Jake

I tell you now, I had one massive headache. I went into the kitchen and took down the packet of Panadol.

"Jake, shouldn't you eat before you take a tablet?" my mum asked as she flicked through the newspaper in the death section, where a huge amount of people were praising Tom for his courageous fight against s supposed mugger. Bull crap.

"I've eaten," I lied, through gritted teeth.

"Have you?" she asked. "Because I haven't seen you eat since Tom's death and you are awfully skinny."

"I've eaten," I repeated.

"Alright, just checking," but she didn't sound convinced.

I took two Panadol's and automatically felt a bit woozy. I stumbled, but grabbed onto the kitchen bench for support.

"Jake, are you alright?" my mum said, standing up and walking towards me.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I lied straightening up.

I lie often about being an Animorph, but I never lie about my health, that was until now. It was true that I hadn't been eaten. I felt sick all the time that I had gotten to the point that I get afraid I'll throw up if I put anything in my mouth. I wasn't like some anorexic teenage girl who's constantly worried about their weight. I just couldn't put food in my mouth for fear I'd throw up.

"Jake, you have to eat," my mum pleaded. "You're making yourself sick. I am worried out of my mind when I look at you."

"I'm fine," I repeated. "Don't worry."

"Your father and I have been talking," she said and I automatically thought Uh-oh. "Maybe you should speak to someone."

"No thanks," I said, straight away. I wasn't going to speak to some doctor so he can determine whether I should end up in a nut house or not.

"It'll be for your own good," she said, almost begged.

"No," I repeated firmly.

"Well, what do you want us to do for you?" my mum almost shouted. "You block everyone out and you are sick. You're losing weight! I know you don't care much for your image, so what is this? Are you on drugs?"

"What?" I asked. "You think I'm on drugs?"

She just looked at me. I thanked God my dad was at work.

"No!" I shouted. "I'm not on drugs. But thanks for the trust."

"I'm sorry Jake," she said softly, and I knew she meant it. "You've just got me worried."

"Alright, I'll eat," I said, picking up a slice of bread from the pantry and putting it in my mouth. I slowly ate it with mum watching expectantly. I swallowed feeling more and more sick. But I shoved the wave of sickness aside and smiled at her.

"You could eat a bit more," she said, hollowly.

"Later," I said, picking up the remote and turning on the television just as the newsman was saying the last report.

"…and lastly, a social gathering, The Sharing, is having a picnic day where anybody who attends will made members free of all costs. You wish to get out of the membership; it is all too possible…"

Yeah right, I thought bitterly.

"…very generous indeed," the newsman continued. "I might just join them myself."

I turned the channel hastily.

"Maybe you should join, Jake," mum said. "It'll be good for you and Tom would've wanted it."

No he wouldn't, I thought. The Yeerk in his head wanted me. But not Tom. Never Tom.

"I don't think so," I said. "That was Tom's thing, not mine." It was a petty excuse, but it worked.

"You're right," mum sighed. "It was his thing; we have no right to stamp over his memory."

"I'm going to my room, if you need me," I said, walking towards the staircase.

"Jake, don't punish yourself for what happened to Tom," mum said, heavily. "He wouldn't want you to punish yourself, over something you can't control."

If only you knew, I thought.