I can do this. I can talk about it. The world won’t stop turning if I talk about it out loud.
“It's complicated, the food, I mean. I'm not sure you could understand.” My hand instinctively plays with my pink nail polish.
“Try me.” His tone is encouraging, serious, weighting the importance of it.
“Okay… So, my mom used to restrict what I could eat when I was little. I think she was afraid I got fat or something, which is stupid because I was just a child,” I say with a cold laugh because who could ever restrict a child from eating? Ares stays silent, focused on me.
You can do this. He’s not laughing.
“She was obsessed with staying young and fit. I mean, you saw her, she’s perfect and all that. Anyway, I think she made a transfer on me, yelling at me when I would eat carbs or processed foods.” The memories of her taking my plates away at dinner in front of the whole family still haunt me at night.
“Then I became a teen, and that's when she really got heavy with the ‘clean food’ obsession, punishing me when I ate anything other than her approved list like almonds, veggies, and protein bars. It took me time to figure out that I had, um—”
The world won’t stop spinning.
Just say it.
“—an eating disorder. I…I don't like to talk about this, but that's clearly what it is. I asked my parents to see a doctor, but they didn't take it seriously. They thought I was whiny about it. But I looked it up on the internet and plenty of people have it, I mean mostly girls. It's called orthorexia. So…that's that.”
That’s the first time I said it to someone. The first time I explained in my own words fully. When I tried telling it to friends before, I could never go to the full extent of it. They were already too bored or feeling awkward about it. Even Kiara and I never really talked about it. She just knew what to do and knew it was too difficult for me to put into words. I tried going to adoctor by myself last year, but I never made it past the waiting room. I was too anxious to face it and talk to a stranger about it.
Orthorexia.
The shadow haunting my everyday life.
And he’s still not laughing. I’m fighting back the tears and feel his hand move, lacing his tattooed fingers with mine.
Breathe, breathe.
“Thank you for telling me, princess.” His voice is rough yet softer than ever.
“Thank–thank you for listening.”
Am I blushing?
We stay silent like this, the sound of our breathing filling the room until it gets too much, making me want to crush my body into his arms and rest my face on his chest like last night. Close to him. In a safe place.
I suddenly feel too overwhelmed and remove my fingers from his, standing up in my underwear and rushing to the bathroom. Before sliding the door, I turn and look at my husband, whose muscles are still very noticeable under his sleek black suit.
“I’ll see you tonight, big guy.” I find back my confidence once I’m up and on full display.
“Eight o’clock sharp,” he says, watching his silver watch and heading toward the door.
I roll my eyes. What is it about this man and time management? I have my own business, and I’m not that strict about it. Total control-freak.
“Did you roll your eyes at me?” Stopping in his step and turning himself toward me, his eyes feast on my body shamelessly. I’m not shy about it. I’m comfortable in my own skin, and showing it never bothered me in the least.
“Maybe,” I say with a sly smile, resting the side of my body on the door, accentuating the curve of my hips.
“You do that again, princess,” he growls, pulling on his jacket, standing in front of me in his black suit, turning me into a puddle, “and I’ll show you exactly what happens when you test me.”
“Oh, in that case I will do it as often as I can,” I dare him.
“Mia…” His hand flexes repeatedly as if something is getting under his skin.
“Come on, where’s the fun if you always get what you want?” Shaking my head, I bite my lower lip.
“I always do, Mia, always, one way or another,” he reveals, cocking his head.
