Rule 2: let mommy feed you

Still, with nothing but a big showering towel wrapped around you, you follow your family down the stairs. The Irish Stew, your fathers favorite, was already waiting on the table.

‘Smells delicious.’ Gwenn says as she grabs your hand to pull you forward. You try to shake her off but stiffen as your phone buzzes.

‘Rule 2: Let mommy feed you your dinner.’

‘What the fuck?’ You can’t help but shout in anger at the madness of that witch.

You really had ****. This body wasn’t you. None of this would matter once everything got back to normal.

‘Miss Jones? I’m sorry to ask, but could you help me with something?’ You say, glaring down to hide the burning red of your cheeks.

Everybody stopped eating and stared at you, waiting for you to say somrthing.

‘I uh... I’ve had and accident with my hands and uh... could you please, uh, help me with...’ you wave at the plate your mom filled for you.