You talked to me earlier, not mad, not proud, not anything — that never happened before.

"What happened to your face?"

"Fell."

"Right. Have you eaten anything at all?" Your tone was cold and I could feel the chills running down my spine when your stare refused to waver. "My mum's worried about you."

"Yes," I whisper.

"Don't lie."

"I'm fine." You looked at me, and I wanted to disappear right then and there.

"Eat." You paused. "Please."