Torturous Tea (IP)

The roast beef confronted him like a bad-tempered demon.

Fuck, what had he gotten himself into? A dinner was a dinner, right? Not a 'let's break Jones' stomach' party? Already his midriff bulged against his trouser buttons. 

The beef wasn't going anywhere. Apparently Zona thought so too, for she vacated her customary place on the kitchen chair and came to execute him.

"Why aren't you eating, love?" 
It wasn't a question at all; they both knew that. They also both knew that the other knew. 

Gingerly, he stabbed his cutlery into the grease and took a bite. He nodded slowly and tried to smile. "It's good," he said.

She stared. "That's not what it's looking like. Go on, eat up."

She eyed him beadily as he painstakingly downed the entire plate. 
God, this was worse than death. His intestines groaned with the pressure of food. He wasn't even sure his liver could withstand all that fat.

"Wonderful," she smiled. "I shall fetch dessert."

His insides were screaming at him. What was this torture?

It was Yorkshire Pudding. Briefly, he considered running for it, but once again she was staring it him like some old demented hawk. It was like some insane masochistic movie, how she smiled at him then.

He took a deep breath, plunged his spoon deep into the sea of gravy and withdrew it quickly. 

He remembered seeing a large, glistening piece of carrot before everything turned into a sea of brown, white, and an exceedingly ugly shade of yellow.