Burnt Spaghetti Novels & Stories

"Eat your spaghetti." "Please help me eat my spaghetti, lady." said him with a pleading look. I smiled, I shook my head. Without further ado, I took the spaghetti with a fork, I fed this spaghetti into his mouth. Zeus ate my food very voraciously. "Aren't you worried if I put cyanide in this spaghetti?" "You wouldn't have the heart to do evil things." Zeus took his second bite. And in the third bite, he took the fork and he took the spaghetti, then he fed the spaghetti to me. I ate the spaghetti.

"Hold on a little bit." Megan held on to her camera which was handing from a strap on her neck, she had been coming to this same mall almost everyday for the sweet and rich coffee that The Brit cafe makes, but that was a cover up. Everyday she would sit and look out the window while sipping her coffee and looking into the crowd for hopes of maybe seeing Omar walking through in search of her, but that never happened and everyday she would go home more heart broken.

Liam stands there in silent horror while Emily and I plate up spaghetti and garlic bread, proud as can be. “This,” I announce, setting his plate in front of him with a flourish, “is love on a plate.” “It’s something on a plate,” he mutters, but he still takes a bite. Emily watches him like her life depends on it. “Do you like it?” His jaw works slowly as he chews. “It’s… fine.” “Fine?” I gasp. “That is not fine spaghetti. That’s magic spaghetti. That’s joy spaghetti.” “It’s a little heavy on the garlic,” he says, completely missing the point.

I rolled my eyes and went over to the food, stirring it. I sighed. I never thought that one day I would be considering letting Zephyr bang me. I lifted some spaghetti out of the pot, absentmindedly. I was still lost in my reverie, I didn't realize what I was doing until I took a bite out of steaming hot spaghetti. “Oh dear goddess!” the spine dropped into the pot. I reered away, a hand clasped to my mouth. The pain was excruciating especially in the gums my Fangs were supposed to be.

I held her gaze and could see she desperately wanted me to taste it, and I had no option but to heed her plea. With a frown, I took the spoon from her and took a scoop of the spaghetti. I hesitated for a moment before putting the spoon of spaghetti into my mouth. With disgust, I began chewing it but was surprised it didn't taste like spaghetti. Somewhat it tasted like jambalaya, my favorite food.

It's my special spaghetti recipe. I force a smile at him, bile rising in my throat as I could already imagine the awful taste of the spaghetti. Anytime I was sick or in a bad mood when we were younger, Lucien would always cook me this spaghetti. It was so special to him because it's the only thing he thought he can cook. The spaghetti usually taste like sandpaper, but I never told him. I still take it and surprisingly it's use to make me feel better, only that I will almost purge out my intestine.

“After about the fifth time, I learned to enjoy burnt spaghetti. Can’t even eat the regular kind anymore.” “I know you’re lying because I’ve only burnt the spaghetti once.” “I’ve missed this, you know?” Rowan continues to speak in between bites. “What do you mean?” My appetite had all but vanished the moment I sat down across from Rowan, but I found myself staring at the spaghetti with a newfound interest to avoid from looking into Rowan’s eyes.

He drained it and dumped it into the sauce. Sebastian stirred. Then stopped. His face fell. "What?" Damian asked. "I burned the pasta." "It looks fine." "No, the bottom. It's stuck to the pot." Sebastian tried to scrape it up. The spaghetti came away in clumps, black on the edges, smoking slightly. "Damn it." Damian looked at the pot. At the burned pasta. At Sebastian's defeated expression. He started laughing. Not a small laugh. A real one. The kind that doubled him over, that made his stomach hurt, that brought tears to his eyes. He laughed until he couldn't breathe, until he had to brace himself on the counter.

From then on, whenever I unknowingly wore a color she favored, used her favorite perfume, or styled my hair like hers, he would scowl or lash out with cold, cutting words. The most humiliating thing I'd ever done was to fall in love with a man who never truly belonged to me. I traced the burns on my legs and called my mentor abroad. If I were just a forgotten shadow beneath Tucker's true love, then walking away was the only thing left to do. … That evening, Tucker handed me a necklace. "You're coming with me to the cocktail party tonight. Don't make a scene."

"Dante. The Belgian file." "Give me twenty minutes," Dante said. They worked. Between the working there were other things. There was a late dinner on the second night — Marta cooking something with bacalhau and potatoes that was extraordinary and entirely homey, the three of them sitting at the long table with wine and the relaxed post-intensity quality of people who have been in high focus for hours and are allowing themselves a brief, earned suspension of it.