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ೃ༄ CHAPTER FOUR — the beginnings of a midnight adventure! ( TW:Harry displaying habits of an eating disorder )
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MARS SAT on the side of her father, nothing but a plot for murder on her mind. Next to the slouched, at ease man she loved, Mariana wanted to take the spaghetti knife to his throat, silencing his laughter at the cost of her mortification. Dick sucking, no good son of a bitch. Why. Why did parents have to spill the most embarrassing things about their child to the people they are very obviously into? It was total torture!
Across from her hot red, blueberry hair surrounded face, Harry stared down at his Italian dish, refusing to meet her eyes, yet forcing his lips tight in a poor attempt to suppress his laughter. He could practically hear her internal screaming: "Don't you dare laugh, you cunt. Don't you fucking dare." Though, it was hard not to when her parents were spewing never ending tales about her childhood, and he was forced to not laugh due to the toe of her Converse causing bruises on his own. Harry wanted to laugh, to cackle in her face, but instead each time he showed the hint of amusement, Mars forced her foot harder down onto his toes — causing winces of pain because she was right on top the nail.
Narrowing her eyes, Mars tightened her grip around the utensil. "You know what, Mum, I think Harry and I are finished." A strand of artificial raspberry blue fell from her clips, and she quickly shoved it behind her ear as the boy opened his mouth in protest, but was quickly silenced when she cut him a glare. He was not to input whatsoever.
At the head of the table, Mrs. Summers twisted her noodles onto a fork, a pure smile pulling at her lips. "Are you sure, love? Harry's barely touched his meal," the woman cast a glance at the already rather skinny boy, "Harry, dear, I'm so sorry. I should've asked if you liked Italian... I really had no clue that you'd be staying with us for dinner." She shot an amused look to her daughter — she hadn't a clue that Mars would be bringing home a boy (and a such cute one at that! ).
Next to the woman, Harry glanced at his virtually untouched dish, then widened his eyes at her, hands raising in a sort of defense. "Oh, no, no — it was delicious! Really. Thank you so, so much. I just had a heavy lunch..." He was filled with such a mortification that he picked up his fork and shoved a bit of pasta into his mouth, homemade marinara coating the insides of his cheeks, and face burning for fear of offending Mrs. Summers.
