Page 44 of Inflict

Connor sighed, wary and knackered. He’d managed to grab a shower and a change of clothes before going to get them food, but the lack of sleep was starting to catch up with him. He was hoping to get her fed, then in a bed, and after all of that, he just wanted to sleep.

For hours.

He didn’t know if that was going to be possible.

Get on with it, he told himself.

Picking up the container filled with pancakes, he looked to Evelyn. “These?”

No response, though her gaze did jump down to the food inside. He did the same thing with all the other containers, holding different foods, only to get the same reaction from her each time. Little to no excitement over what he offered, but an acknowledgment that there was food right under her face, waiting to be eaten.

Connor didn’t like what Evelyn’s behavior suggested, but he brushed it off, even if he should have known better than to do so.

“Okay, how about a bit of everything?” he asked.

Her green eyes flicked to him, but she didn’t nod or verbally agree with his question. She was still waiting for him to do what he wanted for her, he realized. He wanted her to make the choice, even if that wee action would say she wasn’t completely lost in her ability to act for herself, but he had the distinct feeling he wasn’t going to get that far with her tonight.

And well, if he wanted her to eat, he might as well just do it her way.

Getting food in her belly was far more important than whatever mind games she had going on inside her head.

Connor took a bit from each container, and put the food into its own dish. A few spoonfuls of eggs, a couple of pieces of bacon, a square of hash browns, a pancake, and a half of a waffle with a wee bowl of syrup. He even cracked open a bottle of orange juice and set it down in front of Evelyn, too, along with the container of her food, and plastic utensils.

Connor pointed at the food. “Eat, love.”

He almost wondered if she was going to make him feed her the damn food when she stared at the container for more than a few seconds, doing nothing that might suggest she wanted or could eat it by herself. Her brow puckered before she finally reached out and picked up the container, hugging it to her chest with a fork in one hand, and the food in her other.

Slowly, she began to eat, stabbing the plastic fork into different bits of the dish and then into her barely-opened mouth. Connor sat there for a hell of a lot longer than he wanted to admit, simply to watch her eat. Like with everything else, she didn’t make a sound. Not when she picked the bites with her fork, not when the food went into her mouth, not when she chewed, and certainly not when she swallowed.

There was nothing.

He was sitting right there, watching her eat, and she didn’t make a single feckin’ sound.

Connor was both fascinated and disturbed.

Soon, he too had to make himself a makeshift dish out of one of the containers, and rested back into the couch to eat alongside his silent, nearly unmoving companion. He wasn’t even hungry, really, he didn’t taste much flavor as he chewed and swallowed like a robot going through the motions, but he did feel calmer as he watched Evelyn.

Then, just as Evelyn took another wee bite of pancake dunked in syrup, her chewing slowed down even more than before. Connor watched her from the corner of his eye as her gaze darted from the food in her hand, to the coffee table in front of her. Her grasp on her fork and container squeezed tight enough to make the plastic and foam crackle from the pressure.

What bit of color was left in her cheeks slowly drained as she tucked her mouth into the crook of her arm, and closed her eyes. He knew what was happening in a feckin’ instant.

It confirmed what he believed, too, sadly.

Evelyn had been starved, and that was why she looked so frail, with her dark circles under her eyes and her bones showing through her skin. Connor had likely given her too much food—more than what her empty stomach could possibly handle in one round—and now it was going to come back up, and fast.

Starvation was a common tactic used on slaves who were a bit more defiant than their keepers might enjoy, especially if the natural inflection to listen when physically hurt was not present like it should be.

Anyone could be beat, but not everyone cared when they were.

Food, though?

Take away a person’s food, make them weak and in pain, and they would do just about anything someone wanted them to do. Sit down where and when they were told to sit, they get a reward—something to eat. Be quiet and stay out of sight, even when someone was standing right next to them, and they got another reward—maybe a quarter of a meal.

“Feck,” Connor mumbled through a mouthful of food.

He shoved his own stuff to the table, tearing the items that Evelyn held out of her grasp, too. Then, he just feckin’ picked her up in a damn bear hug, making sure her back was to his chest, as he bolted for the kitchen.

It was the closest spot he could think of.