Chances That You're Burning Through

Original | Chapter Four

Again, I roll my eyes.

"Do ya'll want to eat here or somewhere else?" I ask.

"Sepuede comer en la mesa, por favor?" Wilmer questions in response with a smirk, knowing that neither of his girls nor Demi understands Spanish. 

Demi glares at him and opens her mouth to say something, but I beat her to it.

"Claro, podemos comer en la mesa, siesoeslo quedeseas," I reply with a smirk of my own. 

Everybody, even Wilmer, stares at me in awe.

"What are ya'll staring at?" I ask.

"My daughter just spoke Spanish," Demi mumbles.

"No suenes tan sorprendido," I mutter.

"Don't do that because I have no idea what you're saying," Demi pouts, causing me to laugh. "Can somebody translate?"

"I asked if we could please eat at the table, but I wasn't expecting a response," Wilmer pauses, looking up at me with that same proud look in his eyes that Demi gave me. "Then Anabelle surprised me by responding with 'sure, we can eat at the table, if that is what you wish'." 

"What did she say just a second ago?" Demi wonders. 

"I told you to not sound so surprised," I chuckle, setting their tray on the table and heading into the kitchen.

I remove both batches of muffins from the oven that Rebecca and I decided to bake last minute.

"Chocolate chip and blueberry," I inform, setting both trays on the table.

Everybody claims a seat and begins to eat. I debate on consuming a muffin. 

"I thought you wanted to be skinny, Anabelle?"

I do. 

"Then you shouldn't eat anything."

"Anabelle?" Demi's concerned voice enters my ears. 

I look up at her and realize that everybody is staring at me. 

"What?"

"What are you thinking?" She quietly questions.

"Nothing," I lie.

"You should eat something," she softly suggests.

I nod with a fake smile. I reach for a blueberry muffin as my demons continue to attack me. I pinch off a bit of the fattening food and pop it into my mouth.

"So, where did you learn to cook?" Rebecca wonders.

I abruptly swallow the food, feeling queasy and even fatter than before.

"I, um, I had to learn how to cook when I was about six," I mumble, uncomfortable with the subject.

"Why?" 

I notice Demi about to scold her. 

"It's okay, Demi," I quietly reassure.

She nods, not looking too convinced. Maybe she has already glanced through my files, but, even if she has, they don't even scratch the surface of the hell that I've been through. I choose my next words carefully. I don't want to scare anybody nor do I want to let too much slip.

"I have only ever considered four people my parents; my birth parents, who I've never met, and then there were my very first adoptive parents. They were everything I imagined my birth parents to be. They loved and cared for me as if I was their own daughter," I pause, taking a deep breath, not wanting to let them see me cry. "They died in a car accident when I was six. After that, I was basically on my own," I explain, not wanting to go into detail about my numerous negligent foster homes or the shit that I had been put through.