Wrists

“You don’t eat much, do you?” May asked, eyeing my plate of a single, untouched fried chicken. Elijah and she had their plates stacked high with sushi and chicken on their own, digging in like two pigs. I stared down at the delectable, sizzling piece of food shit in front of me, grimacing as I caught a whiff of its aroma stench. My chest tightened in that familiar way, heartbeat speeding up to new heights. I could feel my hands shaking, but I had to keep them under control. This was too much for me.

I weakly shrugged, eyeing Elijah ripping some bones out through the flesh of the meat almost like mine would if I kept this up. “Not that hungry.”

“Of course he doesn’t eat much,” Elijah remarked, pinching the skin covering my rib cage between his greasy index and thumb finger. “Look at him! He’s nothing but skin ‘n bones!” I shrugged off his hand self-consciously, shifting further into the booth seat to escape any more torment. The way he was looking at me—eyes worried and surprised—made me want to throw up. I could feel a was of sickness overwhelming me. I took a deep, silent breath to calm myself.

It’s just food, Graham; just food. Nothing to fear, except my the constant memory of my mother scolding me for eating it. May was now looking at me, wondering why I was acting so strange. I had to get away; going to a sushi bar was the worst idea they could ever come up with. Why couldn’t we have gone to a park, or something?

“Using the bathroom,” I turned my body to face Elijah, willing him to get up so I could slide out of the seat. But he stubbornly sat there, looking back at me, eyebrows raising in suspicion. I should’ve known this was coming. I should’ve known. “Excuse me,” I said in a pathetic attempt to get him to move.

“You’re a strange kid, y’know that?” Elijah said, still not moving from his place. “Do you not like fried chicken? I thought you did?”

I shrugged. “I lied.” And I just lied about lying. The sick feeling washed over me again, and I suddenly really needed to get out of that situation. “Can you just let me pee, Elijah?”

“And you don’t like sushi?”

“...No.”

“What about barbecue chicken?”

“...Not really—” my eyes glanced at May, whom was looking between the both of us, unsure of what to do. “—okay, Elijah, let me go to the bathroom please.” I met his hard gaze, but immediately looked down again.

“Do you even like food?” came his bold question. A question that shocked, scared, and angered me all at once. I’d never met such a pushy, nosy, curious person like him before; no one really paid attention to me. But now that Elijah was giving me so much attention and trying to figure me out so vigorously—on one hand it was a little comforting, but on another, I was annoyed that he was trying so hard. I was used to being left alone; couldn’t he just do that for once?

“Move, Elijah,” My hands were beginning to shake again.

“Just let him go to the bathroom,” May tried to sedate the growing tension. She widened her blue eyes at her brother, silently willing him to remove himself from my way, but he didn’t even glance at her. He was still staring at me, serious and stubborn.

“Is everything okay, Graham? I mean, at home?”

That was it. I had enough of being interrogated by a man I hardly even knew. A surge of anger zipped through me; I looked him straight in the eyes, frowned, and spat, “It’s none of your business; just let me go!”

When May and Elijah gave me a surprised expression, I immediately felt bad. I had said it so loud some nearby customers were staring at our booth table. I lowered my eyes again.

Silence. More silence. I was at my limit. “Get up,” I whispered.

Elijah got up for me.

I stood up and silently rushed to the restrooms.