"Come for supper!" Dad calls
I drag myself down the hall to to kitchen. The weight of him slowing me down.
Dad sticks his head around the corner to make sure that I'm actually coming. He has noticed that I don't eat much anymore, I guess. It's been 3 weeks since he came back. Although I haven't stepped on a scale this entire time, I know I have lost weight. That's fine, I mean it's not like I needed to lose weight, but it doesn't put me at an unhealthy weight or anything.
What's sad is that I tried unsuccessfully to lose just a little weight for the past two years. Now when I simply don't care about anything, it comes off. A couple people have noticed and complimented me, but what am I supposed to say?
"Thanks, I actually just lost weight because I'm sick."
Yeah, no. Not happening. The irony of it all doesn't escape me though.
We all sit at the table and hold hands. We like to do this thing where we all pray for one thing before our meal.
My dad starts, "Dear Lord, thank you for the beautiful weather that we enjoyed and the safety that we were blessed with today."
(Dad likes to sneak two things in sometimes, but we never call him on it.)
Next is my little brother, Jon. "And thanks for supper."
Mom prays for a sick friend and my younger sister, Lizzy, prays for our pregnant cousin.
It's my turn and he chooses that moment to press my throat.
"And please help the new pastor." I choke, "Amen."
My dad serves me the casserole. He hesitates with the second scoop, knowing that I might not want that much. To be honest, I don't feel like eating any. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to starve myself or anything. I admit the thought has crossed my mind, but that isn't the plan. I'm just really not hungry and sometimes even the simple effort of lifting the fork to my mouth seems like too much.
I start working on my food. I'm determined to keep up my health. He isn't helping, though. Every time I lift my fork, he presses down a little harder on my hand. He presses against my head. I feel a headache starting.
"May I be excused?" I ask.
Mom takes one look at me and knows something is wrong.
"Yeah, honey, are you OK?"
"Just not feeling well." I mumble.
I decide I'll just lay down for a little bit, so I head to my bedroom. Suddenly the walls spin. The floor rises. Everything goes black.
Hello, hello, hello!
A great Monday to y'all. I want to thank you all so much for the reads and votes. But especially for the comments and feedback. Keep it coming!
Xoxo
YOU ARE READING
When You Come Back
Teen Fiction"I'm back" he whispered softly in my ear. I winced and tried to pull away, but it was too late. His strong arms wrapped me in a hug. Slowly my body relaxed and accepted his embrace. He was back.
