Triggerwarning: Mention and thoughts of an eating disorder

~Age of 22~

My head bumps at the rhythm of the music.

This thesis is wrecking my sleep schedule, so it'd be better if I just get over with it. Today is a Friday and since there isn't any party I'm aware of, I decided to lock myself in my room and do some much-needed school work.

This also gives me the opportunity to focus on the game tomorrow. I know if I wouldn't be doing this today, I would be worrying all throughout the game. It has happened before and it always resulted in my team losing.

I cannot let that happen again.

As their captain, I'm responsible for the teamwork and the faults. Whenever we lose, I get the shit for it. Valid, of course. Whenever we win, I'm happy to see my team getting praised. I don't need the praise to stay captain, all I want is a team that can be proud of themselves.

Which means that I have a responsibility to give them the opportunity of winning. If I'm distracted, my teammates will get confused. Ergo: don't lose concentration.

I frown, hearing some yelling outside my door. I shouldn't be surprised to hear that if I were home, but this rarely happens in the house. A few of my teammates and best friends live here together with me. My dad pays for the most rent, but since it is in the possession of his real estate agency, I doubt we actually spend any money on it.

"What's going on here?" I ask, opening my door. It reveals Arabella, my best friend's girlfriend. We've grown into good friends too, making it awfully obvious why she's the only girl in the house. Her boyfriend, Elias, is leaning against the wall across my door.

He gives me a lazy shrug. "Bella was worried about you. Said you wouldn't answer your door, but I see now that is bullshit."

Arabella glares at him before turning to me. "Were you sleeping? God, I'm sorry. I thought maybe– maybe you were passed out again. And with your door locked . . ."

I flinch a little. "I was studying. With my headphones on. I'm sorry I worried you."

She gives a little smile. "That's alright. Have you eaten dinner already? I can cook some pasta."

My stomach turns at the mention of eating dinner. I've had a decent amount of food for lunch and I don't feel like eating anything any time soon. "I've already eaten some takeout."

Elias' head cocks to the side as his arms cross over his chest. I can see the judgment in his eyes. "Have you?"

I nod, not feeling too well about my lie. However, I know that if I tell them the truth, I'll be forced to eat. "Yeah. Thirty minutes ago, I ordered and ate a pizza."

His lips curl in silent disbelief. I glance at Arabella, who is raising her eyebrows too. Elias goes on with his interrogation. "What kind of pizza?"

My shoulders jerk together in a sort of shrug. "I don't know. A pizza. You know, a meal with tomato sauce and–"

"You know what I mean, Alex. No need to delay the inevitable. What kind of pizza did you eat?"

My eyes connect with the floor beneath my feet. It's not fair that they know whenever I lie. "I didn't eat a pizza."

He shakes his head, pushing himself off the wall. "No, you didn't. You know what? That's okay. I'll even forgive you."

Confused and slightly dreading his following statement, I look up. "You'll forgive me for not eating?"

He nods, reaching his hand out to me. There's a little smile playing around his lips when he curls his fingers around my arm. "If you eat something now, I will."

I immediately retreat, shaking my head. "No. I already ate lunch. That's enough."

His eyes soften. He takes a step closer, but I react and take a step back, inside my room. When he takes another step inside, I take three backwards. I'm still shaking my head by the time I reach my bed.

He takes in my dimly lit room before settling his gaze on my desk, where my laptop is still open. I hadn't expected this to take so long. "Were you working for Miss Evans?"

I nod, a little confused but merely happy with the subject change. His eyes scan my screen while he's bending over my chair to get a better look. "Your thesis on mental problems is about dissociative disorders."

It looks like he wants to add something to that, but keeps it to himself on the last moment. His girlfriends is less subtle. "You're probably aware that ours is about eating disorders, hm?"

I look the other way, deciding not to answer that. 

Arabella joins him in reading my work. I wait until they're done so they can leave. "Mine is about dissociative disorders, yes. I still need to summarize everything and write it out, so if you could leave that would be fantastic—"

"Except that we're eating dinner first," Arabella cheers and grabs my hand. I didn't expect it, which is why she can drag me several feet towards the door before I start protesting.

Unfortunately for me, Elias is behind me now. He helps his girlfriend by pushing my back, making me stumble forward. "Come on, man, we won't make you eat a whole buffet. And it won't be pasta. I promise you."

Still reluctantly, I stop squirming and allow them to bring me to the kitchen. Once there, I'm pushed down on a chair and given such a glare I don't even dare proposing to help and set the table.

"What did you eat for lunch?" Arabella asks. She rises to her tiptoes to get something out of the top kitchen cabinet. Neither me or Elias offers to help, because if we did, we would get a punch in the stomach.

"I . . ." I try to find an excuse. What I ate today wasn't particularly good for my weight, but I was forced by Dante, another one of our housemates.

"You did eat, right?" Elias' eyebrow starts to rise again. I nod, but am unable to get the words out of me. They wouldn't judge, but if I said it out loud, it would be too real.

"We went out. I got him to eat a pretty large piece of pot pie." Dante walks in at the right moment. I nod, standing up from my chair.

"See? I don't have to eat now," I mutter and make my way back to my room. Dante, the most muscled out of all of us, grabs the hem of my shirt close to my neck and drags me back. I try to protest, but it's no use.

He pushes me back on my butt and silently glares at me. It's a challenge for me to go running again. I don't. I can still fill his fingers on my skin.

Instead, I lower my head on my arms crossed out over the table. They can tell me all they want, I'm not going to eat anything. I'm not even hungry—for the most part.

"Look, Alex. I know there is something about you not eating properly. . ." Elias hesitates before continuing with a determined voice. "And I understand that. Eating is hard. Maintaining a healthy food schedule is even harder."

A shudder tremors through my body. Eating is hard. What an understatement.

"But your body needs its food for energy. Do you want to burn out on the ice tomorrow? I know you don't. So I'm asking you to eat a little something today, and a little tomorrow. Just enough. Because you're our captain, and I can't let my best friend go through this pain."

I look up to watch his face. His expression is awfully raw and if I'm correct, I see pain in his eyes.

"But I can't eat," I whisper. "My mind will scream at me. Please, Elias, understand that."

He nods. "I do. But I also understand basic body needs. Your body needs food."

I whimper, hiding my face in my hands again. Why doesn't he get that my body will be fine? With a few deep breaths, I'm able to stop my hunger. I always am.

"What about toast? Do you think that's okay?" Dante asks. I look at him through my fingers, silently thanking everything in the universe because they're not forcing me to eat a hot meal with so many calories.

"Not with butter or anything, right?" I whisper. Just toast is fine. But with butter and jam? Rather not.

He gives me a gentle smile before sliding in the chair next to me. Elias leans onto the kitchen counter across of me. I doubt I'll like what they're going to say.

"What about a slice of ham? One. Only one," he reassures me, immediately seeing the panic in my widened eyes. 

With Arabella stepping in and letting me know I can stop eating whenever I want, I finally agree with a little nod. Elias smiles widely, not unlike a proud mother when her child would eat all his vegetables.

"Wait, really? Yes! I'm so proud of you, Alex. What about I eat with you? Let's both eat toast!" He almost runs to the other side of the kitchen, preparing four toasts. I frown at what he's doing. I only agreed to one.

Dante grins and winks at me, nudging my left arm with his right. "Don't worry. He's making one for each of us." He emphases one to assure me once again, and all of a sudden I feel silly for even accusing Elias of forcing me to eat more than our promise.

I flush and nod, hugging myself. While I wait for my meal, I listen to Dante talking about his classes, Elias rambling about this hard note on his violin and Arabella gushing over her new crochet creature. As to what I hear, it's supposed to be a butterfly, but what I see is nothing alike that. I would've guessed the beginning of a scarf, maybe?

"Here comes your diner, your majesty!" Elias says in a polite voice, keeping the plate with my toast on it on one hand while the other folds around his back. He bows, and I notice a towel around his carrying arm. The act of being a servant makes me a smile. 

Elias' goofiness always makes me smile. I'm glad he can use it in a way to comfort me and doesn't use his humor against me. 

"Thank you very much. Soothe yourself," I tell him, making a hand gesture so he shoos away. With a grin, he comes back with the three other plates. Their conversation carries on, now closer around me because we're all sitting at the table.

Seeing them eat toast too, together with me, makes it less hard in a way. It motivates me to start eating too, and I get even more pushed in the right direction when Arabella gives me an encouraging wink. 

After a few bites, it gets harder. I try to finish all of the toast, but my minds closes up more after each bite. One of my hands is already curled around the counter, gripping it so tightly my knuckles are white.

Desperate, I glance at Dante. He's finished his toast minutes ago, while I'm still busy with half of it. Why is it so easy for him? And why can't I just eat like him? 

I used to be able to do so, not too long ago. And I have no idea what happened.

Just when my gaze slices over his face, searching traces of paleness or nausea, he looks next to him and right at my own face. He then looks at my toast and gives me an encouraging nod, together with a hopeful smile.

I feel the need to burst out in tears. They already gave up nice pasta to eat a stupid toast with me, and here I am being unable to even finish it. I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath, avoiding moisture to gather in my eyes.

"Hey," Dante whispers, his large, warm hand on my back. I put the damned toast on the plate and look at him from the side, sighing and not knowing what he's going to say. His smile, even after all this nonsense, is still soothing and relaxed. It helps me breathe out properly.

"I'm proud of you. You ate 3/4 of it. And don't forget you ate a plate of pot pie at lunch and some cereal at breakfast. I think that's a great victory in comparison to yesterday. Don't you think?"

I quickly nod. Maybe—I desperately do hope so—Dante's right. Maybe I did do my best today. But even though I feel like I can't physically eat any more, I still don't feel quite well about myself.

He senses that and nudges Arabella and Elias with a movement of his head. Then he looks back at me. "Would a hug make you feel better?"

I shrug. Hugs and physical touch are something that are neutral to me, even if my ex-best friend always needed them at random moments. Dante's strong arms wrap around me, and so do Arabella's and Elias'. I take a breath, calming down again.

They're not mad at me for not finishing my plate. They won't force me to eat it. They're here for me.