Weak, Pathetic Food-Whore

I woke up reluctantly, stretched, and crawled out of bed. "Ana?" i called softly, but she was no where to be seen. "Oh well," i muttered. "I'll be fine on my own for a little bit."
I stumbled sleepily down the hallway and into the living room, on my way to the kitchen. Breakfast was the one thing i would NOT deprive myself of. But when i got to the living room, i was met by an unwelcome surprise. The TV was on and in front of it sat a perpetually hungry being, stuffing her face with a stack of freshly made pancakes drowned in high Calorie syrup. "C?" i asked in shock.
She swallowed her mouthful and smiled up at me. "Hello there, darling."
"What on earth are you doing here? Ana said you were gone for good!"
C laughed a little bit. "Well in her mind i am. She has no idea i'm here. And she doesn't need to, now does she?"
"You have to leave," i stated firmly. "I'm not letting her down like that again." And i made my way into the kitchen to make some oatmeal.
I reached for the can of oats, but C was there, and she knocked it out of my hand. "Now, now," she snarled, opening a box of poptarts. "Don't get all mean on me. Have some of these instead." She handed me a silver pouch of the pastries.
Like a complete idiot, i popped them in the toaster and ate them. "I'll exercise it off," i promised myself. But i didn't.
C and i just ate all day long, stuffing ourselves to the point of no return, and then she left. "Bye bye, darling. It was so nice to spend some time with you again."
I couldn't say the same. I loathed her.
Then my mom came home and decided it would be lovely to have an enormous chicken dinner. I was too embarrassed to tell her i'd been binging all day, so i forced some of everything on the table down my throat into my aching belly. I didn't clean my plate. "I feel sick," i excused myself. "I don't think greasy gravy agrees with me." That was what i told my mom, anyway. I knew it was just that i'd been an awful glutton and eaten so much that i'd made myself sick.
Ana found me in the bathroom, wishing and praying (without success, of course) to throw up, just this one time. "Serves you right," was all she said.
"Do you want some Tums or something?" my mom asked, poking her head in the door.
"No," i said. Then too softly for her to hear, i added. "I deserve this."