Work Text:
It’s been too long since Kamaria last ate. These foster parents hate her, and their favorite way to show it is by taking away food every time she annoys them in any way.
The good news is that she’ll probably be able to get a sandwich or something at school. The bad news is it’s the weekend. Which is the main reason that her food has been taken away yet again - they don’t like the fact that they have to deal with her for two days straight. She tries her best to do everything they want, completing every last chore on the never ending list and staying out of their way and never making a sound, but it’s never enough.
At this point it’s Sunday night, and the last time she ate was on Friday at lunch…which barely filled her up, because she hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. She can barely think straight past the groaning of her stomach. This really shouldn’t be anything new, they aren’t the first foster parents to ‘forget’ to feed her, and she’s been here a few months now. But somehow this feels worse than usual.
Maybe it’s a…what’s the word for it? A cumulative effect. A few months straight of rarely getting enough to eat might make her feel weaker the longer it goes. She definitely knows her grades have been getting worse and worse. She stays up half the night trying to finish her homework after doing chores until bedtime, but the words and numbers mostly just swirl in front of her eyes and mean nothing.
There’s nothing to be done about it, though. It’s Sunday night, she just has to make it through until lunch tomorrow…unless by some miracle, she’s allowed a piece of fruit or something in the morning. Trying to steal food from the kitchen will just result in major punishment.
She just has one more chore to finish before she can hide away in the bedroom for the night. As she starts down the stairs, though, Kamaria suddenly gets very lightheaded, and this time it’s not just a wave of it that goes away after a moment. The black tunnel just keeps getting smaller and smaller. She can feel her feet slipping off the edge of the step, but can do absolutely nothing to stop it.
The next instant, she’s lying at the bottom of the staircase, head and wrist throbbing and whole body feeling bruised. The foster dad is looming over her with a scowl on his face.
“The last thing I need is to take you to the hospital because you’re too clumsy to even walk down the stairs right.” He slams the toe of his shoe into her ribs, and she jerks, trying to scramble upright. “Why are you even still up, anyway? Shouldn’t you be done by now?”
Her head swims again, but she forces herself to her feet, stomach attempting to turn itself inside out. “Sorry,” she mumbles, and hurries away to finish her work.