Page 27 of The Sound of Him

I can at least keep part of the deal with Keaton, though. I can get some food. I can eat. Maybe I’ll even drink some water.

That’s good self-care, right? Baby steps?

Plus, downstairs has coffee.

I’m going to need a lot more coffee.

I don’t want to risk sleeping any time soon.

Chapter Five

Matt

Sometimes I go too long without food. The kind of food I can keep down, at least. Not often. Just… sometimes.

I know when I’ve done it because the usual signs of my hunger start to fade away. The pains in my stomach become more ghostlike than real. It gets a little easier to function through the waves of dizziness. My mouth stops randomly watering.

In their place comes the shaking.

It starts in my hands, a tremor more than anything, but soon after it’ll become a whole-body thing. It usually gets bad enough where even the most careless of masters would notice, either sending me away annoyed or feeding me to get me to stop. Sometimes I'd even be lucky enough for the food to be something easy for me.

It was the worst when Bryce would notice. He'd fill up with all that anger he'd spend most of every day keeping buried, furious and ready to do something about it. He became skilled at stealing food for me. Nothing much, which he always looked upset about, but which I was grateful for. It was so much easierto stomach the scraps of bread or strings of cheese he'd swipe from the kitchen.

It was the best when Mast -Travis- found me like that. Even though I never believed his big sad eyes, I didn't mind the gentle way he'd guide me to the kitchen, and I'd be flooded with relief as he'd feed me little bits of fruit and cheese and crackers like he somehow knew I couldn't handle more. He always gave me orange juice too - no pulp - and he always smiled when the shaking slowed down.

I thought it was some sick game for him. I guess it wasn't.

Travis will notice if I get shaky like that again. Nolan and Bryce will, too. None of them will like it. They'll worry. They'll try to fix it. They'll ask questions.

Why haven't you eaten? You know you can take food whenever you need now, right?

Or,

Didn't you just eat a few hours ago? Have you been sick?

Or,

Do you need to see the doctor? Is something wrong?

I don't want to answer questions. I don't want them to have to worry. I don't want them to know I'm broken.

So when I notice my hands start to shake, I wait until everyone’s busy and sneak away to the kitchen. There’s a pot of coffee brewing, nearly finished, and a bowl of fruit off-centered on the counter. I eye the selection, wondering if maybe fruit would be a good place to start.Not a banana, just the thought of that mush in my mouth makes me shudder, but a crisp apple, maybe? One of the red ones?Sweet, but not overly so.

Nothing like a chocolate candy.

I grab an apple with one of my shaking hands. The coloring is an array of reds and pinks, no waxy shine catching the light. It’s heavier than I expected.

For a moment, I feel just as off-centered as the bowl on the counter. I’m not supposed to be able to do this. I eat what I’m given - or try to, at least - or I starve. There’s no casually taking an apple. No being a picky eater.

It feels like something bad should happen. Like I’m a character in some action movie and removing the apple should set off a booby trap. It’s just a regular apple, though. A regular fruit bowl. A regular life - even if it doesn’t feel like it at all.

“Good morning.”

I startle, dropping the apple in my haste to turn around to face whoever spoke.

It’s the therapist. Doctor… something.Something with an S?

He’s smiling. It’s warm, gentle, kind - and I know it’s supposed to be comforting, but it makes my skin crawl.