Messy love | Matheo Riddle

29

CHAPTER 29

TW : tr*ma, c!rse

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CHAPTER 29 - Julius Berkshire

"What a pregnant girl can't eat now?"

Asteria's words were haunting her as she shoved a spoonful of mashed potatoes down her throat.

You look like a fucking skeleton!

Ever since The best-friends broke off they had not talked to each other for more than a week—the longest time they had ever gone without talking.

Feyre had been facing a wide variety of problems, nightmares being the biggest one of them all. She once loved to sleep. Sleep resembled death–-something she could never have. Sleep made all the chaos in her life dissolve into the peaceful silence as she would slip into slumber.

Yet now, every time she shut her eyes, trying to revoke the feeling of peace, Lorenzo's haunting figure appeared in her eyes. As she recalled from her nightmare, Lorenzo's figure would be drowning, blood escaping from his lips. His eyes would open, black liquid consuming him. And the he would spur, to Feyre to was faintly watching from a distance,

''It's all your fault"

Shutting her eyes, Feyre snaped to reality, breaking Lorenzo's lingering voice. As she opened her eyes, it took in the bright light and darted around absorbing the environment.

It was rather a mundane morning. The great hall appeared to be more empty than she last remembered it to be three months ago. Only a few students lingered, with books and parchments on their tables as they stuffed food into their mouths.  The grand assortment of food however remained unfinished.

 Gossip at school shifted to discussions about grades and upcoming exams, with the mid-year assessments fast approaching as December drew near. In spite of getting good grades, students chose to spend their time at the library, thrashing themselves into books so they can assure high grades.

FFeyre found the shift in conversation among her classmates rather helpful; the focus was no longer on her and Lorenzo. Sighing, she concentrated on the one task she was determined to complete, shifting uncomfortably in her seat on the Slytherin row.

Her housemates, scattered along the row, cast occasional glances in her direction but soon returned to their own conversations. For the most part, Feyre didn't mind.

What truly mattered to her was finishing the plate of mashed potatoes in front of her. Her eyes were fixed on the food, urging herself to get it over with. Yet, strangely enough, finishing the meal proved to be an odd challenge.

Each time she scooped a bite, her hands trembled, and as soon as she brought the spoon to her lips, a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her. The sour, thick taste engulfed her mouth as she forced herself to chew and swallow, pushing the heavy substance down her throat and into her stomach.

And then she went through that draining process again and again.

That was when she realized—she hated eating.

A group assembled a few tables away from her. Feyre did not need to look up to know who it was. Malfoy, Dalia, Zabini and one other girl. Yet this time, as she guessed–pansy was not around, forcefully abandoned by Dalia. As they sat down, Feyre realized that her fear of her tormenters did not seem to overcome her numbness this time. She did not feel any fear nor did she have any intention of going away from them.