Let Him Not Eat Cake

All night he kept going back to the fridge telling himself “just one more bite” as the double-decker chocolate buttercream rectangle got smaller and smaller. Each time he sank the fork in and pulled off another piece it came away with more guilt. Still, he could not seem to stop himself. He knew the party was tomorrow and he knew they’d be expecting a full sheet cake and he knew they’d be angry and he’d be embarrassed when they opened the box to reveal a half-eaten one. He knew all of that but he still kept coming back. Every five minutes, another small bit of filling and fluff to stuff down deep inside.

As far back as he could remember, Sam had a problem with impulse control, and when it came to sweet things, he was powerless. This was especially true with anything chocolate.

The thing was, he had gotten to a place in his life, no that he was in his 30’s, where he could go all day eating calculated meals- protein for breakfast, half a sandwich for lunch, a salad for dinner- while saying No Thank You to a donut in the break room, a brownie at a family gathering, even passing up a decadent dessert right after dinner. But it was later, in that time between winding down and actually turning off the bedside lamp, when Sam would break down and go full-on-feral-animal on cookies and candy and whatever else was around that contained sugar and, preferably, chocolate.

Tonight was no exception.

Sam had just eaten his ninth forkful of cake and he laid in bed telling himself No More. Not only would it piss off his roommate and make his birthday friend sad and everyone else just feel kinda bummed (and rightly so for all) but he also knew that if he kept eating it, he would most likely be sick. It had happened before. Many times. Eating a bunch of crap right before bed, handful after handful, past the point of comfort, compulsion driving the action. Almost like an out-of-body-experience, where he was determined to finish off the bag while at the same time yelling at himself that he didn’t need to finish off the bag. Then, up in the middle of the night to sit next to the toilet for an hour with regret.

Not this time. No. This time he wouldn’t go that far. Just one more bite, to make it even, he thought, as he shoved the tenth bite- a large bite- into his mouth.

Half the cake was gone, now. At least half is still left, he thought. Realistically, that will be enough to feed fifteen people. Some people might not have any. Some just want “a small piece”. And I won’t have any, of course. I definitely don’t need any more cake.

Nope no more cake. The icing, though. The icing is what made it so good. Before he had closed the fridge door, it was open again, and he found his finger running along one of the sides of the remaining square. He came up with a giant glob of sweet, light, creamy deliciousness. Even as Sam was eating it, he knew he was entering the point of no return. His stomach could not take much more- maybe no more- but yet, his tongue wanted to taste it again. And again. And again. Until there was barely any icing left clinging to the sad-looking crumbling chocolate sponge.

So much for the big birthday surprise for one of his very best friends.

Sam found himself sitting on the bathroom floor, back against the tub, head close enough to the bowl, just in case he needed it- which he eventually did. An hour of wincing, sweating, wishing he made different choices, and the feeling peaked- the worst of the worst of the night. In the middle of this, Sam heard something.

A voice.

Maybe it was a product of the nausea, maybe the sweating. Maybe it was some weird sugar-induced hallucination. Maybe he was really sick. Maybe there was something wrong with the eggs they used to make the cake, and now he was having fever dreams and would soon be dead. He felt like death, that was for sure.

The voice spoke, as if from behind him, but also above him, and at the same time all around him.

Sam. You’re trapped in a cycle of gluttony. This is the 17th time this has happened. It will continue to happen until you show some self control. You don’t need the cake- it’s not doing you any good.

Sam’s words were a bit slurred as he attempted to respond.

“Yah, I don nee it. Eh was good but this sisnot worth it I think. Don fill s’good.”

Ok, well- try to remember that. Goodnight, Sam. Remember- all you have to do is not eat the cake.

The voice was gone. Sam’s head leaned against his arm which was leaning against the toilet.

--

Sam woke up. It was 9 pm. He had dozed off reading before having any dinner and he felt his stomach growling.

There, in the fridge, on that middle shelf, a beautiful pristine double-decker buttercream chocolate sheet cake. The birthday cake that his roommate had ordered as a surprise for their friend’s 35th. He could have a slice tomorrow, at the party. He could wait, no problem. His mouth watered. His eyes widened.

Well, thought Sam. I guess one bite won’t hurt.