These Demons

Chapter Thirty-four

The closer we come to the end of the whole cooking procedure, the more desperate I get to find a solution, but the last shred of hope that the pure vegetables represent as I consider picking on some of them fades when Zoe throws them into a pan with oil.
I know that's how normal people do it, but if there is one thing I am absolutely strictly prohibited to consume, it's pure fat like oil.
I almost blurt out that a bit of water could replace the oil, but how anorexic would that sound?
Instead, I just bite my tongue and watch her finish our meal while she enjoys her wine.
She offers me a glass too, but as much as I would love to drink, I can't let these liquid calories get inside my stomach. 
All of her attempts to calm my nerves are sweet, but don't make things any better for me. 

Sitting at Zoe's wooden table that's probably from IKEA, my tremors are worsening and the sight of the hot food in the center makes me nauseous. 
"Andy?" she tries to get my attention, but it's difficult to snap out of my state of anxiety. I hear her, but I don't feel like I'm really there, like there is something invisible separating us. She thinks she understands, but she doesn't.
If I don't even understand myself, how could someone else be able to?

Her warm touch on my cold skin makes me wince. "Andy?" she repeats, the familiar worry in her voice.
"I'm fine," I lie, but she isn't stupid. "Please just eat something."
"I will," I continue to lie and wait for her to finish loading her plate so I can do the same thing, but I do it as slowly as I can, not even half as much and only a few rice corns, and she wrinkles her forehead.
"You don't actually believe that's normal, do you?"
I ignore that and drink from my glass of water to fill my stomach and keep my mouth busy.
"So, what are you going to do the upcoming week?"
"Small talk? Seriously?" she asks me in disbelief, shaking her head.
"Do you prefer the awkward silence?" I question, perking a brow at her while starting to cut my food at a very slow pace.
"No, of course not. You just seem a bit... too uptight to talk," she cautiously explains and shoves some of the rice with the vegetables into her mouth, chewing much faster than I would ever dare to, but she can eat as much as she wants to anyway. She's skinny and beautiful.
"It's okay," I assure her, still slowly, but steadily tearing my small meal into pieces.
"Are you going to therapy?" Zoe looks at the work on my plate and I have a feeling that she's not asking this just to have a conversation.
"Yeah, sure," I bluntly lie to her again without thinking about it.
"How often have you been there?" she presses and I realize this might not have been the best idea I've ever had.
"I..." I struggle to find the right words to talk myself out of this and avoid her eyes.
"You haven't been there," Zoe states angrily, but can somehow still eat.
I don't know how people are able to draw a line between food and emotions. I couldn't.
"Not yet," I concede quietly while I count the rice corns on my plate that will never enter my stomach. Counting is calming. It gives me control.

"You just lied to me," Zoe speaks the uncomfortable truth and relatably doesn't sound too happy about it.
"I'll go there, I promise."
More lies, but what else should I say?
"I don't believe you." She drinks from her wine while I stress to find a response.
"How am I supposed to prove it?"
"Let me come with you," Zoe offers and when my jaw drops, my cutlery does too with a loud clatter.
"You're kidding, right?"
But I already know the answer and can't believe it.
"I won't go inside, of course. I'll wait," she promises and looks by far too peaceful to not be serious.
"Zoe, no!" I demand, still shocked that she wants to do this. What is going on with her? What kind of crazy ideas does she have? And how can she think I'd ever say yes to such a suggestion? 
"Why not?" How is she so calm about this?
"Because you're not my mom?" Isn't that simple logic?
"You won't do it by yourself, so what else am I supposed to do?"
She looks at me like this is something totally ordinary which it certainly is not. 
"Stay out of it," I tell her sternly, but she actually chuckles humorlessly.
"Because staying out works so well with you." Sarcasm laces her words and I frown angrily. Who does she think she is?
"What the hell does that mean?"
"May I remind you that you ended up in a psych ward the last time you believed you could handle your shit?" 
I glare at her in disbelief. "You brought me there!"
"You collapsed!" she defends herself and puts down her fork too to cross her arms and so do I. 
"I wasn't dying!" I point out the obvious, but she still doesn't get it. 
"And I should have taken the risk?" She gives me a look like I've lost my mind and I shake my head, tired of pointless fights like this one that never lead us anywhere.