Psychic

...

The first thing I should tell you is a story about my Aunt Flo. I call her as such due to her ability to keep the flow of a conversation going, even through the most awkward of quiets.

I have only a few times seen Aunt Flo without her smile. However almost every-time I saw her then, I heard her body crying her depression. She was a small woman, in height and width. So small, in fact, that you could see her ribs and hips poking out at you. She was always hungry, though she refused most every offer of food.

I was maybe only seven at the time. Aunt Flo sat beside me on the couch, one stick leg crossed over the other, and a book in her hands. I was watching her, trying to decipher what book she was reading from her reactions. I decided in the end it must have been an action novel, and she was at a bit where the hero died or something. Her heart was pounding and I could hear her finger twitching. I could almost feel her anticipation to turn the page and find out what happens next, yet at the same time she was hesitant. Her face would twitch into a smile, before morphing into a stern frown of concentration.

My father walked into the room then, I quickly turned to the television, making out as if I were a normal kid, uninterested in her aunts reading. He barely glanced at me, just stared at his sister. He was angry. Angry, frightened and concerned all at once. Flo didn't notice him. She was focused entirely on her book, taking in the words so intensely you could almost assume she was worshipping the ink that created them.

Dad cleared his throat, becoming impatient. As if a spell had been broken, I heard Flo's concentration break. She glanced away from her book, to my father, to me, than back to her book.

'Stephen. Please not now, I was just getting to the good part.' She whined, her eyes shifting away. Whatever was about to happen, she didn't want it to.

'Do you think this is a game, Flo? Do you think nothing will happen if you continue doing this to yourself? You're dying, Flo, and you don't seem to care.'

Flo glanced at me, before frowning at her brother. 'Not in front of Clair. She doesn't need to hear this.'

'Aunty Flo's dying?' I spoke up. I looked at her, listening. I couldn't hear anything wrong with her body, just her hunger. 'Aunty Flo isn't dying, she's just hungry.'

Dad looked at me a moment and shook his head. 'It's nothing for you to worry about, go to your room and play, okay? I'll be up shortly.'

'But, Dad-'

'Go, Clair.'

I grumbled, feeling it unfair that I was being sent away. I didn't go far however. The moment Dad stepped fully into the lounge and I was out of his sight, I tip-toed back to the door way and crouched. Wanting to know what was going on.

'Stephen, I'm fine. You have nothing to worry about.'

'What have you eaten today?'

'...'

'Flo, starving yourself won't help anything. You're stick thin, if you're doing this because you somehow think you're fat-'

'I know I'm not fat, that has nothing to do with it.' I could hear Flo's heart picking up speed. She was becoming anxious. I could hear guilt. Regret, her eyes shifting.

'Then what is it? What are you trying to accomplish?'

'Nothing.'

'Then why are you doing this to yourself?' His voice raised in pitch, he was confused and upset. 'Please, just eat something. What could it hurt?'

'I'm not hungry.'

'You haven't been hungry for months, Flo.'

'So?'