4 - Taste of Inferno

EROS

"Eros, I am sorry I have to leave early. I have to bring Ara to her house. She's anxious and sad. The first naked body he saw wasn't mine," Perth said in a video call.

"That's valid, Perth. I know how genuine and innocent Ara is. Don't mind me, and I am sorry for the trouble it caused her." I said apologetically.

"What's your plan with that stranger?"

I closed my eyes and wondered, so far, I don't have any plans with him. "I don't know, but I have a request,"

"Spill,"

"I want you to background-check this person,"

"Oh, background check!" Perth plastered a smile on his face. Background checking was no longer new for Perth. He always loved doing detective work since this was his long-time dream. He wanted to become a forensic scientist, and doing background checking was an auto 'yes' for him.

The first time Perth did a background check for me was when I met a foundation owner who wanted to commission my works to donate to abandoned children. Then, as Perth did the job, we discovered a possible money laundering syndicate operation. Perth had exposed the scam to the public before they could exploit my talent and steal the money from the kids.

"I wanted you to search for the real identity of this Port. I will send you a specimen of him—you know what to do,"

"Wow, there are specimens this time!" said Perth, his face brightened and beamed.

"How many days till I can get hold of the results?"

"For the lab results, it will take a week. As for Port's identity, I am not sure. We can easily identify him if he has a criminal record—if none, then it would take months."

"Well, try whatever you can. I know you can extract something from it,"

"Yes, sir!" he gestured a salute.

I ended the video call with Perth. Suddenly, the NCCA Director called me. I had already forgotten the sexual assault scandal I was currently involved in. I was preoccupied with the whole Port situation.

"Yes, Mr. Director," I answered calmly.

"Good day, Eros. May I know when you will face the media? Four days had passed already. What is your plan?" he asked, sounding rather commanding than asking.

"I have no time to explain, Mr. Director. They can investigate and show the CCTV footage of the event; the answer is as clear as day. Also, how will I face people who even distrust me?" I said, then hung up the phone.

I rested my back on the sofa and closed my eyes. The whole scandal situation was something I could never do. Back then, people accused me of plagiarism, cultural appropriation, poverty porn—all of the things they can throw at an artist. However, I could bear all of those accusations because art was meant to be criticized. It wasn't like I was saying I plagiarized or performed problematic artworks, but because every artist has faced these allegations. 

This time, the scandal issue is an attack on my dignity as a person. My late guardians raised me well that never in my life will I do such an imbecile act. As much as I would like to defend myself from this petty accusation, I will let the truth speak for itself. I don't have the energy to guard myself against these attacks constantly. No matter how many times I got away from these accusations, they will plot another set of allegations waiting for the light of day.

***

I wondered if I was being too rude towards Port. Why was I mad at him? It wasn't as if he directly caused harm to me. Right, I was rude. Then, what?

Earlier, I wanted to check on how Port was doing; he did not eat dinner earlier. I had knocked on his door, but no one answered. I grasped the knob and slowly opened it; he wasn't there.

Inside my room, reading a self-help book, I suddenly heard glass breaking outside. I immediately ran towards the kitchen; the lights were off and only illuminated by the refrigerator light. I rummaged the cause of the noise, and then I saw Port collecting the shards of a broken mixing bowl.

He let out a moan as he got wounded from the shard. I turned on the light and revealed the chaos in the room; the kitchen table was full of white powder that resembled flour or cornstarch. The refrigerator doors open—exposing the then-organized food was now in complete disorder. The floor with sticky substances from different types of liquid mixed; Port was sitting there petrified to move as I approached him.

"What have you done?" fool of me to ask a rather obvious thing, but I don't know how to form words from all this mess.

Port slowly turned and smiled at me. His cheeks were full of chocolate syrup, his face was scarlet red, and he exposed his swollen tongue from his gaping mouth. He suddenly broke into tears and cried without a distinguishable sound.

Instead of getting mad, I grabbed him from the floor and put him on the counter. I immediately searched for the emergency kit. I wiped his poor face with wet wipes—he's still sobbing, and I couldn't help but laugh from the adoration of his innocence.

"That's what you get from acting as a mouse," I told him. I opened the freezer and collected a few ice cubes. I gave him the ice cubes, held his hands, and guided them toward his mouth.

"Suck on the ice cubes—it will make your swollen tongue better," Port followed my command; he opened his mouth and entered the ice cubes as I helped him. As he sealed his mouth, he finally calmed down.

The ice cubes seemed in full swing as his face returned to its natural shade. I turned towards the kitchen and sighed as I realized the damage Port had created.

I started to clean the mess on the floor with a mop. I noticed the empty bottle of inferno sauce lying on the floor. It had been inside my refrigerator since Perth pranked me with this sauce. It was absolutely the spiciest sauce I had ever tasted—the milk does not even work to counteract its effect. Poor Port, he had endured the 90,000 Scoville heat units of that sauce. Indeed, a taste of inferno.

"Hey!" I called him, who was hanging his head. He raised his head when he heard me; his mouth ballooned from the cubes inside, and his eyes were still red from weeping earlier.

I raised the bottle of inferno sauce, "Did you finish the whole bottle?"

His eyes and lips sank as he nodded. He was swinging his legs in the midair while his hands were rubbing his bare thighs. It was the first time I noticed what he was putting on; he was only wearing an old oversized shirt of Perth, now stained with chocolate, different sauces, and juices. He was like wearing a rug--a filthy and soaked rug.

As I tidied the kitchen, I could picture out what had transpired moments earlier. I think Port was hungry, looking for food. Then, he tried to eat the flour or cornstarch, but since these powdered foods are not tasty enough, he looked for some flavor in the fridge. 

He might saw this red sauce and devoured it. When the sauce burned his tongue, he rummaged for a liquid and tried everything he could to fight the burning sensation. The different beverages didn't work, so he searched on the cupboards until a mixing bowl fell and shattered.

I stretched my back as I finished cleaning. Port was silently watching me as I went toward him. He lowered his head, escaping from my gaze. 

"You can now rest, make sure to change your clothes before you sleep," I told him.

He looked at me in the eyes and smiled shyly. "Thank you, Eros."