At the Breakfast Table

It took Aaron some time to fall asleep, mostly because he couldn’t stop imagining all the fucked up shit he hadn’t tried yet.

He woke early, having barely slept six hours but too excited to feel any of the fatigue. He reflected that his body had gotten plenty of rest without him last night, which probably helped.

Based on how trashed his parents usually got on a Friday night, Aaron expected that they’d be sleeping in until around noon and even then, wouldn’t be functional until it was time to go out partying again.

He was only halfway through breakfast when Emily came into the kitchen and poured herself half a bowl of cereal.

“You okay?” Aaron asked cautiously.

“Bad dreams,” Emily grumbled.

Aaron avoided looking at her directly but tried to observe her as she ate.

“Still feeling sick?”

“I think I’ll just stay in today,” Emily mumbled, putting her bowl in the sink.

“Sticking to the couch potato schedule, huh?”

The moniker had never really fazed Emily in her lifetime spent stuck to the screen, but this time she flinched as though she’d been struck.

Wordlessly, she vanished upstairs and before Aaron could think of something to say, reappeared in gym clothes she hadn’t worn since she was given them last Christmas.

“I’m going out,” she said, heading for the door.

And that was that.

Aaron was amazed at the change: Not only had Emily recovered from the spiritual lethargy, but she still retained a subconscious memory of being trapped, or at least something that made even the suggestion of being a potato terrifying.

Aaron wondered whether she had noticed anything wrong with her body; any changes after he’d had his way with it – and IN it – last night.

With another body whose vacant shell was still “sleeping” upstairs and whose soul was still trapped under his bed.