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Another slightly hysterical giggle escapes my lips, then another, until I’m laughing like what he just said is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.
“I don’t know what that evil cunt did to you if you broke her rules, but I’m going to guess it was bad. That’s what you were thinking about just now, isn’t it?”
I nod, the laughter dying on my lips as my mind flashes back to the grin on her face as she held out those godforsaken pills to me.
“I wish I could take those memories away from you, but I can’t. Tell me how I can help.”
“I don’t know,” I say, sighing wearily.
“You normally have green juice for breakfast?”
“Mrs. Humphries made it for me.”
“What was in it?”
“Kale, cucumber, ginger, celery, lemon, and apple.”
“And that’s all you have till lunch?”
I nod.
“I’ve only ever seen you eat salad at school.”
“Mom had the school prepare a special lunch for me.”
“Which was a salad?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“And dinner?”
“We ate out most nights,” I say.
“So you ate whatever was prepared?”
“No.” I shake my head. “She told everyone I had food allergies and that I was a vegetarian. They’d prepare something different for me,” I admit, hating every word that’s coming out of my mouth.
“What did she say you were allergic to?”
“Nuts, dairy, wheat, I’m not sure what else.”
“From what you just told me, you’re only eating about a thousand calories a day,” he says angrily.
“Nine hundred,” I whisper.
“Fuck,” he hisses, jumping off his stool and pulling angrily at his hair as he paces the length of the kitchen. “She was literally starving you,” he mutters.
“No,” I scoff. “That’s not her starving me.”
“What?” he hisses, stopping and spinning to face me, his chest heaving.
Shaking my head, I clamp my lips together, not willing to confess everything else she did.
“Okay, I’m going to fix this,” he announces, striding back toward me and scooping me off the stool. Carrying me like I’m so fragile he’s worried I’m going to break, he places me down on the bed. “Don’t move,” he orders, spinning around and disappearing out of the door a moment later.
Confused and sad and terrifyingly hopeful, I tug the hem of his T-shirt down and shuffle up the bed until I’m resting against the pillows. When he enters the room a moment later, his arms are laden down with stuff.
“Hawthorn, what’s going on?”
