warnings: food issues / food hoarding, disordered eating, mentions of hunger, vomiting (but not for eating disorder reasons), mention of bugs, and referenced past child abuse/neglect
Chapter 28: Sun & Nomi
In which Sun and Nomi eat bagels
There's a loose floorboard under Sun's sleeping bag, and beneath it, Sun keeps food.
It's small things, mainly: packages of chips and Cheez-Its and pretzels she's bought at vending machines, protein bars and cookies she's taken from stores, occasionally something like half a burger or a bag of French fries.
Sometimes, late at night, or early in the morning, she'll let herself eat some— just a little, because technically her stash is for emergencies. A few pretzels here, a granola bar there, that's all.
This morning it's Doritos. She counts them as she eats, one two three four five six seven. She'll stop at ten. (She had two full meals yesterday: two burritos and a taco. She shouldn't be hungry. She isn't hungry, not really. And yet.)
She eats Dorito number ten, glances around, and— her eyes meet Nomi's.
Because Nomi is awake. Watching her.
Sun lowers the bag to her lap. "Nomi," she says faintly.
"Good morning, Sun," replies Nomi with a yawn. "What kind of chips are those?"
"Just... Doritos."
"Do you keep them in your sleeping bag, or something?" Nomi asks.
And there's no judgment in her tone, just genuine curiosity. Which is probably why Sun answers.
"Under it," she says.
Nomi sits up, smiling conspiratorially. "So you like midnight snacks, then?"
"I just don't like being hungry," says Sun.
At this, Nomi laughs. "Oh man, I feel you," she sighs. "Seems like these days I'm always kind of hungry."
Sun isn't sure what to say in response, because the hunger that Nomi means, the two-meals-a-day hunger that makes your stomach grumble sometimes, is different from the hunger that Sun is talking about, the no-food-for-a-week hunger that makes you pass out.
"Do... you want some?" she asks at last, uncrumpling the bag in her hands and reaching inside. She hopes that Nomi says no.
But Nomi says sure. So Sun gives her a handful of the chips, and Nomi pops them in her mouth.
"Sun, these are stale," she groans good-naturedly. "How long have you had them?"
Sun just shrugs. Probably since before she moved into the church, she thinks, back when half her meals came from the vending machine at the park.
"Sorry," she says. "I didn't realize."
Nomi looks at her funny, then laughs. "It's okay," she says.
But it's not, Sun thinks. It's not okay. She needs to be more careful. Needs to stop letting people learn her secret. Needs to keep her food safe.
o - o - o
Because Felix had found out too, soon after Sun and Capheus had moved into the church: He'd come home early one morning, caught Sun sorting through her stash, arranging packets of pretzels and half-eaten granola bars and day-old bags of French fries neatly on a blanket.
"What's that?" he'd asked, and Sun had frozen, mortified.
Felix had sat down on the mattress and stared at Sun's array of food for a long time, frowning.
"Shit," is what he'd said at last. "I do that too."
"Do what?"
"You know," he'd shrugged. "Hoard food and shit."
"Where?"
"Around." He'd gestured vaguely toward nothing in particular, and Sun hadn't pressed him. Her stash was a secret too, after all.
"Wolfie gives me shit for it sometimes," Felix had told her with a sigh, stretching out on the mattress. "Not like, angry shit. But like, you're-not-five-years-old-anymore shit. 'Cause that's why I used to do it, 'cause my mom used to leave me home alone without anything to eat or whatever." He'd rolled his eyes. "And like, I know. But it's just to be safe, right? Just in case."
And Sun had agreed. "Just in case."
o - o - o
She and Nomi and Kala eat at Taco Bell most days, because it's fast and filling and usually all they can afford.
They order burritos off the dollar menu, and sometimes Sun puts half of hers into her pocket. Just in case, she thinks. Just in case.
Nomi brings it up one day as she watches Sun wrap up her partially-eaten burrito. "Aren't you still hungry?" she asks.
Sun just shrugs. Tucks down the edges of the wrapper.
"Will you eat the rest later? Doesn't it get cold?"
She says it so innocently that Sun can't possibly be annoyed.
"It does get cold," she admits. "But I don't mind."
Then she slips the burrito into her oversized jacket and revels in its weight in her pocket. It's comforting, that weight. She'll eat it tonight, probably. Or tomorrow. Or maybe not at all, but at least she'll have it if she needs it.
Just in case, just in case, just in case.
o - o - o
In Sun's worst dreams, she's hungry.
She dreams about wandering the streets, begging for quarters, weak and light-headed. She dreams about digging through trash cans, pausing at apple cores and ice cream cones, ants crawling on her hands. She dreams about finding a to-go box of lo mein noodles, still warm, and cramming them into her mouth with dirty fingers.
She wakes up with a start, and her hand goes to her pocket, where she knows she's got half a cold burrito secreted away.
Trembling, she unwraps it, and swallows the crusty tortilla and congealed beans as quickly as she can.
Then she pries open the floorboard where she keeps her stash. She pulls out a bag of Cheez-Its, tears it open, and starts to eat. You're not hungry, she tells herself. It was just a dream.
She keeps eating anyway: two bags of Cheez-Its, a bag of peanuts, four slices of stale bread, half a bag of Lay's.
She's about to move on to a granola bar when she hears someone moving nearby her, rustling blankets, sitting up. Sun goes still.
"Sun?" says Nomi in a groggy half-whisper. "You okay?"
"Yes."
"You're crying."
"I'm not."
But she is. She scrubs at her eyes.
Her stomach is churning. She sniffs, hiccups, and acid burns her throat.
"Sun, what's wrong?"
She's dry-heaving now.
"Sun—" says Nomi.
But Sun is already on her feet, running to the back door. She pushes it open, vomits onto the steps behind the church, and starts to sob.
o - o - o
Nomi is beside her in an instant.
"Sun, hey, it's okay," she says softly. She leads Sun down the steps, around the splatter of vomit, and they sit down together on the grass.
"Do you feel better now?" asks Nomi.
Sun nods.
"Did you wake up with a stomachache or something?"
"No, I—" Sun sighs. She can still taste bile in her mouth. "I ate too much," she confesses. "And too fast."
"What, just now?"
"I ate half a burrito I saved from dinner. Then I couldn't stop. I just kept eating."
"The food you keep under your sleeping bag," infers Nomi.
Sun nods again.
"Did you just feel really hungry, or...?"
"I had a dream," whispers Sun. "It was about— when I was first on the streets." She pulls her knees to her chest. "I was hungry in the dream."
"Oh."
"I ate noodles from a garbage can."
"In the dream?"
In real life too.
Sun shrugs, and she's fairly sure that Nomi understands, because she puts her hand on Sun's back and asks, "Is that... why you keep food now, hidden like that? Because of when you were hungry on the streets?"
"No," says Sun. "No, I've been doing that for years." She wipes her eyes and sits up a bit straighter. "You can go back to bed now," she tells Nomi. "I'm alright."
"Don't be silly," Nomi says. "I'm staying right here."
Sun is glad.
They sit there without talking for a long time, and it's nice. Sun stops crying.
Finally Nomi clears her throat. "Look, I know this donut place," she says. "It's open 24/7. And it's got bagels and croissants and stuff too." She pats Sun's shoulder. "I think we should go."
"Now?"
"Yeah, why not?"
"I'm not hungry."
"I am," says Nomi.
And Sun's not sure how to argue with that.
So they go.
o - o - o
They order two bagels each, and the man behind the counter must feel sorry for them, because he throws in two extra bagels and half a dozen donut holes for free.
They sit in the shop's squeaky chairs and spread cream cheese on their bagels and eat in silence.
Sun chews slowly. Nomi watches, making no effort to hide the concern on her face.
Sun finishes her first bagel and wipes her mouth on a napkin. "I started doing it in foster care. Hiding food," she says then, quietly. "Some of the homes I was in were stingy with meals."
Nomi blinks. "Like what, they starved you?"
"Not starved," Sun says. She doesn't like that word, starved. It sounds so needy, so pathetic, so desperate. Was she ever that desperate? (Yes, says something inside her, but Nomi doesn't have to know that.) "They just— withheld food, sometimes."
Nomi stares at her. Sun spreads out a napkin and, carefully, begins to wrap her second bagel.
"Sun," Nomi says. "Just eat it."
"I don't want to."
"Are you full?"
No. Sun lowers her eyes.
"Just eat until you're full?" cajoles Nomi, nudging the bagel closer to Sun. "Please? You'll still have plenty left over. The guy gave us extras."
Full, Sun ponders. What is full?
"Sun, listen to me," says Nomi, leaning forward. "I know that money's tight. And sometimes our food is shitty. But you're not going to starve. Not with us. We won't let you. I promise."
Sun nods haltingly.
Then she picks up the bagel. Slowly, she takes a bite. One bite, two bites. She chews and swallows, chews and swallows, and doesn't stop until she's done.
o - o - o
The weight in Sun's stomach feels good as they walk home, almost as good as the weight of one and a half extra bagels in her pockets.
But best of all is the weight of Nomi's arm around her shoulders, and the weight of Nomi's reassurance in her heart.
Full, Sun thinks.
This is full.