“Eat. Please.”

I couldn’t be any more mad at him than I was then. He knew I was on a strict diet. He knew I was trying so desperately to be beautiful, and yet, he stood so stiffly in my path, leading me astray.

I suppose I should have been thankful, but back then, I wanted nothing but to claw his face in.

Dragging me away from our class, I’d suspected Daehyun to pull me into the teacher’s longue; maybe our homeroom teacher had told the kids to bring me over given I ever showed my face again. My suspicion, however, quickly died out as he continued to pull me through the front gates of our school, shoving past crowds of the student body.

And before I could bring up a coherent enough statement to shake him off, I found myself seated in McDonalds, a tray off the most fattening substance sitting right in front of me. Mocking me.

Even just looking at it, I wanted to throw up.

Mentally, I calculated the amount of calories the thing held, cringing as the digits sky rocketed. I could not eat that. No way in hell. Eating that single burger would set me back by days. Even one bite would probably bring me up five kilograms.

It would make me disgusting again, as I had been beginning eighth grade.

“No.” Equaling his glare, I pushed the tray back away from me and towards him, pressing my lips to a thin line. I wouldn’t eat that even if he paid me. Even if Jaebum had told me to – which, he wouldn’t; JB would understand why I couldn’t. “Why don’t you eat it?”

Throughout ninth grade, with him shadowing me, there was one single emotion I’d grown for Jung Daehyun; and that was envy.

He was a bastard of many different sides. Stupid, but smart; annoying, but charming. Every time I would decide one thing about him, he would easily over throw my expectations with that cocky smirk of his. Sometimes, I wanted nothing but to rip him a new one.

Every time I saw him, it was with his mouth full; every lasting second of his life seemed to be solely dedicated to eating. I didn’t understand how he could stay fit with all the calories he took it. It was impossible. He wasn’t human.

Growling something from the back of his throat, Daehyun stood, shoving his chair back behind him to come next to me, cornering me into the corner of the sofa with a hiss. “Eat.” It wasn’t a suggestion anymore. And, somehow knowing I wouldn’t, he grabbed the burger, bringing the greasy, death trap to my lips.

I would not eat that.

When I didn’t make a move to take in the burger, the attempts began to get more violent, his free hand prying my jaw apart by squeezing my cheeks. “Eat, please; you’re going die at this rate!”

We He was making a scene at this point. The customers in nearby tables had turned to look our direction, whispering (in not so hushed) voices and pointing fingers. I wanted to cry; I was crying. I was crying, sobbing my heart out, and Daehyun made no single attempt to change his motives. He didn’t care about me.

He wanted to make me fat again.

Losing the struggle of physic, grudgingly, I took in the junk food, choking several times over my tears. I wanted to throw up. I knew I was going to throw up.

I had to throw it back up.

“See, that wasn’t too bad, was it?”

Yes it was. I was going to bloat up. I was going to be fat and ugly again.

And it was all because of you, Jung Daehyun.