Floral Deception

*Trigger Warning: This story explores themes of eating disorders, particularly binge eating and sugar addiction.

Ella stood by her parents' kitchen counter, her fingers grazing the edges of the large tray as she arranged the petit fours one by one with meticulous precision. The tiny confections, with their geometric shapes and glossy sheen of icing, looked almost too beautiful to touch. Yet she moved with purpose, positioning each piece just so. She paused, inspecting the tray for the smallest imperfection. Her gaze lingered on the rows of miniature pastries—an immaculate display of order and delicacy. 

A voice inside her—wise and familiar—urged her to leave them untouched, to take the finished tray out as planned. But the bite-sized treats seemed to beckon her, promising a sweet escape. Her hand moved almost involuntarily, picking one up from the tray. She hesitated for just a moment before popping it into her mouth.

The sugary coating melted on her tongue, the rich, creamy filling spilling over the edges. Her pulse quickened as the rush of sweetness surged through her. She whispered to herself, “No, don’t.” Don’t touch it again. Just carry the damn tray out of the kitchen as intended. She lifted it, the cool ceramic pressing against her palms. But after just a few steps toward the exit, an inexplicable pull drew her back.

The tray was back on the counter before she knew it, her hand moving on autopilot. One petit four. Two petit fours. Three petit fours. Her mind raced, and yet, there was nothing in her thoughts except the next bite.

When a noticeable gap appeared on the tray, she paused with panic, followed by a frantic desire to fix it. She began rearranging the remaining pastries, nudging them closer together to cover the space. But as soon as she finished, another gap emerged—this one even larger. 

“God help me,” she whispered aloud. Her eyes darted around the kitchen, scanning the countertops, the open shelves, even the sink. There had to be something—anything—that could fill the gap. But her mind went blank, teetering on the edge of despair. Then, suddenly, her face lit up. “Pink carnations!”

She rushed out of the kitchen and returned with a vase in hand. Setting it on the table, she quickly began pulling out the pink carnations. She worked fast, placing the rosy blooms one by one into the gap, her movements both panicked and precise, as though each flower held the key to restoring some semblance of order. Then, just as she finished, she heard the front door open, followed by footsteps.

Her mom entered the kitchen. “My, it took forever to set up the bar cart.”

“I know, that was a big project. Thanks for doing it, Mom.”

"Of course… well, thankfully, we still have plenty of time till the guests arrive. Oh, and I’ve finished putting all the snacks and appetizers on the dining table. Your turn to arrange them. I’m going to take a shower and get ready.”

"Sounds good," Ella said, carefully lifting the tray. 

Her mom’s eyes brightened the moment she saw it, a smile spreading across her face. "Ooooh, such a lovely idea! You’re always so good with food decoration!" 

Ella carried the tray toward the dining table, her thoughts fixated on one thing: finding more sweets. She needed them. Living with a binge eating disorder and sugar addiction meant the urge to binge could resurface at any moment. And now it had, gnawing at her from within. She could feel herself changing, transforming into something else—a ravenous beast. It reminded her of the werewolf stories she used to read as a child—becoming a different creature, driven by an uncontrollable compulsion.

She walked into the dining room, ecstatic to find the long table crowded with snacks. She placed the petit four tray down and scanned the spread, her eyes immediately drawn to several boxes of cookies. Without hesitation, she tore open one of them.

Just as she was about to take a bite of a cookie, the sound of footsteps made her freeze. She quickly set it back down and turned to see her husband enter, a hammer in hand. He walked to the corner, where a toolbox rested against the wall.

“Oh, so glad you’re here, love. I need your help. Can you please go buy some flowers. There’s a florist about ten minutes away.”  She was surprised at how quickly the lie had come to her. Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie—it was more of a decorative idea. She could always use flowers, especially to cover up the half-eaten trays of food, hiding the evidence of what she'd already consumed.

“I’m helping your dad set up a tent for the party. What’s up?”

“I need fresh flowers for decoration. I want the food table to look beautiful and floral.”

“Why don’t you come with me, I don’t know what to get.”

Ella began placing the cookies on an empty tray nearby, arranging them carefully. “I can’t.  I have to finish this. Any flower will do. And you can go with my dad. He knows the way.”

Her husband approached her, his eyes alight with a mix of curiosity and amusement as she arranged the cookies with the precision and rhythm of a factory worker. He plucked a cookie from her hand and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully as he studied her.

“Yes, ma’am. Anything else?”

"No, thank you," she said, her attention fixed firmly on the cookies.

Still gazing at her, he slowly leaned in and kissed her.

“Ooooh, you taste good," she murmured. And he did—like the sugar cookie he'd been eating. He took another bite. 

“I’d share with you, but I know you’re on a diet.” Alas, that word—diet. If only he knew how often she’d broken that so-called diet, how many times she’d promised herself she’d never binge again, only to fail again.

            “Thanks for the reminder,” she said with sarcasm.

            He moved closer and put the hammer on the table. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you something sweet.” He kissed her again, deep and lingering, his hand sliding to her waist.

            Ella gently pulled his hands away. Romance was the last thing on her mind when the compulsion took hold. She needed him gone—now—so she could be alone with her beloved cookies. “Not now, love. I have to finish setting the table. Remember, any flower will do,” she said trying her best to sound as sweet as the treats she was about to devour.