Lush white frosting adorns the spongy cake. Decadent candy roses rest in the beds of frothy sugar. Underneath the sweet outside lays an even saccharine inside. Strawberries stay firmly in place between the layers of cake. The syrup surrounding the berries soaks into the sponge-like delicacy, only adding to its flavor.

I can anticipate the taste of that first bite: the tingling of pure sugar as it touches my tongue, the strong (but not overpowering) essence of strawberries. It seems as though the cake could have only been made by the gods to look so delicious. But of course not, Mom made this masterpiece. Not really for me but that didn’t matter now because now it was mine.

The cool air emanating from the fridge gives me chills. I clench my fingers firmly around the plate the cake rests on. Gently, I slide it across the refrigerator shelf, lift, and prop it on the table. The fridge door shuts on its own and soon the chill leaves and it’s just me and the cake. It looks so splendid and magnificent, basking in the pale kitchen light. Two bad I can’t have any. At that moment 200 calories was coursing through my body. I couldn’t add on to such an atrocity with more food, more calories, more fat and sugar.

I could at least have a taste though.

I reach out a thin, pasty finger and scoop some frosting atop it. It was like having a cloud rest on my fingertip: it was virtually weightless. Then again, I guess that was expected of frosting.

I bring my finger to my mouth and let my tongue slowly lick the frosting off. It sends shivers of joy down my spine but as soon as I taste it, it’s gone. My stomach growls and my mouth whines for more as the last of the sugar is licked up by my tongue. I want a slice of cake so desperately.

“One slice won’t hurt,” I tell myself as I hurry to drawer and pull out a knife and fork. “Just one slice, one tiny, tiny piece of it.”

Before I knew it a piece of cake no more than inch wide rests on a napkin. Strawberries and syrup ooze from their places and drip down the sides of the cake like blood. The cake looks so magnificent. I push my fork into its soft frosting and body and then it’s in my mouth. The sweet, sugary goodness is in my mouth, overflowing it with senses of sweetness and joy. Before I know it, the slice is gone and I’m reaching for another one without thinking.

I continue to eat until only a dainty little candy flower sits on the plate the cake was once on. I wish there was more, I so desperately want to ingest more. But then it dawns on me. I ate the whole thing. The whole entire cake is simmering in my stomach. God, it wasn’t even that good. I imagine the strawberries and syrup oozing down the sides, the dry and spongy cake, the heavy frosting and old candy flowers.

Revolting.

My stomach gurgles away as it works at digesting the cake. I imagine the calories, fat, sugar that thing would flood my body with if it got the chance. My blood was probably already pumping fat throughout my veins and arteries. All of those extra calories would go straight to my body along with the unused sugar. I had to get rid of the sugary treat ASAP.

I run straight to the bathroom and lean into the egg-white toilet bowl. My fingers clamber into my throat and jab angrily at the back of it. My eyes well with tears and I continue to gag but I don’t stop. I’m not giving up until my stomach’s contents are crawling up my throat and into the toilet.

And then my fingers hit something, and the next gag was so violent that I thought my stomach was going to turn inside out. The organ twisted and turned and the cake came up, up, up and out, out, out. The sound of it hitting the toilet water was sickening. Just a few light plop, plop, plops and then hundreds of them, like rain falling. It was disgusting to think about.

I lurch forward as the next round of cake scrambles out of my body. My mouth tastes terrible now, like garbage and bile. The toilet is filled with gray, white, and red chunks of food and I almost vomit again by looking at it. I spit at the cake as I jiggle the toilet handle and it soars through the pipes and out of site.

In an instant I’m on the floor. My breathing is heavy and my lips tremble as tears spill down my cheeks. My sobs are violent and I struggle to stop the tremors pulsing through my body. My shoulders shake uncontrollably. Why do I do this? I feel so stupid, so useless. I wish I could just stop, but nothing is ever that easy.

It feels as though it takes me an hour to control myself. The constant stream of tears slows to just a trickle. I push myself off of the bathroom floor and brush off invisible dirt. I wipe tears from my eyes and try to fix my smeared makeup. Gently, I reach a trembling hand into the medicine cabinet and take out my toothbrush and toothpaste and soon I’m brushing, brushing, brushing. The cake, vomit, pain, idiocy, embarrassment, I wash it all away Crest like I do every time I puke. And then I’m in the kitchen, washing the dishes, and pretending like nothing ever happened.