The bitter taste of the greens is the first thing I notice as well as the thickness of the smoothie, if you could even call it that. Personally, I would love to toss it in the nearest trash can, but I don’t, nor will I. I need every drop of nutrients in this cup.
I have a new goal to add to my list, and that includes not returning to medical again. If eating this horrible, not delicious at all, smoothie makes it so I don’t, then I’ll drink it.
Somehow, I stomach the entire cup without throwing up. I remind myself that it has to be this way and toss my cup into the trash and give the man who handed me the cup a smile before I walk out. I guess I’ll kill them with kindness, though they did try to technically kill me.
I return to my room, and as soon as I close the door, my phone starts to go off. Sitting on the edge of the brand new mattress, I pull my phone from my pocket and find my mother’s number lighting up the screen. She’s calling on Skype, so I hit the answer key and wait for her face to fill the screen.
“Aspen?” she says, like she can’t believe she got ahold of me when I’ve been waiting for her to call every day since I was hospitalized.
“Yes, Mom?”
“Oh, thank god, you’re okay. I just heard from Lucas about your hospitalization. I’m so sorry, honey. I had no idea that you had an eating disorder.”
I have to stop myself from lashing out and expelling all my anger at her. Especially since, for the first time in forever, she seems genuinely concerned about me.
“I don’t have an eating disorder. I tried telling them that, but no one would listen to me. I got sick because of the food the cafeteria was giving me. It was expired most days, and on others, they gave me nothing to eat, so I’m not that shocked that I got sick.”
My mother’s facial expression doesn’t change. Does she really think I’m trying to hide having an eating disorder from her?
“No matter what the problem is, your father and I talked and decided that it’s still best if you stay there. You’re safer, regardless of the circumstances you’re going through.” Her words are a kick to the gut. I hate this place, but I hate it more that I don’t even have a choice. “Lucas has assured us that you will be provided with plenty of healthy, fresh food now.”
My thoughts shift to the foam cup with the thick green liquid in it. It tasted like mulched-up leaves and where dreams go to die.
“I’m sure they will,” I mutter under my breath.
It sounds cliché, but she really doesn’t understand what it’s like here. The danger, the hate, and the fear creeping up my spine. It’s like everyone is out to get me for something I had nothing to do with—for a choice that my father made.
“Don’t be so ungrateful. Things will get better. I promise you’re much safer there than out here.” I don’t believe that for a second, but it’s not like I have a way to leave.
“Well, I’m alive, so you don’t have to worry anymore.”
“Please, Aspen, don’t be like that. Your father has a lot on his plate right now, and I’m stuck in hiding. The rest of us aren’t living some grand life.”
I want to tell her that maybe she isn’t living some grand life, waking up to breakfast served and a maid at her beck and call, but at least she didn’t have to wake up every day afraid of what may happen next. There wasn’t a permanent fear choking her, making it hard for her to sleep at night. There was no point in arguing with her because no matter what, she would make it seem like her situation was so much worse than mine.
“Look, Mom. I’ve got to go. Homework and stuff.”
Her brows pinch together, and her mouth pops open like she is going to say something else, but I hit the end key before she gets the chance. I can’t handle another argument. As I shut off the phone, a tinge of guilt zings through me. I hate shutting her out like that, but for my own mental health, I have to.
Eyeing my desk, I look at the stack of books. Being sick really set me back with homework. I guess I’ll spend the rest of the day finishing it and hope that Quinton doesn’t pop in uninvited. That would just be my luck.