Page 117 of The Howl
“Good morning, beautiful. Your prince has returned.”
The prince in question was lying like a starfish on my pillow, pointy side up.
“Piepen, where are your clothes? And what are you doing here? You have a new home. Go back to it.”
His little face scrunched up in a scowl, and he gestured at his naked self.
“I flew all night so you could wake up to this, and you start in on me as soon as you open your eyes. Woman, learn to be grateful.”
I raised my hand to flick him away. He squealed and rolled off the pillow.
“Okay, Okay,” he said, lifting his hands. “I can see your hormones are swinging hard. Maybe you’ll change your mind when you see what I brought you.”
He flew to the window, which was partially open, and lifted a bag from the floor. It weighed him down so much he could barely fly up to the bed. He made it and collapsed panting.
“Did you come in through my window?” I asked.
“Of course, my Juliette.”
I needed to check my windows better before bed. I didn’t remember leaving it open.
“You are not my Romeo, Piepen. And I can’t accept any gifts from you.”
“Well, it’s not really for you. Go ahead and open it. See for yourself.”
I loosened the cord on the cloth sack and stared down at a matching set of manual breast pumps.
“For the baby, when your milk comes in.” He smacked his lips and stroked himself. “The baby and I are going to eat like kings.”
Dropping the string, I glared at Piepen.
“I have exercised an incredible amount of patience with you, Piepen. But that ends now. Get your prepubescent butt out the window and back into your own bed immediately, or I will drive you to Megan’s house and feed you to Elbner. Am I clear?”
“You seem tense. Maybe I should rub your—”
“Continue speaking and die, brownie,” I said.
Piepen paled and escaped into the predawn light. I growled, got out of bed, and slammed the window closed, this time making sure to turn the lock.
Too angry to sleep, I went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. While the water warmed, I stripped out of my warm pj’s, grateful I’d been wearing my old ones again. Turning to place them on the counter, I blinked at my reflection. My emaciated self was back. Sort of. I didn’t look as wasted as I had a few days ago. Still boney, though. Only now, I had a dumb glowing strip down my middle.
I leaned toward the mirror, wondering what the heck was going on. Why was I seeing myself like this? Was it because everyone kept telling me there was something wrong with me?
They were getting into my head. Squaring my shoulders, I looked at myself in the mirror.
“You are not sick or dying, Eliana Barchim. You are stronger than them all.”
I showered quickly and got dressed for the day, noting that my clothes fit me just fine. Everyone was crazy.
The faint sounds of groaning reached my ears a moment before the low beat of music drowned it out. I grabbed my phone to check the time and saw it wasn’t even six yet. I was about to toss it to my bed to go pound on Mom’s door when the phone started to ring. I saw Megan’s name, recalled the text I sent her last night about Mom being free but not leaving, and quickly answered.
“What do you mean she's not leaving?” she asked. “Does she have a choice?”
“Apparently she does now,” I said.
“What does that mean?”
“Adira thinks she is seeing a positive change in me with my mom being present. She also thinks I look healthier. I don't look healthier; I look angrier. The Council obviously can't tell the difference. I think they're confusing me with you.”
