my face as I watched, as he took his first spoonful of soup. Did he like it? Was it as good as I thought? Or did he hate it? His eyes shot up at mine, which resulted in my cheeks turning a bright shade of red at the embarrassment of getting caught staring.

"Are you going to stare at me the whole time while I eat?"
"Depends. Did you like it?" I asked back, with a smirk.
"No."

The smirk on my face faded away in seconds and got replaced with a pout. Everybody liked my chicken soup, they used to cheer when I brought some to work.

"Oh." I let out, gaining a chuckle from him. I looked up, and he was chuckling at what I think was my reacting to him not liking my specialty. This only meant one thing, he was lying. Now that's not nice is it, because if he really didn't like the soup, he wouldn't keep eating. Right?

"Well, since it's that bad, I guess you don't want It then" I said, on my way to reach for the soup before he slapped my hands away.
"I, um, I have to eat even though it tastes really bad" he said, faking a disgusted face expression after the really bad part.
"Oh, is that so?" I l said, raising my brows
"Yes, how else am I going to gather my strength to leave"
I rolled my eyes at him, and a smirk appeared on my face again. "If you say so"