American Psycho

Ch. 5

Mirai gladly took one of the rooms on the first floor, finding the olive green colored walls odd for such a lovely house. She laid her bag on the bed covered in white sheets that were black around the edges, and thought about what other clothes she could acquire while living here; that was the plan after all. Pack one bag with the essentials and about a week and a half worth of clothes, and buy some more when she got tired of wearing the same ones over and over. Was it a good plan?... No. It was very flawed. She would need to buy a suitcase when she left. There was a hickory dresser that was at the end of the bed; it would be help her greatly in the future.

A window was across from the door and outside was a view of a stream that was placed between the steady slope that the ground the house stood on curved into and a hill that almost went straight up. She hadn't heard it nor had she seen it. She probably didn't see it because it was so well hidden by nature, and she didn't hear it because she was talking to RJ. No one probably even knew it was there. No one probable thought RJ was here, either. She thought to herself.

The woods on the top of the hill was almost like a wall; trees stood straight on the edge where the hill curved, closely packed to their neighbor, unlike the people that settled down next to them.

Around five o'clock, RJ started to make dinner, a delicious baked steak, sided with bake potatoes and baked beans. During this time, the surrounding area started got a shade darker, and as the hours ticked by, it would start to get pitch black. The two sat in the living room and ate to Inglourious Basterds.

"My nephew actually introduced to this film." The man noted, taking a bite of the steak as Hans entered the French man's home.

"Its really good." Mirai nodded, swallowing what food she had put into her mouth. "Hans has to be one of my favorite characters."

"I always thought him interesting." RJ smiled, glancing from her to the television screen.

"Aren't all psychopaths?" She stifled a laugh as she took another bite.

The next day, Mirai woke up to the sight of sunshine, hearing the birds sing a sweet song and to the smell of pancakes. She swung the blanket off her body and her legs off the bed. Strands of hair strayed into her face. She pushed the hair behind her ears, and as she stood up, she went to her bag to get her hair brush. After a few strokes through her short hair, she started for the kitchen, hearing now the sizzles and pops of frying breakfast.

RJ was standing over the stove, dressed in a light maroon shirt and khaki pants, flipping the sweet pancakes with a plate stacked five cakes high. He looked over his shoulder to see the Texan. "Good morning." He smiled quickly before looking back down to the stove top.

Seeing him dressed up in clothes that made him look like he was going out made her simple purple pajamas look ridiculous. "Mornin'." She smiled back, though he couldn't see.

"Syrup's in the microwave." RJ nodded towards the microwave, placed neatly by the fridge. "It should already be heated."

Mirai nodded, again knowing he couldn't see her. She caught a glance to the table, adjacent to the fridge, seeing two plates sitting across from each other. She opened the door to the microwave, refusing to let a giggle escape her lips when she saw the syrup in a glass measuring cup. She quickly moved it to the table and RJ flipped the final pancake to the plate and also placed it between the two plates.

They sat down, and the pancakes tasted better than they looked. Mirai's eyes widened as she tasted them. "Wow!" She put another forkful into her mouth, as if double checking the flavor. "These are amazin'!" She looked up to RJ with a smile of pleasure.

RJ took a bite of his own, and nodded. "I learned from my mum."

"Your mom is a better cook than mine ever was." Mirai stuffed her mouth full of the sweet cakes.

"Was." RJ corrected. When Mirai looked up, he was looking down at his plate, moving a piece of food around before slowly taking a bite. "She died when I was nine." His loosened the grip of his fork at the thought.

Mirai looked at RJ for a long second before saying simply: "Oh." She didn't want to push him if this was a touchy subject; it seemed like that, anyway. The way he freed his fork made it seem like he didn't want to talk about, like he wanted to forget it.

RJ looked back at Mirai. "So, your mum was never the one to cook?" He asked curiously.

She shook her head. "Naw. My dad cooked every now and again, and when my mom tried to, she set the food to flames." She finished the last of her pancakes and her eyes went back up to the man.

It was true. Every time her mother tried to cook, the food ended up in the trash or thrown raccoons, birds, and deer to eat. It was always burnt, always tasting like the backside of a shoe. It was always salty or peppered; if it had any at all.

"That sounds interesting." RJ laid his fork down as he leaned against the table on his elbows, his hands folded and placed in front of his mouth.

"That's what the fire chef said after a couple near-house fires." Mirai laughed at this. The fire chef actually kept a book of the incidents up until her little departure; what time he came, what the food was, and even what happened to the food. He kept it under lock and key from what Mirai remembered, and had joked about it on many occasions.

"And it burns, burns, burns." Came into mind.