~~~A/N: If you mind LGBTQ+ people then do not read further~~~
The previous day's events resounded deeply in my mind, and it was until about one o' clock in the morning that I finally began to slip in and out of a restless sleep. When my puffy, sleep laden eyes opened to the streaming sunlight filling my room, I groaned and tossed the blankets over my head.
Turn off the damn sun, I thought to myself grouchily. I blindly reached for my phone on the desk next to me and pulled it under the covers with me. Opening one eye just enough to find out what time it was, I let out another heavy groan and sat up in bed. It was past 1:00pm, if I wasn't up by the time Mom returned from work, there would be a whole other problem to worry about.
I was still too tired to fully wake up, so I made my way to the bathroom with my eyes closed, moving from memory rather than sight, and bumping into a wall twice. I felt around the counter until I found my toothbrush and the toothpaste, and brushed my teeth on autopilot, still moving like a zombie. I finally opened my eyes as I made my way down the stairs, and nearly tripped on Chestnut halfway down.
"Get out of here! Who ever lets you sleep on the stairs?" I demanded, nudging him down with my foot. He let out a small growl and then plodded off into the living room.
I wasn't actually hungry at the moment, so instead I flopped down onto the sofa, mindlessly thumbing through channels on the TV. As I was scrolling through, I found the one show that I always felt taunted me the most: The Biggest Loser. I let the episode, which was halfway through, play out in front of me. I watched the crying adults who could barely walk and the instructors screaming at them that they needed to lose weight. My stomach twisted and I turned the television off.
Out of curiosity, I felt compelled to go find the magazine article again, just to see what the meal plan was supposed to be for today. The article dictated that two eggs and three slices of rye toast would suffice, along with the unsalted nuts if necessary. I weighed my options. It was just past 1:40pm now and my stomach was just beginning to gurgle. If I ate one egg and a piece of toast now, and then ate the other egg and two slices of toast at six o' clock for dinner, I could probably make it through.
That article is just trying to starve poor, impressionable minds like your own, don't listen to it, you need to eat! A voice in my mind urged. It was true, and I knew it.
Are you crazy? Another voice in my mind sneered. Trust me, you certainly aren't going to starve to death by eating like a normal person for once. This article is trying to get fat asses like you to be healthy. If you don't follow listen, you're going to be sorry.
The second voice won. Thinking of the empty tray of pasta sitting in the trash can, I popped two pieces of rye bread into the toaster and started frying up some more eggs. I checked the handle of the fridge but, as I'd suspected, there was no note today.
Of course I felt bad about what I'd said, I'd been tossing and turning all night thinking about it. Dad had died in a car accident three years ago and neither of us had quite gotten over it yet. To mention him as a dig against her was a low blow, and I hadn't thought I'd had that level of cruelty coursing through my veins. Obviously though I did, and I continued to think about it as I slid my eggs onto a plate. Lost in thought, I twirled my fork around the plate, and then subconsciously began mashing the egg further, poking and prodding it with my fork until I noticed what I was doing.
I shoveled one bite into my mouth, then another. I don't even like eggs, I thought to myself warily. What they need is a gallon of ketchup to accompany it. I started up for the fridge, and paused, hovering over my seat. The diet never mentioned anything about ketchup, which most likely meant I wasn't supposed to add it. I sat back down and miserably chewed my eggs, stopping when about half of it was left, then taking a bite of toast.
