Hunger takes a hold of me, making my decision
By the third day, Jimmy did not really feel hungry any more; at least, not in his stomach. Instead, he felt faint and lightheaded, but sharper somehow, too. He was thinking about food constantly, staring covetously at the chicken he was serving for upstairs.
Mrs Hughes was already shooting him worried glances, which made him wonder how on earth Thomas had been hiding it for so long.
He wished, sometimes, that he was in love with Thomas. Despite the illegality, it seemed easier.
And if he was Thomas' lover, maybe he could convince him to eat.
He had even tried, once, getting off to thoughts of Thomas. He had cast his mind back to their cinema visit the week before, using the dark and the closeness as fodder for a fantasy in which Thomas turned to him and touched his face and other places with his hands, his lips.
It didn't work. He couldn't do it. He had had to turn his thoughts to the woman in the flick before he had got anywhere. He might love Thomas with every fibre of his being, but he couldn't give him what he wanted.
Good Lord, he could eat a meat pie just now. Even an apple. A bag of chips from the shop in Ripon.
He stopped Thomas in the passageway on his third morning without food. "Please eat lunch, I'm damn well famished," he muttered.
But Thomas said only, "I'm not stopping you."