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We sit across from each other in the busy little barbecue bistro, the used plates laid between us, and I feel a hundred times better if not a little too stuffed. I sort of regret the pie and donuts, but I had a point to make to him and I was in no backing down mood.

The walk here, the food, and the time to silently ponder it all, has brought me down to a more even level of insanity. He’s kept his distance, not touched me, or talked, but let me think, until I had some sense of calm; outwardly at least. The food has almost annihilated my thoughts of anything else. My hunger was so ravenous, that I focused completely on demolishing the food he bought me, trying to ignore the surprising yet affectionate expression he had while watching me eat. He hasn’t dared to touch anything on the plates I requested but has stuck to his own as though he knows that in doing so, I’ll most likely turn feral.

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