Deadly Secrets

Chapter 50: Trust

Zara jabbed at her food with a fork, watching how the hunk of chicken slid down the mound of rice, the sauce dribbling along with it. She had barely eaten. The aroma, previously delectable, was now making her nauseous, twisting her stomach into painful knots.

She couldn't bring herself to lift another forkful to her mouth, but Max didn't seem to have the same problem. He was shovelling rice into his mouth at the speed of light, only stopping to chug soda straight from the bottle. It was incredible how this boy managed to be so gluttonous yet remain as fit as a fiddle. Maybe that was exactly it—output equalled input. His exertion at the gym required a parallel amount of energy.

He shoved what remained of his Chicken Tikka Masala into his mouth-hole and looked up at Zara, his rapid chewing slowing to a stop. His swollen cheek made him resemble a hamster. His eyes went down to Zara's half-eaten meal, and after swallowing, he nodded towards it.

"Do you not like it?" He drained what remained of his drink and lowered the empty bottle onto the table. She half-expected him to belch. Despite being part of the "elite" he did seem to lack basic table manners.

He had something to confess to her, yet he appeared to be nonchalant about it. Whatever it was, it couldn't be as important as what she had to tell him. It couldn't be life-changing or, even better, life-threatening. At the same time, he could be hiding his emotions. Max seemed to be the master of the poker-face.

Her doubt appeared on her face in the form of furrowed eyebrows.

"I'll take that as a yes then," Max shrugged and dumped the empty container into the takeaway bag, along with Zara's uneaten portion. He pushed it to the other end of the table. "You should really eat something, even though it's not this."

Zara reached up and rubbed a temple with the ball of her hand. "I'm not hungry."

She looked up at his staring, trying to decipher the message his eyes conveyed. He seemed lost in thought, mulling over something as he clenched his jaw. Without taking his eyes off her, he slid his hand over to her, palm up.

Zara looked at it the way a cat looks at a foreign object.

"Come on." Max gave her a pained expression and wiggled his fingers, but they weren't enough to coerce her into giving in. He retracted his hand and raked it through his hair, but the waves kept flowing back down his face. "Alright, well if you're going to be difficult, then I guess I should go first."

Finally.

She rested her cheek on a fist and gave him a small smile, but Max didn't return it.

"What I have to tell you is long overdue..." He took a deep breath, "I've known that you haven't been involved in...the robbery for a while now, but only yesterday was I able to convince my father about it. Crazy, huh? Three weeks and only now I managed to get him to understand the truth—"

Her shoulders tensed, and her grip around the fork tightened.

Two days earlier, and she would've been relieved, done cartwheels in joy.

Now, she felt more restrained than ever.

"I'll be right back," he stated, pushing his stool back to leave the kitchen.

This is it. It's over.

He would return with a gun, or a knife, and forcibly drag her to where her grandfather was. The man would suffer a violent and excruciatingly painful death by Max's hand, and Zara would be forced to watch it. Yet, her body didn't seem to want to move, it was like an invisible force was holding her in place, undeterred by the signals her brain was sending to her limbs.