It was so unlike me to demand anything that my parents knew something must have been going on. As soon as I asked, they drove home. I refused to say a word the entire way home, because I knew that if I did talk, I'd only get mad at Idina.
Inwardly, though, I was fuming. I knew it was hard for Idina to eat ice cream, but I was so tired of her becoming hostile whenever she saw someone she thought was skinnier than she was. I got out of the car, slamming the door behind me. I marched up to the house and went straight into my room.
I was tired of bottling up my anger toward anorexia. I was tired of not speaking up whenever Idina became volatile. I was tired of eating disorders in general, and at that moment, nothing could have cheered me up.