Calories

Chapter Three

"Why do you do this?" Frank asks me. I think he's facing me, but I'm facing the wall. Maybe I can pretend to sleep part way through this conversation.

"Do what?" I ask, playing stupid. I really don't want to be having this conversation right now.

"Oh my God. You know what I'm talking about. Just fucking tell me," he says. I can tell he's getting pissed, and I really don't want to piss him off anymore than he already is.

"I just want to be thinner. This is the easiest way for me to do that," I say truthfully.

"You don't have to do this to yourself, Gee," he says, using the nickname he hasn't used since fifth grade. That's when people started making fun of it, so he stopped using it. I wonder what brought him to say that.

"You don't understand. I'm too fat. I can't look like this," I say.

"You aren't fat at all though," Frank said.

"Just because you don't think I look fat, doesn't mean that I don't think I look or feel fat," I explain. I always thought that if he found out he would somehow understand that I needed to do this. Apparently not.

I roll over to face him, and I notice that his eyes are starting to water up. Why would he ever care about the food I eat? It's not like I'm giving myself diabetes with my diet.

"Gerard. Do you seriously not understand how much I care about you?" he says, his voice cracking half way through his sentence. And I start crying. I can't control myself any longer. I just completely break down.

He actually cares about me to the point where he's almost crying? Frank's strong. He never shows emotions like this to anyone. Most of all, he never cries.

I move closer to him, and curl up into his chest. I don't want him to see me cry, but there isn't much I can do about it. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer.

"I need to do this though," I try to say through my tears.

"If you want to lose weight or be in better shape, you can do it a different way," he says.

"But this way is easier," I say. I'm still crying, but less now. I'm trying to calm myself down.

"No, it isn't. Gee, you need to eat. You can't just starve yourself through life. It doesn't work that way. You have to eat. I'm not letting you starve yourself. I'm going to stay here until you're parents come back to I make sure you eat something," he says. I start crying harder, full out sobbing.

"B-but then I'll g-g-get fat," I stutter, sobbing in between words.

"Shh. No you won't. I'll make sure you won't. We can talk about this tomorrow," he says. It's five in the morning, and I'm exhausted from crying and the party.

I snuggle closer to him. All I want right now is to feel safe. I don't want to be awkward, but I know Frank doesn't find this awkward. We've had conversations about things like this before since we've been friends for such a long time.

~~~

I feel myself waking up and feel a body against me. It takes me a moment to realise who it was. After a few seconds I calm down. I'm not sure if I want to get up or not. It's actually really comfortable.

I want to keep laying here, but I also want to get up and weigh myself and brush my teeth and stuff like that. I try to get up, but Frank pulls me closer. Guess I'm waiting to get up.

It's one of those mornings where I want to go back to sleep but I just can't. I hate mornings like this. At least I can't get up. Otherwise I'd be tempted by food.

And shit. Frank is going to make me eat. I am not prepared for that. I should have been mentally preparing myself for this while he was asleep.

"Good morning, Gee," he says, using the nickname again. I can't tell if I like it or hate it. I used to be bullied about that nickname when we were little, but it's kind of an adorable nickname. Maybe I don't care. I was made fun of such a long time ago.

"Good morning, Frankie," I say back, giving him an equally adorable nickname. If someone were to walk in at this moment they would think we were the gayest of the gay. But we're just friends. I don't know if other best friends cuddle and share a bed at sleepovers, but it's what me and Frank do I guess. It just doesn't seem abnormal to either of us.

"I'm going to make you breakfast," he says, slowly letting go of me and sitting up. I miss his warmth instantly, but I also sit up.

"I don't get hungry in the morning," I explain.

"You always say you're never hungry. I'm making you breakfast," he says, and goes downstairs. I follow him down the stairs and try to convince him that I don't need anything to eat yet.

When I get downstairs Mikey's already sitting on the couch. I ignore him though. I have to stop Frank from making me food.

Whenever there's food in front of me I try my best to not eat it. I'll give it to a friend or something. But if someone goes out of their way to make me food I feel bad if I don't eat it.

"No Frank, please don't," I beg.

"Too late, I already started cooking," he says, turning on two burners. I walk over to the stove to see what he's making. In one pan there's two eggs and in another there is four pieces of bacon.

"How much of this are you going to eat?" I ask.

"I'll probably just eat some cereal. This is all for you," he says. All of that?

"I can't eat that much food," I say. Not to mention how unhealthy it will be. Bacon is really fatty, and it looks like he's cooking the eggs in a lot of butter.

He flips the eggs and after that he flips the bacon. Then he puts one piece of bread in the toaster.

"Well you're going to try." He finishes cooking the food. He puts butter on the toast and puts all the food on a plate. He hands me a fork and sits me down at the table.

I don't touch the food. I watch him pour himself a bowl of cereal and get a spoon. He sits in front of me.

"I know I'm not that bad at cooking. Jeez, do I have to feed you?" he asks sarcastically. I cut the eggs up into tiny pieces with my fork and put a piece in my mouth. It tastes fine I guess.

I look down at my plate. Do I really want this to go in my body? No. Am I going to try? Yes. But only because Frank made it for me and because for some reason he doesn't want me to get thinner.

I almost choke while trying to swallow a bite of the toast. I really don't want to be eating this. This is so much food though. I don't think I usually even eat this much on an average day.

"I-I can't" I say pushing the plate away.

"Okay. I guess you don't have to finish that," he says. He finishes eating his bowl of cereal and then proceeds to eat the leftover food from my plate. How anyone can eat that much is beyond me.

"Do you usually eat that much?" I ask.

"Not usually for breakfast, but I usually eat a lot," he says.

"How do you not get fat?"

"I guess I have a fast metabolism."

"I wish I had a fast metabolism." I say. And that's where the conversation ends. I watch Frank eat. Not in a weird way. But I watch and wonder how he manages to consume that much.

He finishes the food and goes to the dish washer and puts the cereal bowl and breakfast plate in it.

"So, what do you want to do until lunch?" he asks me.

"I have to eat lunch too?"

"Yes."

"Do you know how much weight I'll gain?"

"Don't worry I'll make it healthy."

"That doesn't mean I'll gain weight from it."

"I have an idea. I'll make sure you eat food but then we'll also work out together or something," Frank suggests.

"We can try."