**Again, thank you, ButterTardis for your wonderful reviews; I have absolutely no idea why I put a grapefruit – it was probably more of a gut feeling, you know? Anyway, there is one word of strong language in here, but I had to put it down for reasons that any dedicated author should know. Read and review!
Next time I see him, I don't shout. I don't even talk. I just hold up the grapefruit, which has now gone off and has softened inside and out. I stare at him.
"What?" Loren exclaims after five minutes had snailed by and nothing had been said, "They were going to give it to the bloodhounds anyway; it was just leftovers!"
"You're so full of yourself!" I cry out suddenly, "What makes you think you'll get away with it this time!?"
Hands still redoing the ropes that bind me, he hesitates.
"I don't think I'll get away with it … it's just 'cause it's funny," he smirks.
"Funny!"
I'm outraged. It is most certainly NOT funny! What kind of twisted weirdo gets themselves whipped to the bone for a JOKE?!
"Well, maybe not funny," Loren rewinds hastily, "It's more revenge on the fact that I have nothing to lose …"
That stops me in my retorting plans.
"Wait … so you don't want to be an Eagle?" I realise softly.
Again, what on earth is going on with those eyes? Is he crying? Wait – no, he's not. His emerald eyes are just shiny because he's … angry?
"Duh I don't want to be an Eagle! I hate Eagles! I was forced into this because … because they threatened to kill my little s-sister …"
Okay, now he's crying. I really shouldn't have said that. Jerk Of The Year award clearly describes me.
"Um … um, well you did become an Eagle, so they won't have killed her," I try to say with one hundred percent faith.
And I bet he only replies because I forced myself not to put a hopeful 'right?' on the end.
"How should you know?" Loren shivers, "I don't know. Nobody knows. I just want to see her again … if I get out of here alive."
"You must really love her," I smile, wishing that I have family to dote on like Loren does.
Without warning, he stands up from his kneel, and makes to walk out of the room.
"Hey!" I say, annoyed, "Don't you walk out on me like th-"
"Of course I love her. She's only eight months old."
Ice replaces all the roadways of blood in my veins. Of course, of course of course he didn't want to be a partridge.
What kind of bastard threatens to kill your baby sister?
And, even though I can bellow at him for leaving a pineapple in the dish this time as he's just on the cusp of departure, I feel such misery for him that I don't.
Hey, how on earth could someone steal a whopping pineapple?