Between Screams and Silence

Chapter 4: Hunger

The generous piece of cobbler sits in the dish in the front of me, steam rising steadily from the bowl and the sweet scent of stewed peaches fills my nostrils, making me feel a touch nauseous.

Rheemus has cleared the kitchen, having taken most of the dishes to neighbors' houses, offering baked gifts by way of thanking them all for the well-wishes, flowers and balloons they sent us when we brought Brenda home from the hospital. He's scrubbed the kitchen clean and washed all the pots and pans, apart from the ones scarred with stubborn boiled fruit juice which sticks to them like superglue. Instead he's filled those with hot, soapy water and has left them soaking near the basin and I can't look at them as I sit at the kitchen table, because looking at them just makes me feel stupid and confused.

"Kath?"

I poke at a piece of peach with my spoon, prodding at it like it's some dissected creature from a school laboratory experiment.

"Kathy?"

Looking up, I see that Rheemus is staring at me again, only this time his brow is furrowed and his eyes are brimming with concern. For a split second, I'm so angry, so tired of him always just looking at me, that I wonder what it would be like to rip those eyes from their sockets and squeeze them in my fists until they pop. Alarm explodes in my chest and I pull my hands into my lap, clasping them together, ashamed and disgusted that I could even dare to think such a terrible thing.

"You not going to eat that?" He jabs his spoon at my full bowl, while his is almost empty and he's on his second helping. "I thought you said you were hungry for sweet stuff?"

"I am," I say, but his eyes narrow and I correct myself instantly. "I mean, that is, I was. You know how I am, I spend all that time cooking or baking and then I barely have the stomach for it afterwards."

But I am hungry for something sweet, only it's not this I want. I don't even know what I want, but there's been an overload of saliva in my mouth all day, a yearning on my tongue that I can't explain. I feel like I should know what I'm hungry for, a nagging in my head, begging me to just remember what that might be, urging me to feed that awful, empty sensation in my gut.

A touch to my hand makes me flinch and I realize that I must have zoned out for a moment, because Rheemus is touching my hand, tenderly linking his fingers with mine and he's looking again, almost as if he's trying to get under my skin, searching for something. All at once I want to shrug him off again, push him away. The urge is so strong that I have to get a hold of myself, because this is Rheemus, my husband, and I know he means well. I know he would never hurt me.

But you could hurt him.

The thought comes at me so loud and so real, that it's like a voice whispering in my head. An actual voice that sounds like mine, but I know it isn't because I wouldn't hurt him. I could never hurt him. Beside me, in her basket, Brenda lets out a small, pitiful cry and my head jerks to look at her, because I'd almost forgot that she was even there. Frowning, I go to lean down and pick her up, but Rheemus grasps my wrist and shakes his head.

"Hey, let me deal with her. Why don't you go take a bath and have a nap? You look like you could do with a rest."

"But you tended to her earlier, you've been at work all day," I protest, but he squeezes my wrist reassuringly and shoots me a warm smile.

"And I've missed out on all the good stuff while I've been at the garage. Go on, get, will ya? Before I change my mind."

He grins and I'm overwhelmed by my love for him, which makes my previous urge to push him away seem even worse. How could I ever push this man away? I need him and something tells me that I'm going to need him now more than I ever did.