I was greatly aware of the risk I was taking by eating what was in front of me. But I still wanted to believe that this wasn't real. Maybe I won't get sick this time?

Abigail had taken me to a café to try some new dish after school. The double chocolate devil cake supreme was something that I could only dream of tasting in this lavish bakery. I only requested enough allowance for necessities, never thinking of indulging in my desires. My friend took me here and bought the desert for me so easily; what right did I have to refuse her offer?

She was watching me eagerly while eating her similarly appetizing strawberry tiramisu. I licked my lips as the mesmerizing flavour of knowledge that brushed against my memory blended with the aroma of bittersweet dark chocolate made my stomach rumble with desire. Or maybe that was from my hunger for words.

I looked around nervously as the suffocating atmosphere that surrounded this shop began to claw at my throat, drying it with every second.

I took a sip of water in hopes of reviving my throat. Even the glassware was decorated with a variety of sinks and swirls that made it difficult for my sweaty hands to grip. "...I'm sorry."

A light dab of warmth tickled my cheeks when I realized how audible it was. I hadn't realized how hungry I'd been. After all, I hadn't had a 'meal' in days, in hopes of returning to how I used to be. Though the results were all the same- my stomach twisting unto itself like a loose ball of yarn. No writing utensils were near me, giving me no opportunity to 'eat' even though the napkin could've been my 'plate.'

"It's fine. I'm hungry too but, why aren't you eating? Don't you like chocolate?" She was unfazed by the air that was pushing down my self esteem with it's overbearing scent.

"I do, it's just that I... I don't think I'm ready for this," I said, gazing at the slice of cake in amazement.

She chuckled at my response. "Take your time. It's not like you're paying."

Guilt immediately creeped into my chest from the idea of Abigail paying for me. Our families had starkly contrasting financial situations, with mine being average and hers being rather well off. Of course I was envious sometimes, but never enough to outright disrespect her for what she had no control over.

"Sorry about that." Was apologizing the only thing I could do? "I'll make it up to you." We weren't poor, but we didn't have the luxury of buying expensive food whenever we wanted either.

"Don't worry. This is what friends do for friends, okay? Besides, your birthday's tomorrow, right?" She smiled, making me feel worse. I didn't even want to remember what the price was for this alone.

I couldn't think of a reasonable excuse to get out of this situation. I appreciated her idea of getting me the cake, but I wished that I could wholeheartedly enjoy it. It was vexing that the savory treat stood right within my reach and yet I couldn't eat it.

Even if it was possible for me to eat and digest the dessert before, I couldn't now. For some reason the food never 'went out' the way it was supposed to, my body instead completely rejecting the substance and forcing me to regurgitate at any moment.

I immediately needed to stop what I was doing and head straight to the bathroom so many times that I wouldn't be surprised if my peers thought that I was lactose intolerant. It was troublesome so I'd been avoiding eating anything other than words for the past month until recently. I didn't want to eat cake, but I didn't want to eat words either. Both would only prove how far I'd be from being normal.

Yet this cake was so appealing to my eyes that I couldn't resist wondering what it would taste like. The moist blanket of white chocolate that was drizzled over the alignment of dark chocolate cream, on top of the crumbled peppermint that layered it's center was enough to make my heart quiver in awe.

Swallowing down any resistance that I held before, I hesitantly cut a part of the cake with the silver fork held in my hand and brought it to my mouth. I examined it with suspicion, knowing that I would regret it later. Regardless, a burst of determination rose from within, and I took the fork and let the moist gooey unexpectedly saccharin cake enter my mouth and slip down my throat.

It was simply divine; I had never tasted such a perfect balance of dark chocolate and laced with a hint of fresh mint. But alas my stomach turned against me, caving in to bless me with the suffocating pain that came with wanting to eat what I was forbidden from even glancing at. I cursed at my weak resolve.

Deciding that I would rather not another take the risk, I set the tableware down. I knew that even if it was the most delicious food I'd ever tasted, I still wouldn't voluntarily hurt myself in exchange for an empty satisfaction that wouldn't do me any good. Though the flavour was amazing, I couldn't fully enjoy it without drowning in my consequences.

"I'm grateful for the gift, I really am. But, my stomach is kind of bothering me." I collected my things and stood as the acidic bile started to form in my mouth. "Also," I added as an afterthought, "My birthday's next month."

"Wha―" Her eyes widened as loose strands of her scarlet hair fell from her bun. "Wait! What about the cake?!"

"You can just wrap it up for me." I gave an apologetic smile at the sight of her furrowed eyebrows that were accompanied by a frown when I opened a nearby bathroom door. "I'll be right back."

xx

I twisted the knob with slight hesitancy and entered my home. There was nothing better than the warmth I felt when I took my outdoor wear off at the door. I was glad to be able to breathe again. I hated it when Abigail took me to places like that.

"Ziva?" A voice called from the living room. It was Mom.

"I'm back," I said, placing my coat over the nearby rack.

"How'd it go with Abigail?" She asked when I had entered the living room. Both Mom and Dad were seated in there, chatting happily with mugs half full of what smelled like vanilla tea.

"Oh um, it was nice. But my stomach was bothering me so I had to excuse myself." I muttered, shuffling my feet out of nervousness.

"Oh, are you okay? Was the food that bad? I heard that cafe was 5-stars." Dad asked me when he walked in with a granola bar. I spotted the small smile that tugged at his lips before he turned away.

I nodded in solemn agreement, letting my white bangs sway over my forehead as I sat down on the couch. "But I didn't know what else to do; my stomach was hurting. I figured that saying that I didn't want to eat it would've made the situation worse. The waitress wrapped it up for me and Abby took me home. You can have it; I only ate a little."

I was beginning to really regret that decision though. Whether or not I ate the velvet cake or that devil chocolate cake supreme wouldn't have mattered; I would still not be able to digest it. Either way my stomach would be in pain, until I had no other choice but to eat words.

"Well, she shouldn't be too offended. She's not the cook. Anyways, your stomach's been hurting on and off for awhile now." She sighed while holding her chin in her palm, resting her elbow on the mahogany coffee table as she turned to Dad. "Should we take her to go see the doctors? Whenever I make her soup or tea, it doesn't help at all. She hasn't been sick like this in a long time-- I'm starting to get worried and she hasn't been eating much recently."

"I know. We can't just let her suffer like this. Ziva, you ready to go?"

I looked at my growling stomach. I had no need for medical attention; I just needed to eat words. I knew this and yet I was reluctant to do so. The more I ate words the less human I felt.

I gave a small nod in hopes of it not being noticed. I didn't want to go to the doctors, mostly because I was afraid of knowing what they would tell me. Nevertheless, my undying curiosity won over my fear, and I nodded more resolutely. For all I knew, it could've been a disease... a disease where no one could see my handwriting and I ate my own words. That didn't make sense no matter how many times I reached up to touch my words that were somewhere between liquid and solid.

I sighed. "I don't mind going to the doctors' after school tomorrow."

The two of them smiled in relief, satisfied with my answer. Meanwhile, I was sweating in fear of what would happen when we got there.

xx

We sat in the cold room full of worried parents, carefree younger children and adults who wanted to leave in a hurry, waiting for my name to be called. The eyes of the childless young adults were captive to the bright words and images that were projected from their cellphones. I could never understand the importance of a cell phone for anything other than emergencies.

"Sorry that your Dad couldn't come. He's been really busy at work lately."

I nodded in understanding. "That's alright; it's just a trip to the doctor's."

Mom smiled, pulling me into her arms and pecking my forehead. "You're such a good kid!"

"Mom!" My cheeks flushed, surprised by the sudden display of affection. I felt awkward being so close to her in this kind of situation.

"Angel Davis?" The pale blonde woman behind the desk spoke in a wavering, unsure tone. The harsh bright lights that illuminated the room with their piercing lights didn't help in making her look less intimidating; only increasing her fearful appearance with her sharp red framed glasses and dull gaze that was as dead as a zombie. I concluded that I would never work here in the future, for if I did, I felt like the life and energy that buzzed in me would be stolen with every second that passed by.

She was probably wondering if the person was a man or a boy judging by their unisex name, but that didn't matter. Names didn't create an image of what someone appeared to be; they illustrated the achievements and losses made by that person throughout time.

I wonder... was I only going to be known as 'the girl who could eat words' when my name was muttered amongst my fellow peers? No, it was more likely that I would only be acknowledged for the books I read and the trivial 'arguments' I had with... what was his name, Timmy? Ah, Kyle. He was still bothering me for whatever reason. Maybe he was stressed. I should give him some food tomorrow. Maybe then he won't frown so much.

Just then a loud boy stood, pulling me from my thoughts. I glanced at him out of curiosity, wanting to sate my boredom with someone else's interesting actions. He couldn't have been more than 10 or 11 years of age by the looks of it. He walked with his parents past the door that hid the secluded rooms occupied by other doctors who discussed medical information with various patients.

"Z... Zeva Critico?" I sighed. Never had my name been pronounced perfectly by strangers that weren't of Jewish or Greek descent. It was slightly vexing, but also inevitable.

At the sound of the butchered syllables of my name, Mom walked to the desk, with me following her soon after. "Hello, we're here for a checkup?"

"Mhm, Dr. Cruz is waiting for you in Room 203. Straight past that door then to right is where she should be."

She nodded to the woman. "Alright, thank you!" She then took my hand into hers and headed to our assigned room.

A short walk later, an urgent knock was made by Mom, who didn't want to be rude by simply barging in. Eventually the door opened to reveal the woman who had been responsible for most of my medical attention since childhood; though I barely remembered her. Well, except for the virus shot that she gave me when I was ten. A light shiver crawled up my spine at the memory. The horror. The familiar tall dark skinned woman stood before us, smiling when she spotted the albino child that was me.

"Hello Misses Kritikos-Winston! How've you all been?" I noted that she didn't bother to mention my name, but ignored it. She moved to the side so that we could enter the room, and I immediately shivered in my knitted black cat sweater and thin jeans. It felt like the air stilled, and it was only February.

"Well, my daughter's stomach has been bothering her lately- I was wondering if it was something serious."

"Ahh, I see. Well," The doctor looked at me, "Where does it hurt?"

I pointed to the middle of my stomach. She used a stethoscope to test certain parts of my stomach and asked if it hurt in those areas. I nodded because it hurt everywhere. She then asked some questions about my diet and took some blood tests and xrays to see if anything was wrong. It took around 30 minutes for her to examine everything completely.

"Well, it doesn't seem like there's anything wrong based off of your test results. No infections, no viruses." The doctor smiled to me. "Nothing to worry about in that department."

Mom looked down at me in a way that I couldn't decipher, ruffling my white hair long enough to make the style that she had designed beforehand barely recognizable. She then squeezed my hand before speaking up first, "That's wonderful. But what about her stomach pain?"

"Well, that's due to her lack of substance. She's seems to be lacking in sufficient nutrients. Furiously so. But," She glanced at me with her brown eyes, making me avert my own colorless ones in shyness. "We offer some medication that can soothe the pain and provide her with the right vitamins. It's a small case of anorexia- I strongly recommend that you watch over her eating habits or at least two weeks."

Mom's skin grew paler in worry and confusion. "How's that even possible? She eats every day!"

A stern expression took over Doctor Cruz's features. "Well, maybe she's-" Her sentence was cut off by the abrupt ringtone that was coming from Mom's pocketbook.

She reached in and took the phone out only to sigh in frustration. "I'm sorry- it's from my job. I'll be right back." Smiling apologetically, Mom answered the phone call and spoke in muffled words as the door closed behind her.

I looked over to Misses Cruz, considering not saying anything. But this was the perfect opportunity- I couldn't not take the chance of asking a professional. She moved to her chair, sitting down as her white lab coat was swayed by the small uplifting of the wind from her action. Her her back was towards me, looking at her desktop. I swung my short legs back and forth wondering if they would someday reach the floor.

"Um... Doctor Cruz?"

She ceased typing, turning to me in her wheely chair as her intriguingly large afro that seemed to defy gravity swayed. "Yes?"

I swallowed the saliva that had built up in the back of my throat, letting my worries go with every exhale.

"I'm not anorexic or binge eating, if that's what you're thinking." Deep breaths. It was now or never. I looked down at my red shoes and sighed. This was never going to work. "It's not that, I-I just can't eat food. Instead, I eat... words."