"It might be a while before you feel like yourself again," Dad had warned him over that second plate of leafy greens. Graham could still see his father's eyes, dark and haunted, an unnerving contrast against that bikini apron he always wore. Graham knew that look, and knew it was no good.
The changes were subtle, really. It was no wonder that neither he nor Luskey had realized that anything was wrong, and Graham supposed someone as flighty as the mayor wouldn't notice any lasting changes now. The whole thing had begun with a late night study session, an exception, but it was late now, and still Graham was up.
No, the moon was low in the west and Graham wandered, homework done hours ago. Every possible game and website seemingly exhausted, now he found himself prowling the halls, hoping to find the only people he knew would be awake… and the only person in town he thought might understand.
He passed the kitchen and his stomach lurched, a reminder of a familiar ache, a permanent hole in him. He thought about plugging it with salad anyway, but imagining greens made him gag. Dad had cautioned him about trying to fill that void with the wrong things, but right now he couldn't resist. Comparing notes with Boulder could wait: Graham was hungry.
So he wandered in and opened the fridge, trying not to remember the shame.
As he stood there, fridge open, it rushed back to him. He recalled his apprehension toward the gooey so-called meat, his initial revulsion at its texture, his sudden relief that it didn't seem so bad, and that blur of aching, perpetual starvation. He remembered spooning it into his mouth, passing it over his tongue to avoid the taste he craved. Graham realized that he never would feel himself again. He had ruined himself, all from pushing himself too hard, from making poor decisions.
"What are you doing?" his father's voice demanded, suddenly.
Graham spun around, realizing only as he moved that he had something thin clutched in one hand, something cool and round in another. His father loomed there, pajama-clad, dark eyes reflecting in the fridge light with fear. Then his look softened.
"That was my lunch, Graham. You haven't swiped my yogurt since you were an undergrad."
Graham looked down; the thing in his hands was white, with a creamy green center. He licked his lips, and suddenly tasted citric acid and limonoids. Key lime. He sighed with relief.
"Glad to see you feeling like yourself again." Dad turned toward the doorway, looking over his shoulder. "Your old self, I mean. You haven't eaten or slept right since you started this new degree. Maybe this can be a fresh start for you, Graham."
The guilt melted away as Graham swallowed a bite of the yogurt. "Not going to get on me for eating in the middle of the night?"
"One step at a time, son. One step at a time."