Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Too Much Too Soon

"Well I didn't ask to eat but you keep trying to shove the idea down my throat!"

"That's because you need to eat, Layla. It's not a matter of opinion, it's a matter of health. So eat dinner!"

I turned away and began staring at my front door, visualizing all the textures and patterns that the crusted paint had formed. Such an interesting contraption.

"Layla, what did you have for lunch today?"

"A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, geez."

"That's a lie! We didn't have any peanut butter until we got back from the store."

"Well, maybe I made some! Maybe I crushed the fuc—damned peanuts and added some butter to make some bitchin peanut butter!"

I refused to look at her. For no reason at all I was steamed and insulted by the fact she thought I was starving myself or something. I wasn't trying to, it was completely unintentional. It was a side effect of the Adderall. I knew what I was getting myself into, but I forgot to think of some good excuses on skipping a meal here and there.

My father came out from his bedroom and noticed the tension between my mom and I.

"What's going on here?" He demands.

"Your daughter refuses to eat," my mom explains.

"Layla? Care to explain?"

"I'm just not hungry. Why would I want to stuff food down my throat if my body doesn't need it?" I attempt to clarify.

"Well, that's never stopped you before," my dad remarked.

That comment alone irritated me beyond measures. I wasn't skinny. I wasn't fat. I had to work to stay in shape, and eating the slightest bit of junk food would immediately show on my body an hour later. Usually I didn't care. I put myself in charge of my food intake and control. It wasn't easy, but I try to eat healthy. My father was never the one to shy away when he thought my eating habits were getting out of hand. He was always the first to let me know of his disproval upon me eating an extra cookie or a double scooped ice cream. I had myself together, but whenever he mentioned anything about my eating...it killed me inside. He has no right. No right to try and tell me I eat too much or too little. Matter a fact, he can stay the fuck away from my life with food.

"Stay out of it," I hiss.

He rolled his eyes and glanced at my mom.

"She's been weird all day. You look miserable, Layla, really. You seem too steady and spacy on random things. You haven't been eating. It literally looks like life challenged you to a fight and you got kicked in the ass. What's got you?"

I blinked a few times and turned my head back towards the door.

"Staring at that door as if it's your only way out of here," he continues.

"Shut up," I mutter.

"Excuse me?" He retorts.

"I said shut up," I get louder. "Leave me alone, I don't need your shit right now."

"Layla," my mom started off in a worried voice. "Please talk to us. Please tell us what's wrong," she begged.

"Could you stop assuming that something is wrong? Nothing is wrong! Nothing!"