The powerful bellow and the slamming of the front door announced Max's arrival from work. He worked as a construction worker, even though he was independently wealthy. After the death of Bryan's mother, her life insurance policy had paid Max very nicely. And Bryan had never received a cent of it. In fact, Bryan was pretty sure that all that money was going towards was Max's gigantic appetite, since Max still shopped second hand for his and Bryan's clothes and their house was still as decrepit as ever. In fact, Bryan was working on satiating Max's appetite for the evening. There were ten hamburgers cooking in the oven, two whole packages of hotdogs defrosting in the microwave, and a pot of spaghetti bubbling on the stove. And Bryan would be having none of it. Max didn't care much about feeding Bryan. All the best food was for himself. Bryan's dinner was the bowl of salad in the fridge. After all, he was vegetarian.
"Where's my dinner!?" he roared, stomping into the kitchen. Bryan frantically stirred pots of spaghetti as the huge man walked in.
"Almost done!" said Bryan, wincing.
"Hurry it up!" said Max, pulling a gallon of milk out of the fridge. "Tonight's a special night," he says, taking a big swig. Two trails of milk ran down his chin. He didn't care. He put the milk back in the fridge and wiped his moustache with the back of his hand.
"Why?" asked Bryan, nervous
"You'll see," he said with a smug grin.
Later, Max and Bryan sat at the table, mountains of food piled in front of Max, a meager bowl of greens in front of Bryan.
"Remember how tonight is a special night?" said Max, looking at Bryan almost hungrily.
"Yes..." said Bryan, unnerved by his stepfather's gaze. "Why is it?"
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