TW ED (an excerpt from a book I'm working on)

I turned 14 a week ago,

and my mom made me

this massive four-layer

chocolate cake with

strawberry jam between the layers.

It’s been my favorite since I

was six.

I blew out the candles,

wished to be skinny,

and cut my brother his slice.

Then my mom.

Then my dad.

My breath quickened.

My heart raced.

The room started spinning

and I thought that I was

going to faint.

“Cassandra,

it’s your special day!

You deserve at least

a piece of cake.”

Mom’s voice spoke lies,

pleading me to eat something,

anything.

My brother, Hudson,

dropped his fork,

and looked me up and down.

At my empty plate,

sunken cheeks

and panicked expression.

He can’t be like me.

He can’t ruin his life

the way that I’ve ruined mine.

So I cut myself a small slice.

Barely anything compared

to the generous portions

that I served to everyone else.

And I took a bite.

The soft, moist cake

almost melted in my mouth.

I taste the calories,

the fat,

the carbs.

“Mmmh,” I said,

putting on my fakest smile.

Hudson smiled and picked

his fork back up.

Mom and Dad smiled.

I wiped my mouth with my napkin

and spit out the bite

into the paper.