Young Writers Society

"That's what my parents thought." He started forward again. "But I kept getting sick when I ate." They'd held him down and forced him to eat back then. But it hadn't done anything but make him more violently ill, as if the simplest of meals was poison. "Here I am, nearly forty and still vomiting up half my portions." He thought for a moment. "I don't believe your issue and mine are quite the same, though. I think there's still time for yours to be corrected."

Ky started after him again reluctantly. Somehow his concern was nearly as oppressive as his anger. Well. That wasn’t true. This was… she didn’t know what this was. Flattering? That he cared? Or was Sara forcing him to talk to her? That’s sort of what it seemed like always happened — Sara forcing him to speak to her at all. Especially now. Still. He was the only person who could understand even a little. “I feel like I’m going to throw up when I eat anything.”

He huffed out a little chuckle. "So do I. I saw you try the trick I mentioned--you need to go smaller than that potato you were eating. Cut them until they're hardly there and then swallow them alongside the water. But that should be temporary. You need to find your appetite again. Is this a side effect of your depression?"

Ky nodded. She was willing try it. If for no other reason than to stop worrying people. She hesitated on his last question though for a long moment, then shrugged. “I guess… it’s easier to be hungry than sad.”

"One would hope you could be neither, but we'll take things one step at a time, yes?"

“…yeah.” She shrugged, feeling like a petulant child. “It’s fine, though. I eat before I feel light headed.” Well. She ate whenever she felt light headed anyway. Didn’t push it past that.

"Try to eat a quarter of a healthy portion at each meal," he suggested. "Work your way up from there. I won't have Zander returning here to find you a skeleton."

“Zander’s not coming back,” she said sourly. She was more worried about her parents seeing her like this, and now Tomhas already had. So what did it matter?

"We'll see what the letter has to say," he said. "It could be good news."

“Maybe,” she said flatly, shrugging. She clearly didn’t believe him. “Doesn’t really matter, though. Unless the good news is that he’s on his way here now. Getting lucky once doesn’t mean he’s going to make it back.”

"Let's hope." He glanced at her. "But will you eat?"

“I’ve been trying,” she huffed, frustrated. “I know it probably doesn’t look like it, but I want no food at all, so the fact that I’m eating any shows how much I’m trying. I…” she sighed, glancing away. “I don’t understand how I’m supposed to eat if I just throw it back up when I try… or it just makes me feel so awful I want to lay down after, and that makes everyone mad at me, too.”

"It helps if you don't taste it. Like I said, tiny portions and a lot of water helps. And eating soup instead of solid food. That's very helpful."

“Okay.” She sighed and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “But wouldn’t that be mostly water both ways? Water’s not gonna make me gain weight back…”

"Broth is different, more nutritious than just a sliver of meat or vegetable. It's what they usually give to starving people to reaccustom their stomachs to eating."