#Chapter 9 The Shiftting

Today's dinner was even richer than yesterday's. The pasta alone was enough to have me rolling out the door, but the clams, oysters, deveined shrimp, and unidentifiable but luxurious garnishing made it all the more unbearable. After years of subsisting on little better than plain sandwiches, my stomach couldn't handle things like this. Not that I would ever admit it. The last thing I wanted to do was sound ungrateful. Evan had mistaken my innocent question for being bratty earlier, and if it happened again, I didn't know if I could bear it. Besides, being pampered and fed to death was a lot better than being slapped, insulted and threatened day after day. But Evan's appetite wasn't that good either. The only thing he was partaking in was the wine, and he'd already had four glasses. I recalled seeing him that first night. He'd smelled of alcohol then, too. Was he an alcoholic? And the deep pressure in his mind -- so much sadness. I had to pull him out. He