So this sort of came out of nowhere. But hey, it's a break from writer's block, and that's fine by me! To everyone that's reading Touch My Soul, I'm so sorry for the hiatus. I just don't know where to take it... If anyone has any suggestions they'd be willing to share, just message me or leave a review. Otherwise, enjoy!
The sun beats down on her neck, warm in the mid-spring afternoon. Yet another reminder she's still here. Still alive. A soft exhale breaks the peaceful silence, and she falls backwards, lying in the plush, soft grass. With the new angle, her clothes fall flat against her sickeningly thin figure. A small, pale hand ghosts over her ribs, easily felt through the thin fabric of her tee shirt.
Maybe once she had been confident. But now, not so much.
Not like anyone even notices, or cares.
Her phone vibrates in her pocket with an incoming text, and she glances down at the screen, her boyfriend's name flashing up.
Hey babe! About to go out to dinner, want to come?
Her reply requires very little thought. Actually, it requires no thought at all.
Sorry, can't! Grandparents are taking the family out tonight. :(
Lies, of course, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him.
It will just hurt her.
Which is fine.
Her stomach growls softly, almost unintelligibly, and she snaps harshly at it.
"Shut the hell up."
The few birds that had dared to hop closer to her in the silence scatter in a heartbeat.
Never before has she ever felt so alone.
A quick glance in the mirror tells her everything she needs to know.
Your eyes are oddly shaped, even for an Asian.
What the hell is up with your nose?
You look like a retarded toddler with all that baby fat.
You look like you're fucking pregnant.
Lose some weight, fat ass.
It's no wonder he's looking at the other girls when you look like some fat-ass pregnant hooker. Way to fucking go.
The answer is simple enough.
Lose. All. That. Weight.
Her body aches all over, desperate for nutrients at this point. No one notices how much skinnier she is. No one notices the way you can clearly see her ribs in her camisole when she changes for gym class, or how the dark circles under her eyes are practically bruise-like at this point. The other girls look at her like the little whore she is.
"I heard that she slept with the entire football team."
"Oh my God, that bitch! She thinks she can get action with my boyfriend?"
"That bitch is gonna get cut!"
The kicks and scratches, hair pulls and bites, all seem to blend together. She vaguely remembers the Cheerio girl tackling her, but after that, it all turns into one haze of abuse. It feels as if she's on drugs, the way everything swirls about her, even though she knows it's just from not eating. But she doesn't need to eat.
That's what she tells herself.
Because if she does that enough, it'll be true.
And then she'll be skinny and perfect, just like the other girls.
Cutting is too noticeable when you have to wear tank tops and short shorts on the volleyball team.
No one notices a little bit of baby fat gone.
Because that's all it is really, just a bit of baby fat.
Her mom stays up reading half the night.
"You'll be successful in whatever you attempt, sweetheart."
Even killing myself?
"Cool, Mom."
The tiniest of painful moans escapes her lips, before she clamps a hand over her mouth. She used to sing. She was told it was beautiful. That she was beautiful.
Fuck it all.
Babe, I missed you at school today. Where were you?
Are you mad at me? Why won't you answer my calls or texts?
Sweetheart?
She lies on the floor of her room, too exhausted to make it to the bed, bottle of pills gripped tightly in her hand. She reverently traces her fingertips over the label. A lazy smile finds its way onto her features, looking haunted in her now gaunt appearance. The note she scribbled down an hour ago is waiting on the kitchen table, just where she wants it.
I was told I was beautiful, that I was perfect. If that's the case, then why didn't I feel pretty?
I don't blame any of you. At least, I don't think I do. I don't really know.
If you're reading this, I wish you a nice life.
You all deserve it. We all deserve it.
Well, except for me.
-Tina