Despite dinner’s rocky start, Jake and Beth were entirely willing to eat. Their souls lit up with what I could only assume to be delight, as the food I’d prepared took their full attention. Over time, the taint out of our previous conversation had dissipated, and there was a clear avenue for me to sustain myself. I could feel the positive energy circulating the room, and I tapped into it as subtly as I could. Paltry in comparison to what I’d sponged out of my brother that first time, but if I could pull this off every night, I figured I might just survive.

About three quarters of the way through his spaghetti, Jake looked up from his plate, muzzle covered in pesto and pasta bits. “Pete. You’re not gonna eat?”

“I don’t eat,” I said, “Not anymore, at least.”

It was Beth’s turn now. “You’re not even going to try your own cooking?”

I shook my head. “I don’t have a sense of taste. There’s no point.” I looked between her and my brother, and I saw genuine concern from both of them. I could see it on their faces and I could feel it in the air. It took a conscious effort not to immediately latch onto that feeling and milk it for all it was worth. This was not the time.

“Bro, if you don’t eat something, you’ll starve.”

“What do you think I was trying to do in the supermarket yesterday?” I asked him, “Get diabetes?” I let the question hang for a few seconds. Neither of them had a novel answer to share. “That beef jerky did nothing for me,” I hissed, “Not the apples, or the oranges, or the Snickers, or the Reeses—I couldn’t taste it, I couldn’t feel it, if anything it made me sick!” I sighed and let my head rest on the table. I could still feel all that mushed up junk rolling around inside me. Undigested. Festering into some strange schlock. It felt as disgusting as it sounded. “Worst of all, I could tell I was full. I knew I couldn’t eat another bite. But I was still hungry,” I said, my voice falling into more and more of a mumble as I spoke. “Last time I wasn’t wasting away was just after I’d slurped up Jacob’s soul—” my mouth clamped shut with a click. I looked between Beth and Jacob.

They heard that.

The longer they stared, the more I could see their feelings change. The gratitude, the enjoyment, the appreciation of what I’d done for them slowly burnt up. The tiny tether of sustenance I’d found on the table was no longer such a sweet thing—it had turned cold and bitter. Not inedible, not palatable either. They were afraid, and poor Jacob was more than just fearful, he was absolutely mortified. He knew what I’d done to him, yesterday. What I’d taken.

I stopped eating. It was too much.

“I need a moment.” I didn’t wait for their confirmation before I left. I didn’t care. The second I abstained from sucking up their delicious soul-whatever, I regretted it. I could feel myself slowing down, and my legs were heavy. I was a sluggish, clumsy monster, whose, stupid, gangly legs only added to the effect. I tripped several times on my way to the third floor, but I made it. I made it, in spite of the tangible disconnect between my intentions and my movements.

I was entirely numb by the time I made it to the bedroom, and climbing onto the mattress proved to be a struggle. I sprawled out in the middle of it, thoroughly exhausted. I couldn’t even bear to lift my head anymore.

I replayed the moment when my secret came out. Again and again. The confusion. The destruction of their trust in one fell swoop. The way that bitter feeling gutted me. It was like poison.

“Poison,” I mumbled to myself, only to realize I could no longer hear my own voice. The wall in front of me blurred in a whitish mess, with a little brown on the bottom. That was when it hit me. “No, not like this!” I moaned. I was fine just a couple minutes ago! I needed help. I needed my brother. I had to get up—and when I did, I came crashing to the wooden floor below. “Jake! Jake, I—Jake!”

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

Author's Note

It's been awhile. Don't worry, the next chapter's actually three quarters done already.
Everything's going to be just fine.