I lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling. My eyes are glued to the white stucco dorm walls, but I don’t dare will myself to unglue them. I don’t unglue them because I know what happens next.

I could easily do it. It sits there next to the bed, taunting me and daring me. Some could say it’s a dance with the devil, and some say harmless fun. I don’t think it’s either. I don’t dare move, because i know the outcome will be catastrophic. Just one flick of the arm and I’ve done it, it’s all over. So I don’t dare move. I stay still, eyes still fixated on the nothingness above me.

I know the consequences. I’ve experienced them before, but none would be quite like this if I go through with it. Something inside of me tells me this time is much different. 

There’s a bag to right, sitting on the nightstand, and a bag under my bed, this one much more dangerous. I don’t know why I tease myself. I don’t know why I don’t just leave the room. A part of me likes the temptation, likes the risk of seeing what I’ll do next. I’ve been in this situation enough times to know that sometimes I surprise myself. They say just one won’t hurt, but it will. More than I know.

So I let them lie there. The bag of Dove special dark with salted caramel centers, and the milk chocolate eggs filled with creamy, decadently smooth peanut butter. My kryptonite. I know if I even smell the cocoa aroma, or taste it to my lips I will be as good as dead. Okay, I’m possibly a little dramatic, but my eyes remain. Glued to the ceiling, ignoring the temptation. 

“Maybe just one!” My head tells me. “Easter is a special occasion!” Just one? It’s a double edged sword. 

There are others who know my struggle. The Cadbury eggs taunt them with every movement between March and May. The struggle between eating the plethoras of Easter candy sent in care packages, Easter baskets, or for harmless taking. But how do you give in to temptation, while still maintaining a body that will look good in a bathing suit? But who cares about a bikini body when chocolate exists? You do. You care.

I pace my room. How can something so small be so powerful? Anyone who knows me knows dark chocolate and peanut butter is a habit I can’t kick. I pick up the bag. It feels wrong, yet so right, like pouring disinfectant in a throbbing wound. The pain comes with relief. I pick one up and unwrap it. My muscles tense  as I bring it to my lips. “Maybe just one”. My roommate has been watching the interaction. As I taste the chocolate, I immediately bring it away, horrified by my lack of willpower.

“Eat the damn chocolate,” my roommate says. “But finish the damn push up.”