Starving

He opened the car door for me once again. I kissed him on the cheek and sat into his convertible. He just shot me a smirk and walked around the car. We drove for about 15 mins until the air felt thin and crisp and started to smell like salt and animal poop.

"Are we going to the beach?" I gasped.

"Yep," he chuckled, "but first breakfast."

I nodded, even though I wasn't hungry. He pulled up to an IHOP. I stumbled into the waiting room. There was hardly anyone there. We were seated at a booth.

"I would like your 222 special," Luke reported.

"What about you?" the waitress asked me.

"Uhm," I said, staring at the menu. Nothing gave me hunger. "Nothing."

"Just one moment," Luke interrupted.

The waitress walked away.

"What do you mean nothing," he asked me.

"I'm just not hungry," I reported.

"Now wait a minute," he said thinking, "I don't think I saw you eat at all yesterday."

"I- uh I," I tried to speak.

"Don't tell me you are starving yourself," he spat, uncovering another one of my dirty secrets.

"Fine!" I yelled, "I'm fucking starving myself because I don't own up to beauty standards. You would never understand because you are surrounded by masculine energy every day. Me? I have to go down the halls looking at all of the girls who are staring down at me laughing. Do you know how fucking embarrassing that is? No! You don't!"

He stayed quiet for a bit before collecting what he was going to say.

"What the fuck are these standards?" he asked.

"It's just something you grow into I guess," I said looking down.

"Come here," he demanded.

I walked over to the other side of the booth and sat next to him. He pulled me onto his lap. He wrapped his hands around my waist then down the underside of my thighs.

"Must be some fucked up standards," he says smirking, "you fit in every standard I've ever seen, especially my hands."

I smiled and kissed him.

"Please eat something," he begs.

"Ok," I agree.

The waitress came back with our drinks.

"I am ready now," I tell her, "I would like 2 eggs and a toast." The waitress walked away and I slurped on my sweet tea.

"Progress," he said, wrapping his arm around me.

When I smelled the food coming out, I almost got hungry again. It looked good. It smelt good. I wasn't hungry though. I slowly ate the toast and eggs. One bite. Two bites. Three bites. Nausea kicks in. My stomach does not like me now. One more bite, Layla. Four bites.

"I can't do this anymore," I tell him, pushing my plate away.

"Good job," he whispers, "I'll take it to the motel."

I nod and watch him eat his food carelessly.'

"Two to-go boxes, please," Luke yells to the waitress, then he turns to me, "get in the car."