Page 135 of The Howl
By the end of the day, I had no real answers. Magic had failed me where Mom was concerned. Adira and the Council obviously wanted her here to “fix” whatever was wrong with me. And talking to Mom seemed to make things worse.
I drove home with a heavy heart.
Maybe it would just be easier to give in and feed. What were a few sex slaves in exchange for my mark and freedom? The ability to get out of Uttira and never come back had a very strong appeal. I’d be free of Adira’s meddling and wouldn’t need to watch Dad suffer. I sighed, really liking the picture I was painting for myself.
When I walked into the kitchen, Mrs. Quill greeted me cautiously.
“How was school?”
“Messed up. Adira changed classes around again so I didn’t bother going to most of them. There’s no point anymore, right? It’s feed and get my mark so I can leave this hell, or stay here and be tortured forever. Going to school isn’t going to change the outcome.”
“Eliana, I’m so sorry you feel that way.”
I laughed.
“Are you?”
“I truly am.”
I shook my head and started to head to my room.
“Wait. Take this with you. Your father needs to eat more. And, see if you can talk him into resting. He might listen to you.”
I took the covered plate and headed upstairs.
The loud thumping music from Mom’s room ensured that I wouldn’t knock. It was bad enough when I saw what she did with strangers. There was no way I wanted to know what she and Dad were doing.
Closing myself in my room, I almost dropped the plate when I turned and saw Dad standing a few feet from me.
“Dad? What are you doing in here?”
“I’m giving your mother some space. She needs to eat.” He glanced at the plate. “Is that for me?”
“Yeah.”
I handed it over. He ripped the cover off, grabbed a sandwich, and took a huge bite.
“It’s good to see you with an appetite,” I said. When I’d still lived with him, it’d been hard to get him to eat consistently.
“I need to regain my strength for you and your mother. And I want to set a good example. Your mom says you’re not eating like you should, either.”
A faint moan penetrated my room, and he looked at the door.
“She’ll come for me soon,” he said absently before taking another large bite.
“What kind of sandwich are you eating, Dad?”
He looked startled by the question and looked down at what he held.
“I’m not sure.”
“What does it taste like?” I asked.
He paused, considering the sandwich.
“Nothing.”
“When was the last time food tasted like food?”
