by J.Q. Davis
Chapter 3
The Hunger
The next morning, I awoke to the smell of bacon and pancakes, and I was sure much more. I changed into a gray camisole, jeans, and Converse. I threw on a brown and white tight-fitting flannel shirt, leaving the buttons undone. I went into the bathroom and tied my hair up into a messy bun. I looked in the mirror and touched the bags under my eyes, wondering if it was time for me to begin wearing makeup. Maybe Phoebe was right; makeup might make guys think I was a little more attractive. I didn’t think I was ugly, but I could use a little help. I grazed my fingers over the tiny freckles scattered around my nose and cheeks. I dropped them down to my pale, but full lips. Sonny wore makeup, maybe Tristen liked that.
“Gracie, breakfast is ready, my dear!” Mom yelled from downstairs. Still staring, I dropped my hand down to my side, letting out a small sigh.
Tomorrow. I would put some makeup on tomorrow.
After attending to my hygiene duties, I grabbed my book bag and slowly walked downstairs. I was starving, and normally I would be dashing down the stairs, two steps at a time. But I was feeling a bit lethargic this morning.
I devoured my incredibly large but scrumptious breakfast, kissed Mom on the cheek, and hopped out the door to meet Phoebe for our walk to school. My lethargy was quickly dissipating after the fantastic breakfast.
School was the same. Between classes, Phoebe indulged in telling me of her almost work date with…oh wait, I finally got a name: Eric. From what I understood, she and Eric flirted continuously while at work, giving each other sexy looks and briefly making contact as they walked near each other. She liked him, more than a lot, and was waiting for the right time to ask him out. I did envy Phoebe’s lack of regard for being rejected. I wondered that if Tristen was single, would I have enough guts to ask him out. Doubtful.
The school day ended with an excited Phoebe rushing to get to work, a malicious look from Sonny, and a slight smile from Tristen. I was used to Phoebe and Sonny, but when I saw the corners of Tristan’s mouth slowly turn up when our eyes met in the breezeway after the final bell, I had a mini stroke. If it wasn’t for the rumbling that came from my stomach, I probably would have frozen in that moment. But, I was starving, so I smiled a gentle smile, lowering my head down like a shy little girl, and rushed to get home to some food.
On my walk home, I sucked in the aroma of the fall air, admiring the gardens that outlined the sidewalks, letting my fingertips graze the blooming flowers fighting their way out of the iron fences that surrounded them. The houses in my neighborhood were the old, French-style type. They were mostly two stories, brick, with stairs leading up to the front doors and balconies above them. There was a charm about them, warm and homey. The neighbors were friendly, but mostly kept to themselves. They had either lived here for a while and raised a family and watched their children raise theirs, or they had just started a family, running around their front courtyards with their toddlers. This was home, and where I wanted to raise my family one day. I briefly wondered what Tristen’s plans for the future were.
When I reached my driveway, I noticed a black Mercedes Benz parked behind my mother’s car. Who would be here? We never had company over.
I walked through the front door to find my mom on the couch facing someone sitting on the loveseat. I could only see the back of his black-haired head. They stood up immediately.
“Grace, hi honey,” she greeted. She was smiling, but it seemed to be hiding concern. The man stood up with her and turned to face me. He was tall, clean-shaven, with gold-rimmed glasses. “This is Dr. Roberson. He is a…an old colleague.”
Dr. Roberson extended his hand out to me. “Hi, Grace. You can call me Mark.” His smile was magnificent.
I reached to shake his hand, a little shocked that we had a guest over and even more shocked that he was so cute, in a doctor kind of way.
“Hi,” I smiled back.
“Wow, you look so much like Veronica. I have heard so much about you. Your mother was just singing your praises.”
My mom quickly added, “Well, she is a wonderful daughter.” She looked a bit nervous, which was odd to me because Mom was normally very confident about everything. “It has been a long time since we have spoken, so I just wanted to let him know how blessed I was to have you.” She smiled nervously and shifted her eyes over to Mark.
“Okay,” I said, not sure of what else to say. We stood there for a moment in an awkward silence.
“Um, Gracie, if you could just give Dr. Roberson and I a few more minutes…”
“No, yeah, that’s fine. I have a ton of homework to do anyway.” Thank god. It was beginning to feel too uncomfortable.
“Gotta get that homework done,” Mark added. “Do you like to study? What are your favorite subjects?” he asked with curiosity in his tone.
“Um, pretty much everything. Math is my thing though. Mom always wonders how I am so good at it.”
“Well, your mother wasn’t known as the mathematician around the office. But, you do well?”
“Yeah. Yes, I just like it, I guess. I never really thought about it.” It was true, why did I like math? It came naturally to me. I never struggled as much as say, Phoebe did. Most of the kids in our school dreaded math, but I didn’t mind it.
“Well good for you. Keep up the good work. Have you been feeling okay?”
I looked at my mom and it was as if she were burning a hole through his head with her eyes. Was she upset that he was making conversation with me?
“Um, yes, I have been well. Just tired from so much studying. Well, I should get to it.” I smiled and politely excused myself from the living room. As I walk up the stairs, I could hear a whisper and barely make out my mom saying “…don’t think you should be asking her those types of questions.”
As I entered my room and shut the door quietly, I wondered what that was supposed to mean. Why couldn’t he ask me those types of questions? What alarmed me even more was Mom’s nervousness. I had never heard of a Dr. Mark Roberson before; Mom never mentioned him. And why would he ask me if I have been feeling well? I guess it was a doctor thing. Mom used to be a doctor. A surgeon. She always asked me how I feeling. I guess it was in their nature to make sure people were not feeling ill.
My stomach made a loud rumble, but I really did not want to go back downstairs into the awkwardness. Maybe my mom liked Mark and wanted some time alone with him. That would be interesting. Mom had only been on a handful of dates…that I knew of. She said she would rather spend her time with me and that it was too late in her life to be dating. Maybe she reconsidered.
I threw myself on my bed and stared at the ceiling. Thoughts of tomorrow’s study date circled my mind and before I knew it, my eyes grew heavier.
It was suddenly late at night, and I was walking slowly down an empty field, with only the moonlight guiding my way. There was heavy fog low at my feet, obstructing my view of the ground. I felt nervous, scared, not sure of what I was doing. I walked and walked as the fog grew heavier and heavier at my feet. I felt dizzy and hungry. So, so hungry. I couldn’t smell anything. My vision was blurred. But I could barely hear a crunching sound as my foot stepped forward. I stopped and bent to see what I had stepped on, but still couldn’t make out anything. I touched the ground, only to feel the soft soil. I flailed my arms around, pushing the fog to either side of me. I pushed and pushed, until suddenly, there was something. I bent down closer to get a better view, only to see what looked like a finger pointing straight up. I stared for a moment, not understanding why this finger was protruding out of the soggy mud. I became curious and wanted to touch it. As I slowly brought my fingertips to it, it twitched. Once, twice, three times. I reached down closer, still curious. I didn’t stand up, I didn’t run away. The finger began to move, grabbing on to the edge. Another finger emerged. Then another, and another, until five fingers were in the air. I was mesmerized, frozen in time. The hand began to move again, clawing into the soil now, pulling Earth furt
her and further down. A wrist emerged, then an arm. The skin was pale and smelled of rot, with greenish, black blisters and bruises. I could see a balding head beginning to crown through the surface. The few strands of hair on the blistering scalp were thin, long, and colorless. As the head slowly made its way out, and a face was becoming visible, I began to realize that it looked familiar. She looked familiar. There were heavy bags under her eyes, tiny freckles scattered on her nose and cheeks, and pale, full lips. It was me.
My eyes sprung open as I lay still in my bed. I stared at the ceiling, wondering why I was not a crying mess from the terrible vision of myself I had just witnessed in my sleep. When I tried to turn my head to get a glimpse of the time on my nightstand, I winced at the achiness radiating from my neck to my toes. I struggled to lift myself up into a sitting position, realizing at the same time that the sheets were wet. My forehead and whole body were covered in sweat. I reached over to flick the lamp on. The light burned my retinas and I flicked it back off quickly. I glanced over at the clock, squinting and struggling to read the time. I could barely see. It was blurry, but after focusing for a moment, the clock read 3:00 a.m.
I slowly maneuvered myself out of the bed, trying desperately not to move too fast. I couldn’t if I wanted to. I stumbled into my bathroom to relieve myself, only to find that I really didn’t need to. I got up and thought twice about turning the light on, instead just trying to focus my eyes in the darkness and look in the mirror. I must have been getting sick. I stared into the mirror and found myself having to hold on to the sink to keep from falling back. I decided to flick the light on anyway, wincing when it felt like shards of glass in my pupils. I gasped.
My face was almost unrecognizable. The bags under my eyes were sagging down into my caved-in cheeks. My lips were no longer full. They were drooping down, as if someone threw a punch right into them. My eyes were black and sunken in, with veins protruding and pulsating out of the corners. I lifted my head to get a better view of my neck, only to see my skin seemed wrinkled and aged. My hair was thinner, straighter, lifeless. After noticing my best feature was not my best, I couldn’t look any longer. I felt too tired and sick to go get Mom, so I grabbed my cell phone and dialed her number the best I could.
“Hello?” she asked alarmed, but sleepily.
I could barely get a word to come out of my mouth.
“Gracie?” Her voice slowly became frantic.
Before I could get enough strength to let out the first two letters of a word, she flung open the door to my room, finding me on the floor near my bed. I couldn’t make it all the way.
“Gracie!” She ran over to me, bending down and wrapping her arms around me to try to lift me up off the floor. I cried out in pain, sensing every inch of my bones feeling as though they are going to crack. I felt light against her, as if she could easily throw me over her shoulder.
“Sweetie, we have to get some food in you. I should have never let you sleep without dinner! I knew this was going to happen!” Her voice broke with disappointment.
She walked me down the hall and down the stairs, one step at a time. We got into the kitchen, where she gingerly set me down at the kitchen table. I slumped over to the side, unable to keep myself balanced. The room was spinning now, and agonizing pain shot through every joint, muscle, bone, and inch my of skin. I heaved over when I felt the dreadful ache in my stomach. It felt as though I was hungry, nauseous, and had the worst case of food poisoning all at the same time.
“It’s okay honey, just try to hold on for one more second. I’m going to give you exactly what you need.” As soon as she let me go, she flew over to the fridge, taking out every container full of food we had. I wanted to yell at her. How could I possibly eat? I felt as though my body was about to turn into soup and splash all over the kitchen floor. I needed to go to the hospital. What was my mom thinking? She was a doctor for crying out loud!
The words couldn’t even form in my throat. I watched her get every container open and start to bring them over to the table. As soon as I smelled the first whiff of leftover food, my eyes darted over to it. I began to breathe heavily, and all I could think about was what was in front of me. Suddenly, my pain was out of my mind, and though I could still feel my bones becoming more tender and brittle by the second, I didn’t care. All I wanted was what was in front of me. I sat still, focusing on that one container.
“Okay Gracie, here you go. You can eat.”
I was aware that my mom was done pulling every bit of ration we had out of the refrigerator, but I didn’t care. I knew she was speaking to me, but I didn’t care. I kept my eyes in one place.
“Gracie! You need to eat! Now!” she yelled desperately. At that same moment, my hands uncontrollably dug into the container and began a shoveling motion into my mouth. I wasn’t even sure that I was chewing. The smell whirled around my head, colliding with the taste of what I could have sworn to be the first time I had ever tried food. It was as though I didn’t understand what I was doing, but at the same time, understood everything. I wanted that food. I needed that food. Every cell in my body was screaming at me to eat the food.
I couldn’t stop. I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop. The taste was savory. I could feel every portion of food enter my mouth and slowly make its way down my esophagus and into my stomach. I could feel my stomach welcoming the deliciousness, digesting it, and absorbing the nutrients into my bloodstream. My body slowly awoke with each bite.
I threw the empty containers to the side when I was finished, continuing on to the next without hesitation. I couldn’t look away. I had to protect what was in front of me. It was mine.
It was when I was devouring my last container that I felt I had enough control to stop.
“There you go, sweetheart. How do you feel?”
I suddenly missed my mom’s voice.
I looked up at her, then down at the empty containers strewn around the kitchen. I glanced down at myself covered in a mess of crumbs, sticky sauce, and an array of colors. My gaze returned to my mother and at that moment, embarrassment and guilt were among the many emotions flowing through me. I wanted to cry.
“No, no sweetie,” she said softy, sensing my humility. She walked over to my side of the table, sliding her arm over my shoulder as she took in the messy site with me.
“Mom, I’m so sorry. I just…I didn’t know…” I couldn’t finish my sentence. I was so overwhelmed with what I was seeing.
“Gracie,” she turned my face toward hers with her finger under my chin. “It’s okay. You feel better, don’t you?”
I nodded my head, too embarrassed to even speak.
“Good. That’s all that matters, baby. We fixed it. You were just really hungry. It happens.” The corners of her mouth turned up, easing my emotions somewhat.
The truth was that my emotions were all over the place. I wasn’t quite sure of what just happened. I knew that I woke up from a nap…well more than a nap obviously. I missed dinner, which I had done in the past. But I had never, not even a tiny bit, felt this hungry. I would get dizzy from time to time or tired, but never to this extreme. Never to the point where my body felt as though it were becoming mush or slowly deteriorating. Never to the point where I had to eat thirty pounds of food to regain any sense of strength back. And certainly never to the point where I had absolutely no control over what I was doing.
“Come on, Gracie. Let’s get you into the shower.” Mom seemed mysteriously calm. Her daughter just consumed almost every item the refrigerator could hold. I looked back at the disaster as we made our way up the stairs. Yup, pretty much everything in the refrigerator.
Mom helped me shower, as I was still a little distraught from the whole situation. My body felt amazing, though… like it never even happened. But my mind was in other places. The dream, the terrible stab-like pains exuding through my body, the hollowness of my face, Mom’s guilt of not waking me to have dinner, the spinning, the sweet and satisfying taste of the leftovers, the afte
rmath…Tristen.
“Mom, what’s today?” I asked, suddenly having the feeling of forgetting something, similar to when one leaves on a road trip and swears they may have left the oven on.
“It’s Thursday morning, sweetie,” she said as she wrapped the towel around my naked body.
“It’s what!” I threw my towel on the floor and rushed to my closet.
“Grace, what’s wrong?” she asked with concern.
“It’s Thursday! I have a date with Tristen and I haven’t picked out what I am going to wear!” I knew I seemed a bit melodramatic at the moment, but this was important. I actually worked it out in my head over the past two days. There was a lot of truth in Phoebe’s theory of boys being attracted to chicks who show off a little. I was not completely sure that Tristen had even thought of me in the way I thought of him. If I were to dress a little…sexy, his reaction would speak volumes. If he were to simply see me and there not be any kind of eyebrow raise or staring or a look from head to toe, then I would know that he was just not interested. But if he did do any of those things, then I would at least know that I had peaked his interest. I would at least know that he didn’t think that I was just some nerd tutoring him.
“You have a date with him?” she asked as she sat on the edge of my bed. I knew she wouldn’t like this.
“Well, it’s not a date, Mom. I told you, I’m just tutoring him,” I said, rummaging through my closet.
“You said date. Grace, I told you I didn’t think this was a good idea. Why doesn’t he just ask his teacher to help him?”
I shot her a look. “Because, Mom, he asked me. Why is this such a bad thing? I want to help him. He asked me because I am smart. Why can’t I share that? Why can’t I do something nice for someone?”
I thought that my little daring remark might finally make her understand how important this was to me, but I knew my mother better than that. She was never wrong about her intuitions. And deep down inside, I knew she was right.
She sat in silence for a few moments. I turned back around in a desperate search of something even remotely sexy. My wardrobe consisted of comfortable, laid-back attire. This was going to be tough.
“You know what, Gracie? You are right.”
I froze.
“You should be able to help someone who is in need. But you will tutor him here.”
I swung my body around to face her. “Well, what if he wants me to go to his house?”
“Then you will tell him to come here instead.”
“Why are you so adamant about this? I get that you think this is a bad idea. To even be tutoring him when he has a girlfriend, but why must I be here?”
She stood up and walked over to me. She grabbed my face gently with both her hands.
“Because, Gracie, it is a bad idea. This situation has the potential of hurting someone. Someone will get hurt. You are becoming a woman, and soon you will be making your own decisions, but as long as you are under my roof, I will protect you from whatever I can. He will come here. And that is final.”
She kissed me on my forehead and left my room.
If this moment were a cartoon, steam would be bursting out of my ears. How could she be so irrational? I’m seventeen years old. I absolutely could make my own decisions. Mom had never been this way with me before. Well, I had never been in a “situation” like this before. Maybe she did know what she was saying. Maybe she had been there, done that.
No. She was being ridiculous.
I glanced at the clock. I had an hour and a half before I should start getting ready for school. I continued on with my search for the right outfit. I settled on a tight-fitting, long-sleeved shirt, skinny jeans, and ankle boots with a slight heel. It was not a midriff or a cleavage-baring blouse, but it would have to do. I couldn’t seem to bring myself to show too much skin. I didn’t have the boobs, and I certainly didn’t have the guts to let it all hang out like Phoebe did. With the way I was feeling at that moment, the necessity to be sexy left my mind. I should have been exhausted with the morning that I had, but my body was totally normal; if anything, better. Mom did not seem the least bit worried about my behavior in the kitchen. I would have to discuss that with her, but I was certainly keeping my distance for at least rest of the day. I was pissed with her.
After throwing on my “sexy” outfit, I made my way to my bathroom to figure out what to do with my hair and makeup. Surely I would need to cake on the makeup with the way I looked.
A gasp escaped my throat when I glanced into the mirror. What happened to my face? It was not at all the horrific sight from earlier that morning. My color was back and my eyes returned to their natural shade of light brown, but I just looked… I looked…older? The sprinkles of freckles around my nose were a shade darker and I had creases around my mouth. I pinched my checks and they didn’t spring back. I did have a rough night, and although I felt amazing, my appearance may not have caught up with me.
I shrugged it off and continued my quest to wow Tristen.
I made my way downstairs. Mom was in the kitchen cleaning up the mess I made.
“Gracie, are you hungry? I can make some breakfast for you before you go.”
Although it did sound tempting, I informed her that I wasn’t very hungry. How could I be? “I will just take some pomegranate juice,” I said as I reached into the fridge.
“Okay, well I just made some last night. It’s fresh.” Mom knew I was upset with her, and her tone seemed as though she was refraining from speaking to me any further. We had never really gotten into an argument before, and feeling the tension that was between us was uncomfortable.
I just needed some time to cool off, and we would be fine.
