"Cassie!" My mother called. "Dinner!"
Shit.
I walked downstairs and into the kitchen, smelling all the wonderful things my mom had made for dinner.
What I wouldn't do for some of that chicken right n- NO. You don't need food. You need to be perfect. The more hungry you get, the more perfect you are
I wandered into the dining room and sat down in the table chair, trying not to let my mouth water.
Perfection, Cassie. Once you're perfect, you can eat. You just need to be perfect.
"How hungry are you, Cassie?" Mom called from the kitchen.
"Erm, uh, just a little. I had a big lunch at school today." Liar.
"Well, alright. It's ready everybody!" She always does that. We're all in the dining room, ready to eat, and she tells us that it's ready, when she's the one in the kitchen.
She came in trying to carry all four plates at once, as usual.
"Oo, Mom, here, let me help you," I said, getting up from my chair and crossing over to her.
"Oh, thanks sweetie." She gave me two of the plates. "These are your father and brother's."
I walked over to the table and set down the plates, then walked back over to my seat.
Mom's definition of a little was way different from mine.
There was half a piece of chicken on my plate, and maybe about a spoonful and a half of potatoes with steam rising off the top. The green beans were what looked like a few inches high.
And it all looked fantastic.
Aw, does the little piggy want to eat? Does the fat hog want to eat everything that's on her plate and become more fat than she already is? Does she? Poor, poor little piggy. Poor, poor, fat hog.
"All right everyone; let's say grace before we eat anything." My dad announced. We all bowed our heads and I knew my dad was saying something, but I wasn't paying attention.
You can have some of it…
No, wait, no you can't. Perfect girls don't eat.
"Amen," They all said in unison.
"Okay, everyone dig in!"
Mom began to cut away at her chicken, making it into bite size pieces. Dad began to knaw at his green beans, making them look even better than they should. And my brother, Reagan, was shoveling in the mashed potatoes, making me want what used to be my favorite food more than anything in the world.
Even more than being perfect?
Yes.
I began to eat the mashed potatoes giant spoonful by giant spoonful.
Fat.
I finish off the potatoes, and cut up the chicken, and ate the bird piece by piece, savoring each bite.
Pig.
I'm done with the chicken as soon as I was with the potatoes, and move onto the green beans. I take them in one by one, appreciating it more than I ever have.
You fat pig. Now everyone's gonna see all the weight you gained from this, and they'll realize how fat you were from the start.
"Wow, Cassie. You finished your dinner fast." Reagan pointed out.
"Y-yeah. I-I did. Can I be excused from the table?" I got up and quickly ran up the stairs. I went into my room, and curled up in the corner under all my blankets.
Now no one will have to look at how fat you are. Just stay right here.
I did stay there.
I stayed there and cried all night.
