Page 39 of Discordant Cultivation

11

And holy water that tastes like screams...

Kieran

The food on Kieran’s plate looked wrong.

Not spoiled or unappetizing—justwrong. Grilled chicken breast, steamed vegetables, brown rice, covered in a faint dusting of whatever the fuck nutritional yeast was. Everything was measured and portioned and healthy in a way that made his stomach turn despite not having eaten since breakfast.

He pushed the plate away with his bandaged fingers

“I d-don’t want this. I’m sick of eating this k-kind of food.”

Vale looked up from his own identical plate. “You need to eat, sweetheart. Your body’s been through a lot.”

“I know, but—” Kieran gestured helplessly at the food. “Can’t I just have s-something normal? Like p-pizza or ramen or—anything that d-doesn’t taste like a hospital cafeteria?”

“This is what your body needs right now.” Vale’s voice stayed gentle, reasonable. “Lean protein for healing, complex carbohydrates for sustained energy, vegetables for vitamins and minerals.”

“I don’t c-care what my body n-needs—”

“Yes, you do.” Vale set down his fork, giving Kieran his full attention. “You just don’t realize it yet. You’ve been eating whatever you wanted for so long—cheap, processed food that tastes good but provides nothing—that you’ve forgotten what proper nutrition feels like.”

Kieran’s jaw clenched. “I know what I w-want to eat—”

“No, you know what yourcravingstell you to eat. There’s a difference.“ Vale leaned forward slightly. “Your body is craving salt and fat and sugar because that’s what it’s been trained to want. But what it actuallyneedsis fuel that will help you heal and help manage your epilepsy.”

The last words hit different. Kieran’s breath caught.

“What?”

“Your epilepsy.” Vale’s voice stayed soft, almost concerned. “Poor nutrition is a trigger for some people. Not as significant as stress or sleep deprivation, but it contributes. If we can stabilize your blood sugar, reduce inflammation, and provide consistent nutrition, it might help reduce your seizure frequency.”

Kieran stared at his plate, something uncomfortable shifting in his chest.

He’d never thought about food that way. He always just ate whatever was cheap and available, whatever he could afford from food trucks or corner stores.

“I...” He swallowed hard. “I didn’t know that.”

“I know you didn’t.” Vale’s hand reached across the table and covered Kieran’s bandaged one. “But I do. That’s why I’m trying to take care of you, even when you hate me for it. Even when it feels like control instead of care.”

Is that what this is? Care?

Kieran stared at the food and tried to access his anger about it, to see it as another form of control, another way Vale was stripping his autonomy.

What if he’s right? What if I do want to have fewer seizures? What if healthy food actually helps?

“Just eat it,” Vale insisted. “If you genuinely don’t want to eat it—if it makes you feel worse instead of better—we’ll talk about alternatives.”

Kieran picked up his fork with trembling fingers. Cut a piece of chicken. Put it in his mouth.

It tasted fine. Clean. Simple.

Not what he’d wanted. But maybe—

Maybe I don’t know what I want anymore.

He ate the rest of the meal in silence while Vale watched with something that looked disturbingly close to pride.