Falling U P
Summary: (you just want to be skinny, like the models pasted to your bedroom walls with all the glitterglamour. is that so much to ask?)
So, for whatever reason, in my world, Tori Vega has an eating disorder. I don't know, it seems like she's that perfectionist type, like she would drive herself to no end to reach that ultimate goal, even if it kills her.
You're moving past your home.
So lift, your thoughts.
You're letting go of all you used to know,
And now his blood will flow.
- Falling up; Epoison
/
It's one day -
swimming, treading, head popping up with lips pursed, eyes popped as you gasp for breath.
You run clammy fingers over the edge of your bikini top (criss-cross straps, red as bl-blo-crimson jewels) and smile because it shines in the water and shifts against your skin like satin sheets.
(kick legs, pump arms, remember inhaling-exhaling)
Fingers pause and you pick at a brown (like a meatball) mole on the edge of your hip.
(but wait)
(just wait.)
Should there
be a
tiny
flap of
skin
there?
/
Sing until your lungs feel like bursting, eyes watering, heart pumping.
(where's that damn wa- here, one sip, and two. that's enough. too much already.)
"You have a pretty voice, Tori," says Cat with shining eyes and flowing red hair (like bl-blo-crimson jewels.) "You should audition for Hollywood Arts end of the year musical. I hear they're doing Annie."
(Annie has red hair, doesn't she?)
"Why not?" You say -
-pick at flap of skin and wonder why it can't just lie smooth.
/
Jade - Beck (& even their names fit together) kissing, her smashed up against his locker. Teacher snaps in their ear (something about PDA) but they ignore him.
"Hey."
They ignore you (because that flap of skin is bul-bulg-bulging and you know it.)
"Um - Beck -"
(sucking, biting the corner of Jade's lips, and you wantneed it.)
You think you liked Beck once upon a time (hah, fairy tales) but now you don't want (no, can't have) anybody, and you're picking -
-picking
that little
flap of skin
(see see?)
(this is my tummy, mommy.)
/
You bite into a carrot -
(-chomp chomp)
-then look down and see bulges and fat rolling off your body and oh god when did this happen?
Spitting out carrot bits (orangeorange, on the walls like baby food) and rushing to the bathroom; scrubbing your teeth until you can't see any traces of carrot left.
Eyes watering-
(-and suddenly you're not good enough.)
/
Your voice reverberates around the walls of the choir loft and you're singing and lost in the music and it's haunting and beautiful and -
"There you are."
A voice. Quick, quick. Cover up. Fold your legs out, lean back, arms over your stomach so it looks like you're skinny.
(you're so not.)
"Here I am."
Your voice: weak, cracking. Andre folds himself into a sitting position beside you and smiles and you just can't help but smile back.
(he makes you happy sometimes.)
"You okay?" His voice is soothing, like the sound of softly crashing waves (do you remember when you could swim in a bikini, Tori? do you?)
"Yeah." Shrug, smile flat so he'll (maybe) believe it. "Just nervous about auditions, I guess."
"You'll get it." He says nothing else and it's -
-almost
kind of like
he (just) might
believe
in you.
/
You want to sleep, but you're stuck to the center of the bed and everything is so hot -
(your fat is rolling around and it's so disgusting, it's horrible how obese you are.)
"Tori, honey?" Your mom's voice, a hand pressed against your forehead. You feel the edge of her wedding band prod your skin and want to cover up because she raised you to take care of your body. "Honey, what's wrong?"
"Not feeling well." You're whispering now.
It hurts.
(It hurts.)
You haven't eaten in two days, and it scares you how fat you still are.
Your mom spoon feeds you some chicken noodle soup (every slurp hurts as it slithers down; is she trying to make you fatter?)
/
Go to class.
Acting out blind people, when your legs wobble (ohnoohgod) and you're slipping, falling -
-Beck's arms encircle your waist and he catches you before you hit the floor.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, just clumsy."
/
Your mom says you're not eating enough. Your dad sits there (wasting time, wasting work hours, wasting money) and tells you you have to eat half a sandwich at least.
"But I'm not hun-"
"Sit down."
Chew, chew, swallow now, it will all be okay.
Your fingers tremble against the edge of the counter and it hurts to eat, hurts to chew, but you have to. Lips trembling now, eyes freezing over because you will not cry in front of them.
(you just want to be skinny, like the models pasted to your bedroom walls with all the glitterglamour. is that so much to ask?)
They leave, happy that you've eaten, and you're sitting there and it's building up, too much, too much, can't do it, have to -
(stick two fingers down your throat, gagging; I'm not crazy, mommy. I'm scared.)
You kneel in front of the toilet and cry and cry because now your throat tastes like vomit and you feel covered in it (so dirty) and you try to scrub it off in the shower but the scent still lingers (barely there.)
/
You sing your heart out, and you're dizzy but it's okay because the judges are watching and you were born to be a star -
(-and you can barely dance with all the fat hanging off your body.)
"Victoria Vega -" They begin in that tone, the one that says you're not good enough.
(you get the part; it's clearly a pity vote.)
/
Costume check -
("darling, this is the smallest size we have, but it's hanging off your body" -)
(sofat, can't stop now.)
And don't you look dazzling that red, polka dot dress. Just like the star you were born to be.
/
If you were one of those famous people (yes, they're people too, shockingly enough) then maybe your friends wouldn't notice.
(but you've never been good at lying.)
"Tori, come here."
Andre's hands roaming your waist as he looks at you with those chocolate eyes that still make you smile no matter what kind of day it is. He has no idea how special he is.
Lips brush cautiously.
"How long have you -"
"This isn't a Disney movie, Tori." Lips against your neck, fingers undoing the buttons of your blouse. "I can't just magically discern my feelings in early childhood."
His hands pause at your waist (and why - )
not
him too.
(she's too skinny isn't she?)
(mommy, mommy, I'm winning.)
/
Jade just laughs.
"I knew it," she says, so surprisingly matter-of-factly.
You clench your teeth, cross your arms across your stomach, say nothing.
/
"When did you last eat?" asks your conscience.
(four days, almost five; the finish line is in sight.)
/
Annie. Bright lights, singing, dancing.
(you're the star, and you can almost forget about the black spots in your vision.)
/
It happens.
The little crack in your voice when you're singing after the production -
- and
picking
up roses, because apparently you deserve them or something.
(crick, crack, you're not in charge anymore Victoria Vega.)
It's almost too hard to stand, but you manage because the star just has to suck it up once in awhile. You can do this.
(it almost makes you forget-)
about
that one
flap
of skin.
/
Nearly falling again. Can't eat - won't eat, must stay strong.
(I'm dying, mommy, mommy, am I dying?)
(no, you're very much alive - )
and being alive
is
so much
worse.
/
So, I'm not even sure what that was. It was inspired by iloveyou123's story: redrum. But mine is...well, nothing compared to hers. You really should check hers out. :)