Rebel Red Carnation {Kiribaku}

IV

They don't 'put me to work' (read: begin my slavery) right away and instead I'm dragged right back to the cell in the basement and given what's probably a poor excuse for a meal in this place—a plate with what looks like it was all canned at one point; rice and beans, corn, and a slab of something that looks like meat, I think. What they don't fucking know is that this, to me, is a goddamn treat. It's probably the biggest meal I've had in several years and, as a result of my poor appetite and my shitty, skinny body only being used to surviving off maybe a thousand calories a day, I can't even finish it all. I savor every goddamn bite I can get down, though, before my stomach starts to hurt. It actually has fucking flavor, and it's warm. I have to admit, it's almost tempting to deface some sort of property in this shithole of a place while I'm doing my 'work' so they do lock me up and feed me like this for the rest of my life or whatever—that is, if it weren't for my practically starving mother and friends (who are basically family anyway) waiting for me down in The Outskirts.

I can't keep the delicious food down, though; it's like it's too nutritious or something and my body doesn't believe it's real so, probably half an hour after they'd taken the tray away, scoffing something about me not being appreciative of their 'generous meal' or whatever, I'm leaning over the toilet/hole in the floor thing in the corner, heaving everything up. And while it tastes fucking awful coming back up, I've put worse-tasting things into my mouth before, so it's not all that hard to recover.

Oh, and guess who's lucky enough to get a second visit from the prince himself, right in the middle of heaving up my food? Yeah—me. Fucking wonderful.

"Oh shit, are you okay?" comes his voice from behind me when I'm sitting back up, wiping my mouth on my already stained and ripped t-shirt.

"Fine," I mutter, not bothering to look back at him. "What do you want?"

"My parents gave me permission to come down and uh, 'meet you'." The air-quotes are apparent in his voice, making me want to roll my eyes.

"Lucky you," I mutter.

"Hey, don't you think you should be a little nicer to me?" he asks, almost teasingly. "I got you out of a lifetime of living in this little cell."

"A lifetime, huh?" I snort, finally turning around. Sure enough, his face is peeking in through the little barred window again.

"Well, nah. Probably just a few months. Maybe a year. But it probably would've felt like a lifetime."

Yeah, I think, like you'd fucking know.

"So how long am I supposed to be your shitty slave, anyway?" I ask, flopping onto the mat in the corner.

"Not sure. My parents haven't figured that out yet. I think they wanna wait and see how you do first, ya know? Make sure you're going to behave."

"Right, 'cause all I am is some shitty dog to them, eh?"

"...no," he says quietly, in a weird, dragged out way.

"Liar."

"Not a dog," he says quickly. "But they think very lowly of you."

"Like that's a fucking surprise," I mutter. "Bet you're exactly the same."

"No, dude. You're a person, ya know? They haven't talked to you, anyway, so they don't really know."

"Whatever. So why'd you vouch for me, anyway?" I ask, like I don't fucking know. Guess I just want to hear him say it even though I don't know why.

"'Cause I'm curious about you. I've never met anybody like you before. Plus, I haven't forgotten about that scar, the one that matches—"

"Never met anybody like me? You mean a homeless guy who wears rags for clothes, hasn't had a proper shower in a couple months, and whose ribs are visible? Someone who needs shit and does what he can to help his family and people who are like him, 'cause he's not selfish as fuck like you and the other royal pricks? Or do you mean someone who breaks the laws to help people?"