Warning-Eating Disorders

A/N: Look, if you have favorited or followed this story thank you very much. I really appreciate it and it makes me really happy. The same for if you left a review. But I will not be updating this regularly. I write and post chapters based on my emotions and emotions aren't stable things. So I hope to finish this, but it will probably take a few years and updates will be very irregular. Thanks for reading.

I bang on the invisible walls of my room, screaming to get out.

Of course my room isn't real. Nothing is anymore. Not even I am real. Only my pancakes and maple syrup are real.

I take another bunch of pancakes out of the freezer and put them in the microwave. I'm too tired to cook my own pancakes these days, so I just buy them from the store.

The microwave dings. I take the pancakes out and pour maple syrup on them. I offer one to my imaginary bear, Kumajiro, but he just asks, "Who are you?" I eat the pancakes by myself.

Halfway through the now familiar taste of bile fills my throat. I rush to the couch and lay on it, head facing up, willing myself not to throw-up.

My body shakes and shivers, but I eventually fall into a deep sleep. I love sleep now. It doesn't let me think of anything and the terrors that fill my waking hours are gone.

When I wake up I run to the kitchen so I can eat-again. This time I eat three plates of pancakes before my body decides it can't hold it in. I lean over my toilet-is it really here?-and throw up all my food.

After I finish I sit there shivering from cold, too exhausted to get up or even cry.

Eventually I hear a knock at the door. I ignore it for a while, thinking that it must be a wrong address since no one ever comes to visit me. But the knock at the door persists and I finally get up.

"These salesmen are so stubborn." I mutter to myself. "I hate them. I wish he hadn't come."

But as I open the door I realize that it is not a salesman standing before me.

"Mathieu?" Papa gasps.

For a second the fear I'm feeling shows on my face, but I hide it quickly like I always do.

"Hey, Papa. Last night was the opening night of hockey season. I was with a few friends of mine and we went a little crazy and drank a lot. Come in, I'll go wash up." I say it all in a rush, so that I won't forget it. It is the speech I rehearsed in case someone did come over. When I'm not eating or sleeping I am making up excuses in case someone asks me a question.

Papa doesn't look convinced, but sits down in the living room as I go into the bathroom to take a shower.

When I come out he isn't in there anymore. "Papa!" I call out and start frantically looking behind the furniture as if he would have hidden there.

"I'm in the kitchen, Mathieu," he says and his voice sounds strange.

My whole body slows down and I start shaking violently. Not the kitchen. Not the kitchen. Not the kitchen. My mind whirls and I sit down heavily. Not the kitchen. Not the kitchen. Not the kitchen. I left a mess in the kitchen. I hadn't cleaned anything in it for a week and I had been eating constantly.

"Mathieu?" Papa's voice sounds closer. I can't let him see me like this. I stand up and with an effort, paste a smile on my face.

"What happened to your kitchen, Mathieu?" He comes into view. "And why are you looking at me like that?"

My body stiffens together with my mind. I didn't plan for this. I didn't think of anybody going into my kitchen or my fake smile not working. I didn't plan for Papa-the person who knows me best-to come.

"Mathieu?" The voice seems to come from a thousand miles away. I feel hands on my shoulders. Someone shakes me.

"Mathieu, wake up!"

But I can't wake up. My life is a nightmare-dream and the only thing that's real is food.

"Mathieu!"

I drag myself back into the real world-the world that doesn't revolve around me and food. With an effort I paste a smile on my face.

"Yes, Papa?"

"Mathieu, are you alright?" He tugs me over to the couch and starts checking me over. "You blacked out. Should I take you to the doctor?"

"Papa, it's fine. I just don't feel that well. I told you, I had a rough night." Papa still doesn't look convinced. "I need to rest a little. Can I see you the day after tomorrow?"

That should be enough time to put my house in order. I start frantically making plans about how I will clean my house and hardly see the movement of Papa's face as he nods. As I walk him to the door I think about how I will make my house clean and not only that I will eat like a normal person.

After Papa leaves I turn around to face the disgustingly dirty space I have been living in. I had decided to start with my room.

As I walk towards the closet where I store my mops and brooms I feel my shirt move against my stomach. At first it is a comfortable feeling, but as I think more about it, it turns uncomfortable, then unpleasant and then unnerving. I am almost at the closet when the need for food overwhelms me.

I turn, run for the kitchen and stuff my face with food, tears streaming down my cheeks.

You are such a failure, Matthew, whispers the voice in my head. Can't even keep a promise to yourself. Can't even eat like a regular person. You are so stupid. So abnormal. Why do you even try doing anything right?

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" I cover my ears with one hand and continue shovelling food in with the other.

But the voice in my head continues.

Prompts: Walls, Write using the theme of being uninformed