Goldfish

SIX

The steady stream of meals never stopped, and despite my best efforts, I couldn't fight the temptation. As much as I hated to admit it, Reuben was right: once the food was in front of me, I felt powerless to resist.

But I didn't want to make it easy for him, so I decided to change tactics.

One evening, after Reuben set my dinner on the bedside table and left, I waited for his footsteps to fade before swiping the plate off the table with all the strength I could muster. Chicken nuggets, sweet potato fries, peas, and shards of broken china exploded across the room in a chaotic mess. Reuben burst back inside, his face a perfect mix of shock and disbelief as he stared dumbfounded at the scene. Bending down, he picked up the knife from the floor, gripping it tightly. His knuckles turned white as he stood there, frozen, the tension thick in the air like a storm about to break.

"You'll pay for that," he said, pointing the knife at me.

There was a new edge to his voice, a sinister tone I hadn't heard before. If I'd thought Reuben was disturbed when he was being nice, this new side hinted at something far worse. A creeping dread slithered through me as I wondered if I had just awoken something darker inside him.

Without another word, Reuben stormed from the room, leaving me alone with the shattered remains of my defiance.

When I woke the next morning, the debris from the night before was still there, a grim reminder of my rebellion. Reuben had failed to show with my breakfast. Missing a meal felt strange. I hadn't skipped one in years, aside from my failed attempt of defiance a few days prior, but that had been on my terms, and I had merely postponed a meal rather than skip it. My stomach churned and I found myself staring at the dried-up chicken nuggets scattered across the floor. What had once felt like an empowering stand now mocked me. I felt shameful knowing that, had I been able to scoop up any of the scraps from the floor, I would've devoured them without hesitation.

There was still no sign of Reuben at Lunch and now the urge to eat was overwhelming. Missing three meals was unthinkable, and my body was slipping into panic mode.

"What's the matter, Reuben? Afraid to face me?" I shouted, trying to sound defiant. But the desperate edge in my voice betrayed me. I was starving, and all I could think about was food.

Reuben finally appeared late in the afternoon. He said little as he attended to my hygiene needs, his silence was unnerving. When he finished, he left the room, taking my bed table with him.

*****

Later that evening, Reuben returned to my room, strolling in while wheeling the bed table ahead of him. Immediately, I noticed the modification. He had been busy, retrofitting a device that allowed him to secure my dinner plate firmly to the table.

"The food can be replaced, Ellie. But what I won't tolerate," he said, his voice chillingly calm, "is any disrespect to the memory of my mother. These plates have been in my family for years, and my beloved mother ate her last meal off one of them. Luckily for you, I don't know which one, so I can live in blissful ignorance that her plate remains intact."

At the mention of the plate, my eyes flicked instinctively to the dish in front of me: empty, but mocking in its potential. I was desperate, almost ready to beg for food.

"If you want to act like an animal, then I'm going to treat you like one." Reuben reached into a shopping bag and pulled out a can of dog food. "Now, I can be nice, Ellie, or I can treat you like a dog. Either way, it doesn't matter." He peeled back the lid with a metallic snap, and the pungent, meaty stench filled the room. I turned my head away, repulsed.

"The trouble with you, Ellie..." he said, tipping the can upside down and letting the chunky contents splatter onto the plate with a moist slap, "is that you eat whatever's in front of you."

Fury surged through me, momentarily overwhelming my disgust. "You're sick, Reuben! What, because I won't play along with your twisted game, you think you can treat me like a fucking dog?"

His lips curled into a sadistic grin. "I'll be back soon with your next helping," he said, then he was gone, leaving me alone with the plate of vile slop.

The musty stench of the dog food clung to the room long after Reuben had gone, haunting my senses like an evil spirit. My stomach growled with hunger, but the thought of eating what he had put in front of me was revolting. Yet I had gone an entire day without food, and my body was screaming for nourishment.

The minutes dragged on, each one heavier than the last. Intrusive thoughts crept in from the shadows of my mind.

Do it. Make the pain go away. You don't have to enjoy it, but you need to eat.

The urge to satisfy my hunger became overpowering. Once I got past the smell, the last shred of my resistance crumbled. All that animal by-product, it was just cold meat in gravy now, nothing more.

I wish I could say I was strong enough to defy him. But my will, my resolve, everything had eroded, leaving only a raw, primal need to consume.

*****

For the next couple of days, Reuben kept me on his canine diet, driving his point home with cruel precision. It was clear he could make my life even more hellish if I didn't comply. The message was undeniable: remain obedient or suffer.

Eventually, the punishment ended, and I was back to eating human food once again. While I was somewhat grateful, my existence now felt reduced to that of a machine, mindlessly programmed to consume, with no purpose beyond the next meal. Though my stomach was constantly full, I had never felt more hollow.

Reuben kept up his schedule, tending to my needs as usual, but I rarely spoke to him. I wondered if there was any way to reason with him, to make him see the error of his ways. But now, when I looked into his eyes, all I saw was a sinister delight, like that of a callous scientist watching his lab rat closely.

One day my silent treatment seemed to have struck a nerve.

"You know, Ellie, you really should be more grateful," Reuben said as he gave me a bed bath, frustration edging his voice. "You don't know how lucky you are, to have someone as devoted as me, taking care of your every need. No early mornings, no commute, no cooking, no bills. You can just sit back, relax, and watch TV. Plenty of others would die to be in your position. But then again, I suppose, they already have..." His words trailed off, as if he had accidentally let something slip from the darkest corners of his mind. But there was a cunningness in his voice, as if it were intentional.

I locked eyes with him, dread creeping up my spine.

"You think you're the first?" he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I've done this before. Twice, actually."

He paused, savouring the memory.

"Mother was my first. She was always a big woman. People were mean to her. I used to hear them whispering things behind her back as she walked me to school. Eventually, they got bold, didn't think twice before saying things to her face. It got so bad, she was afraid to leave the house. Needed someone to take care of her. So I did. I gave her everything she wanted, and more. She loved me for it... right up until the end."

He had spoken of his mother fondly in the past, but never like this. The words right up until the end sent a chill through me.

"And then there was Maisie," he continued, his voice almost wistful.

"She was different. Happy with who she was, unashamed of her body. She embraced this lifestyle. I fed her well, took care of her every need, and watched her grow until she could no longer walk. She didn't fight it, or resist me. She adored me, and in return I worshipped her."

His eyes gleamed with twisted satisfaction. "They were both works of art in their own way. Both of them took their last breath in that bed you're lying in now, but neither made it to your size. So you see, Ellie... you're special. You may resist the idea of what you are, but you cannot escape it."