RUSH

Ch. 13: Eat

TW: Mentions of domestic violence (verbal and physical), fatphobia, mental illness, self-injurious behavior (eating disorders), etc. Proceed at your own risk.

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-Bennett-

Their knocking was easily distinguishable. One was preceded by harsh stomps and followed by a single knock, which always devolved into the merciless pounding of a clenched fist against hollow wood. The other was quiet and wary... almost unwilling.

I always still heard it, nevertheless, even if only by chance.

"Yeah, mom?" I called out upon hearing the soft knock on the door, forcing a meager smile as my mother peered into the room with a warm bowl of food in hand. I glimpsed at the wisps of steam as they rose up and waved from the teal bowl.

"I figured you were busy studying," she mentioned while walking in, placing the steaming meal on the corner of my desk. There was a light ring on the wood permanently ingrained on my desk which served as a guide. I'd tried to buy a coaster to place over it once, only to misplace it within a few days.

"Oh. You should have called me down," I replied quietly.

My mom shook her head, smiling softly. "You only ever get home this early when you have exams coming up." She didn't say it accusingly, but I couldn't help but wince apologetically in response.

I nodded my head slowly, tilting back my head as she reached down to press a soft kiss against my forehead, her tender hands affectionately brushing my hair back.

"You didn't eat already, did you?" she pondered aloud, worriedly searching my face. "Your plate from yesterday is still in the fridge too."

"A few of my co-workers wanted to go out for dinner after work yesterday," I lied, because how else could I explain that a stranger bought me food in the middle of the night after I willingly got into his car? It sounded so reckless out of context.

"How about today?"

"No, note yet; I've been studying all day. Thank you, mom," I offered in response, carefully grabbing the bowl and dutifully placing it in front of me. "It looks delicious. I really—I should really get back to studying, though."

My mother frowned, looking at me like she wanted to say something else before sighing to herself. "Let me know if you want more, okay? There's still half a pot left," she assured me before heading back downstairs. There were always leftovers.

I turned to stare at the wisping steam once more as it rose up and dissipated into the air, rubbing at my temple while pointedly glaring at the white jasmine rice and mixture of potatoes, vegetables, and chicken stew. The earthy, thick scent of tomatoes and yellow chili pepper was familiar as it seeped from the bowl.

I picked up the fork and tiredly dug across the edge of the bowl, digging up some of the rice onto my fork before letting it fall. It was unsurprisingly easy to let go, even if my stomach growled in protest.

"I will... later," I murmured under my breath before leaning down to inhale the sweet aroma. It was probably good. It'd been good for so long, comforting in the way nothing else had ever been. But that was back then, so many years ago that I could hardly remember.

I glared at the bowl guardedly, piercing the fork through one of the pieces of chicken before leaving it standing there. Then, I moved the bowl back to cover the light ring on the corner of my desk, pensively considering my options before focusing back on my laptop screen. It'd totally slipped my mind earlier that I did, in fact, have a few writing assignments due soon.