I’m Not Hungry

FAY

Ithought I wasn't going to make it home tonight. Thought we were going to be fucking dead.

I can't eat anything right now...

I'm hot, dizzy.

My grip shakes on the fridge's handle before slipping in its sweat. I'm phasing out over coffee-flavored soy yogurts. Made a mistake at the corner store two weeks ago, thinking they were full-fat dairy ones.

Now what... Despite my best intentions, I didn't go shopping this week. Kept pushing the moment. Donna never eats at home... and honestly, I couldn't predict this would happen.

Groceries. People. The queue. The cash I don't have...Continuously letting the people I care about down... I said I'd be there for them and look at me!

I glare inside the fridge, feeling its last breath coming on me crisp. And I can't help thinking about my parents. Their smiles, colder than this white void I'm looking at.

My mother's face keeps haunting me—only the pain I could see in her. No matter how she tried to pull her lips up, she couldn't hide her wet, blinking eyes. Nothing about my mom and dad was adding up. Then again, my grasp at anything these days is nonexistent... not even with this pack of stale yogurt, the fog in my head never clearing. And just like this soggy cardboard box my fingers keep nipping at, the opportunities I seize to pull myself out of this smog keep flaking. Maybe it's all in my head.

I rub my fingertips together, paper bits sticking before snowing on the glass shelf. The pack is staring at me, alone, unwilling to leave this stupid refrigerator. It's as if I'm afraid to grab it. Afraid to admit that I'm a failure.

I didn't buy food.

I didn't.

I'm not doing well here. I managed to hold it until now, loosely. But now, I'm beginning to slip. I'm afraid for Tyke. He's an orc; he'll get taken down. The Seelie, my kind. I thought we were just... I thought everyone was just trying to adapt. The war it was...

My world is capsizing.

Am I evil? Am I the enemy?

Fear branches out over my nervous systems, and I feel it taking control of me, filling my throat with incoherent mutters.

Thank god Deon is talking in the background.

There's no food...

I need...

I need Tyke. I drop my head against the side of the door, my knees weakening.

"Sorry, princess, mind if I take a peep in the fridge." Deon suddenly appears next to me, oblivious to how incredibly empty it is.

I rush out a "Sorry," without thinking. Could be me being polite as I slip to one side, but all I want is to grovel at his feet, begging for forgiveness.

"Hey, doll, all okay?"

Deon... he keeps asking how I feel all the time. This kindness reminds me that I haven't. I haven't been there for them. Haven't asked. Just fucking sobbing all the time. I can't show them my distress. Showed enough. Be there. For them. Stay solid, Fay... Fucking pretend!

"Yes. As fit as a fiddle. You?"

"Need to eat something and then, I'll be as fit as a..." he scratches his chin playfully for a few seconds, and I tilt my head at it. "Ah, I know, as a flea."

Could've simpered, but a gasp dies in my throat. Eat something...

Deon doesn't seem to notice my panic. Humming to himself, he leans forward, loots a few bottles, and walks to the sink. It's odd, but I wanted him to stay next to me. I try to keep my focus on my food mission, but I can't, and my hand, as if it had a consciousness of its own, goes for his arm and grabs it.

"Yes, Fay?" He cocks his head in a friendly manner, his smile not tipping but crushing the scale of accomplishments and contributions. Deon's heavy weighing platter incrusting in a place only worthy for the strong and brave.

At the same time, mine soars high into the stratosphere where disaster people thrive as I say, "Thank you."

He pats my back, removing the little expression I had on my face. "Hey, dove, you played your part well. Saved my life and kept your cool... not to mention Tyke's hammer and ax. That'll for sure put a smile on his face."

A frail "Yeah..." barely survives on my lips as I watch him turn for the faucet.

The strength, determination, and backbone these two demonstrate frustrates me. I can't help but feel upset on top of the fright and guilt ridding me from the bottom of my stupid, meek heart to the tips of my trembling fingers. Not against them. Against me. Another reminder that I'm not up to par. There's no point denying it.

To observe the two handling things with a mental of steel, constantly looking out for me. How much I hate it, no matter how grateful I am. Feelings of contradiction reminding me why the fuck I deserve special treatment. Do they see me as weak? Is there something obviously wrong with me? I clench my fists, taming a shudder racing over my lower lip. It's spiral time for me again, and I won't let this whirlpool swallow me. Not this time. I won't cry. I will not. I'm fed up with it, fed up with this piece of me ruining whatever I succeed in building up. I spin for the fridge, trying to hide another glorious episode of 'You're mentally done, Fay.' Shit, I'm just running in circles, as mad as the world around us.

Quiet it. Breathe...

Angry fingers go back twiddling with the cardboard. Disgusting coffee-flavored soy yogurts. Well, amongst these are Donna's gruesome stock of wine and beer bottles, and very sad-looking lettuce in the bottom drawer. But that's not nourishing for Deon, is it? We have a steak or two in the freezer, but those are frozen, meaning I'm not ready to don my chef's hat anytime soon.

Loaded with spoons and pots, I approach the living room, slowly striding around the couch.

And as I lean down to place my so-called food on the coffee table, I feel Donna's stare burn my right cheek.

"Glad you did your part," hisses out of her.

"I forgot." I extend her a spoon and a pot without looking. I know she thinks I am a fucking disappointment.

"No thanks," she says with an acidic tone in her voice.

I smile, wanting to die. "There is butter and a small piece of toast left." I hand Deon his meager ration, who takes it with the same frigid smile he gave me earlier.

"Why are you smiling, Fay?" Donna crosses her arms, and I'm spiraling now, sweat hitching my scalp.

"Nothing." I sit, legs folded under me, trying to maintain a socially acceptable expression.

"You think this is funny?" she adds, twirling a digit in the air.

I go niggling Deon's tail, which is twitching like one of an unsettled cat, enlisting Deon for help. Donna is at the wrong end of the alcohol scale, and I've never seen it before. He's sensed it, teeth bared as his smirk tenses.

"No." No. Nothing is funny.

I feel dangling, my blood at a weird angle. I'm trying not to sway. Pushing my lungs in and out. It's hard.

I did so much damage. We have... done so much dam?—

"Look at you! You can't even help yourself from petting his tail. Another call for attention. What, Fay, didn't get enough today?"

Her loud shout makes me quake, startled wings lifting me from the ground. "Excuse me?"

"You suck in everyone's energy. That's how you make your glitter glow, girl."

Confusion slams into me.

"It's hard to hear the truth, isn't it?" Donna cackles. "But who gives a shit, right? Certainly not you. I mean, you never really care about others. Can't even buy food when you have to."

"Donna..." Deon cuts.

I frown, fracturing beneath. "You've found nothing better than to take it on me now that you've lost your job... I'm sad for you. It was pretty much what was pushing you out of bed."

Donna tucks her legs under her, grizzled fur spawning over her arms.

"Oh. Is this rhetoric? Let me release a laugh, then. Ah. Now about my job, Fay... Someone had to pay the rent."

"Stop pretending you're paying two rents. You own the place."

She bites her upper lip and I smile. I can be low-key, too.

"My apologies for trying to teach you responsibility."

I avert Deon's gaze, lungs compressed. "I pay for the food and give you cash for your utility bills."

"Food... You can't be serious when you say that." Seeing her sardonic grin, I inhale deeply, my facial muscles twinging. The scent of cinnamon candles and last night's questionable gathering gives me nausea and I clear my throat. Donna rattles hers just as same. "Makes me think... When was the last time you paid those utility bills?"

My posture shifts further away as her voice turns into a growl. "Oh, yes... Not in months! I'll wager you're too embarrassed to see Daddy for some pocket money."

She turns to Deon, and I feel a sinking in my chest to mention of my father. "Deon, maybe you don't know this, but Fay, here, is under strict su-per-vi-sion. She's got everything under Daddy and Mommy's control. And can you guess who they've assigned to keep an eye on her?" she says, her stupid, yellow-varnished nail pointed at her.

It's not true...

I clutch my head, her run-in giving me the fucking spins. "Stop talking!"

"Easy, princess!" It takes a while for my eyes to drag up to Deon's scowl, only to realize it is for me.

"Wait, Deon, you have to hear this. The family manages her finances, keeping track of all her money. Even her salary is under Daddy's name, which she only collects in cash at her parents' house. And I won't be silent about how she landed her job, because well, we all know..." She trains her glare on my body, my own falling as lightheadedness makes its way. "Come on, Fay. It's no secret, anyway."

In the thick of this, my arms, shaky, can barely hold me from collapsing on the floor. "Since when have you become so cool? Rather be a loser than be under your skin for a day. Acting like everything's under control, popping sleeping pills like vitamins!"

"I'm popping pills?" Donna's gaze flits to the glittering particles drifting about the apartment.

My cheeks warm, an urge to hack off my wings consuming me.

I need some space.

"It's time to go to bed. All of us are tired. We don't need to let hell loose on each other just because today's been rough," Deon says, nudging her stiff shoulder.

"So, you, overdosing when no one is around, oblivious of how you damage those around, is okay, then? Obviously, you think treating Tyke like shit is as well."

"Enough." Deon stands, pulling her arm, but she yanks it out of his grip.

"Don't involve him." I grapple my sides, pain shooting in my back.

I need air.

"Why?! Ain't he wondering why you're so rash, swinging your moods like a pendulum?"

Something oddly quietens in me and I feel like smiling. "Think your bitter-self carries the world on your shoulders? Bad news, Donna, it's merely a chip of your own shit."

"Fay, please calm down."

Rise...

Rise...

This voice, like a ghost, howling in my head again. My eyes sharpen and I see the slightest of details, the silos entrenching Deon's hands, fingerprints crusted in the palm of his skin like mountain rifts as he lowers them up and down, cautiously waving them as if I were about to blast the place.

"And look at those wings. What do you think they say about you?" Donna whispers, eyes reflecting an odd light. Silence overtakes Donna as she rubs her arms, boring a disconcerted gaze, drowsy and blinky. Deon reclines on his elbows, exhaling. For once, my Heartsbleed is serving me well...

Daughter of wind, rise...

I must be going mad. I blink away, trying to muffle this estranged bone-chilling voice, rattles behind it, like accelerating throttles, somewhat magnetizing.

"You were fast," I mutter, a corner of my lip twinkling.

"At what?"

"Finding a new job."

Donna picks up one of Deon's empty beer bottles lying between them and begins playing with it. "What job?"

"Shit peddler."

It shatters between her fingers, and I gasp when she hurls the bottle's broken neck at me.

"Donna!" Deon booms.

Pain shoots up my arm, and suddenly, it's a blur of chaos, a loud ring bursting my eardrums: cushions fly, my fist flies... Everything wobbles, sofa meeting ceiling, nausea bubbling.

The carpet claps under my hands as I lose my balance.

When I glance up, the sofa's been flipped over, a pixelated Deon in the entryway, taking in the jabs and claws that are probably meant for me.

Wasn't Donna sitting a few feet from me? I inhale five charged breaths, my thoughts whirling.

Barks make their way into the living room, the friction of fur like fire as it zips past my arm. Cerberios!

"Sit, boy!" Deon orders, shooing the scared puppy away from Donna. "Sit, I said!" His fist closes over his collar, tossing Cerberios into the kitchen.

"Cerberios is just defending me," I cry, hardly able to contract one muscle. Everything about me seems to be going haywire.

"You..." Deon trembles. "Control yourself!"

Me... control myself?

Deon frowns. From where I stand, it looks like a giant monobrow. "I think we should all go to bed!"

"What a flash of lucidity!" I toss the broken bottle neck far, candles flicking behind me, licking the back of my elbow as I take a break against the coffee table—the prospect of igniting the flat fucking tangible.

Deon, odd light crusted in his tattoos, is fast to clamp a hand around Donna's shifting neck. I should be concerned about her shifting because she never does. Be concerned about those luminous swirls on Deon's skin. But no, in the end, I don't care.

Barks echo around us, Cerberios standing between them and me with a toothy snarl, arousing violence in me.

"Cerberios, stop barking!"

"Can't blame him. Dogs never lie," I tell him as he prods Donna in the corridor.

He turns his bloodied face to me, grating, "Go to sleep."

"Night!" I hiss, hot drops running down my arm. It doesn't even hurt that much...

Deon shakes his head disapprovingly while forcing this wrestling, shouting bitch to move.

A door locks, vociferations ricocheting off the door, followed by masculine hushes.

I draw in a breath and exhale one just as long, about to crumble, as Cerberios licks the side of my shoulder. I wrap my hands around his middle head and drop my forehead, letting puppy tongues lather over my skin.

I'm scared to death...

Scared because something inside me was about to snap...

I stiffen and turn my head to the window. I thought I heard scratches coming from the ledge.

"Please, lay down." Cerberios does, a large paw pressing against the side of my folded legs.

It's just the two of us watching the candles now.

How easy would it be to flip one by accident...

Watch the flat burn...

To watch them burn, child...