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As I chew, I watch as Max stares off, anxiously rocking back and forth.

She’s terrified.

The poor thing can’t bring herself to take a bite, much less look at the food. Even though she refuses to eat, she’s still required to sit here, in what must feel like a torture chamber, and make an effort.

I’ve never seen her actually eat anything, but I wish she would because the fear and sadness in her cries when they restrain her and attach the plastic syringe to her feeding tube are heartbreaking.

“I doubt this has very many calories,” I tell her when I scoop up another piece of chicken. “It doesn’t even have the skin on it.”

Her reluctant eyes meet mine.

“Maybe just a tiny bite tonight?”

Her restless fingers itch the side of her neck as she continues to rock.

“You’re going to have to get the calories in one way or another, you know that,” I tell her. “Wouldn’t it be better if you just took a bite yourself instead having to deal with the nurses pinning you down?”

“They put oil on it.”

“It doesn’t taste like it.”

“They did,” she says. “I can see it.”

It’s hard to see her like this, tense and afraid. “The oil will help you poop, and I know how exciting that is for you.”

“I doubt that’s even true.”

“Eat a piece and find out,” I dare with a smile as I take a bite of my dinner roll, and she cringes in disgust.

“Come on, Max,” Wes encourages.

He arrived a week after I got here, and the two of them became instant buddies. He’s quirky, with long blue hair and a diagnosis of factitious disorder. He claims to have a different ailment every day.

“There’s the new guy,” Wes whispers, and when I look up, Sebastian is grabbing his dinner tray. “He’s so hot.”

“Gross,” I mutter under my breath.

Wes turns to me and drops his jaw.

“What?”

“He’s the best-looking dude in here, and you know it.”

I roll my eyes.

“Max,” he says, “look at him. Don’t you think he’s cute?”

On the sly, she checks him out as he walks over to an empty table in the corner and takes a seat. She blushes.

“See, even Max thinks he’s hot.”

“Seriously?”

“What?” she defends. “He’s cute.”

“He’s an ass.”

“Wait, you’ve talked to him?” Wes questions. “I thought he was in intake with Amberg all afternoon.”