CHAPTER 6
CELESTE
Anxiety curls in my gut as I stare at the bowl in front of me. I guess I’m allowed to use my hands this time; Razul has ducked out of the room. I assume I’m safe here in this basket and I have zero intentions of becoming a caimite snack.
There are more of the green citrus wedges, so I start with those, eating them quickly so I have plenty of time to force myself to choke down the rest. Razul already put in the effort to cut everything, and I can’t be ungrateful.
Normally, I’d struggle to eat this much even of a food I like, but my hunger has returned with a vengeance. I think it’s part of the transformation.
I carefully test a bright magenta berry that I’ve also seen before. These have a tendency to either be mild and wonderful or horribly tart, and I sigh with relief as a mild flavor coats my tongue.
That leaves two fruits I’ve never seen and two I know I hate.
I select the most bland-looking of the unknown fruits—dense slices that are deep crimson in the center and white around the edges.
I take a careful nibble of the edge. The flavor is fine, almost savory, but a stringy texture lingers on my tongue.
The other mystery fruit, crisp and wet like an apple slice but bright purple, has a fine texture, but the flavor makes me frown reflexively.
It has a strange nuttiness that I can almost tolerate, but then my tongue starts burning.
I now regret finishing all the good fruit; I could’ve used it as a chaser.
I force a bite of the blue pips I know are going to leave a horrible chalky texture in my mouth because that’s better than this burning.
The pain eases, but I’m left staring at a plate full of my failure.
Hesitant, I reach for another slice of the stringy fruit, forcing the whole piece into my mouth. I squeeze my eyes shut and chew, even as I gag.
Then Razul’s fingers are suddenly in my mouth again, scooping the offending food away.
I’m mortified. One dislike is surely allowed, but when he sees what I’ve refused to eat he’ll think me as indulgent and ungrateful as the ICSS did.
In a panic, I reach for another piece, but Razul pries it out of my fingers.
Then the bowl is gone.
I sink into the cushy blanket, tempted to bury myself and hide.
I can’t even be a pet properly. I suppose I’ll go hungry until I learn how to hide my ridiculous reactions. That’s only fair.
I’m so lost in my head that when something lands next to me in the basket, I startle. It’s a bowl full of the magenta berries. Next to it is a smaller plate piled only with the green citrus wedges.
That can’t be right. What about diet diversity and micro-nutrients and—
Razul grips my jaw gently but firmly, then presses something against the back of my throat. I gag, and he holds my jaw shut, tipping my head back and rubbing the front of my neck.
I swallow reflexively, and the foreign sensation disappears.
Did he just… give me a pill?
I can’t swallow pills. For years I’ve had a special exemption in my medical file to get liquid and chewable formulations because not even the most advanced ICSS psychiatrists could get me to swallow a pill.
And he just… did it for me?
Like you would for an animal.
Like you would for a pet.
Warmth blossoms amidst the confusion in my chest. Was it a sedative? Vitamins? Poison?
Seeing me still reeling, Razul gently places a magenta berry on my tongue. My brain switches modes, and I obediently chew.
I let Razul feed me the berries—until an overripe one lands on my tongue.
Mushy and tart, it makes my whole face scrunch up.
Razul fixes this with a slice of the green fruit.
Then he offers me another magenta berry, but this one’s different. It’s only a half.
When I hesitate, he presses it onto my tongue; it’s delicious.
Then I watch him as he picks up the next berry and bites it in half. He sets this one aside. He bites into the next one, then offers the remaining half to me.
Two more get set aside, then the next lands in my mouth.
He’s patiently sampling each berry, making sure it’s one of the good ones before handing it to me.
It will take me twice as long to eat a proper amount, and he won’t be able to do anything else in the meantime.
Yet he seems to be enjoying himself.
Razul doesn’t let my confusion delay my meal, continuing to press berry halves into my mouth as I struggle to process what’s happening.
Emotion overwhelms me, and tears suddenly well in my eyes. I dive for the blankets on instinct, but Razul scoops me to his chest.
I don’t even know why I’m crying, but he just holds me and pets my hair.
Andromeda said the hormones could do this. I already hate it.
Razul’s grip tightens around me, one hand circling my head and pressing it to his chest, the other supporting my spine.
The pressure helps my breath deepen and regulate. The wave of emotion drains away. His warm hands dry my cheeks.
Razul’s legs move behind him, reaching for a few objects in the kitchen. Then he offers me something new—a large glass container full of a viscous golden liquid, topped with a polymer nipple, like you’d use to bottle-feed a baby deer.
Razul cradles me and holds it to my lips.
Embarrassment makes my cheeks warm, but I take it into my mouth, pressing tentatively with my tongue.
A taste like honey mixed with butter fills my mouth, rich and sweet. My eyes widen. It’s as if it’s been scientifically designed to be irresistible to the human nervous system.
Highly palatable foods like this are banned by the ICSS for individuals demonstrating restricted intake. They always said it would reinforce the behavior, even when I suggested that maybe eating something was better than eating nothing.
I suck harder as the perfect flavor fills my mouth and pours down my throat.
Razul speaks soothing noises over me as I drink and drink.
My whole body goes warm and tingling, especially my breasts and belly.
I finally do something I haven’t done in a long, long time: I stop because I’m full. Panting to catch my breath, I adjust to the sensations in my body. My stomach is tight, but that tingling warmth is pleasant.
I lick my lips and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and Razul holds the bottle for me a while longer before setting it aside.
Sleepiness rises around me, and I snuggle back into the blankets. All my energy goes to digesting, leaving nothing available for fretting as I drift into another hazy, warm slumber.