Lonely Monsters

four

My manager only worked the day shifts, 9 to 5, so I would have to wait and call them in the morning, probably around 9 so I could see if my shift of 10 to 6 on weekdays was still a thing. I noticed I got mild migraines in the day time, so I'd ask about night shift. And with it being winter, sunset was at fourish. 

Monique sat at one end of the kitchen table, my mother was making dinner. She was dressed in a fresh set of scrubs, black pants with some pastel colored top decorated with butterflies. I stood behind a chair, looking down at the thick fleecy socks i wore. 

"Mom... You got a moment?"

"Did Keenan come in yet?" she asked, tasting the beef stew she made. "Taste this, tell me what it needs." My mother held out the wooden spoon for me to taste. She looked at me until I had a taste. "Does it need salt? Garlic?"

I shook my head. It tasted fine. "It's good. A bit too much salt."

"Potatoes or carrots?" she asked, stirring the beef. 

"Both." Monique said from the table, flipping through the fashion magazine she just got today. 

"Mom." I pressed. It was now or never-- When the front door opened and Keenan walked in, dusting snow off his shoulders and stomping his boots on the carpet. 

"Hey." he called from the living room, taking off his boots and coat. Our eyes met for a moment and he was frowning at me. 

Under his scrutiny, I tugged my hoodie closed and zipped up to my chin. 

"What." I snapped, eying my older brother up and down. He shrugged off his wool coat, sliding it onto the back of a chair before reaching out to cradle my face.

He studied me, his large hands holding my hair and even tangling in my hair a bit. Keenan's dark chocolate eyes were studying my features. Taking in everything, and he looked like he would cry.

Fuck.

"Have you been eating." He cleared his throat, pulling away. 

"Yeah." I said tugging anxiously at the frayed edges of my cuffs. "Everything's been staying down....okay. so I have something important to say, so if you could all... sit. That would be great."

Mom turned off the stove, moved the pot from the stove top to the table to rest on a ceramic protectant. Monique glanced at me as she set out silverware and bowls.

"Did you...have you weighed yourself since you got sick?" Keenan asked, serious, as he undid his scarf and tugged off his gloves. 

"...I have not." I said, glancing down at my finger tips. It had only been a few hours since I filed them down and they were already starting to look pointed again. "But...important stuff."

"Are you fired?" Mom asked, frowning some. "They can't fire you because you were sick... we gave them notice."

"I still need to call in. But it's not that." I was shifting from foot to foot. "I... the reason I was sick... and all this stuff... that's happening to me."

"Don't tell me you self diagnosed all this." Keenan said, exasperated. "This could be fatal."

"Well, what else is she supposed to do? Spend money we don't have?" our mother rolled her eyes at my brother, making Monique roll her eyes in return, and Keenan's frown deepen. "Besides, she's up and about so she's getting better."

"I still think--"

This was getting nowhere. The ethics of going to an actual doctor, and having to pay an arm and a leg just to go in would get no where.