While he appreciates Anna's guidance and designation as his mentor, she was asking him to describe how he felt. It was a task that was far easier said than done and he fidgeted, turning away from her as he scratched the back of his neck. In all honesty, he didn't know. He paced the sparsely furnished room, picking up the magazine she'd left on the small table they'd been taking their meals at. He had little interest in the newest sex positions or the newborn child of a woman named Angelina, but he looked through it nevertheless, reading each article as he spoke.
"It is never simply one small thing," he replied. "I find myself craving foods I've never eaten. Also, when I cannot discern what it is, I become...hostile, for lack of a better term. That hole in the drywall was not from constructing the bed frame."
In his anger, he'd punched it and it had happened so suddenly, it had taken him aback. It had not even been about food that time, but to tell her that it was about not being able to transport himself elsewhere for a moment because he was feeling confined seemed even more difficult. "You have my apologies."