Like almost every truly horrible thing that has happened in the history of our world, it began with a kiss.
She's young and sweet, all soft skin and doe eyes and innocent hope, and she puckers her pink lips and presses them softly against his. And this is it, she thinks. This is the moment I've been waiting for. She's seen the movies, she knows what happens now. They'll both pull away, out of breath and blushing ever so slightly, and he'll say, "I love you, Ino. I've always loved you." And they'll live happily ever after. She's only eight years old but she knows and the happiness that surges instinctively through her veins only strengthens her certainty.
They do pull away, and she is out of breath and blushing, but he doesn't say he loves her. Instead he looks away from her, farther down the street and – shocked and perhaps a little indignant at his breach of protocol – she follows his gaze with her bright eyes.
A group of boys stands there, all of his friends, trying to stifle their laughter. One fails, snorting into his meaty hand before his loud laughter echoes through the empty street. The rest follow suit, giving up on trying to be discreet.
"I can't believe you did that, Kiba!" One calls out between his giggles.
Kiba moves away from her so that he is half-way in-between them. Another one of the boys moves forward to nudge him, grinning playfully as he queries, "Was kissing a cow the same as kissing a regular girl?"
The comment jolts through Ino, shooting up her bones and settling right in her heart. Her chest contracts painfully and she wants to dry heave. But wait, she thinks to herself, trying to fight down the sheer pain that threatens to overpower her. Kiba kissed me. Kiba loves me. He won't let them talk about me like that. He'll stand up for me.
But he doesn't.
Instead, he shrugs, grins mischievously at his friends and says, "It wasn't as gross as I expected."
Ino feels as though her whole world has collapsed around her. The boys are walking away, laughing and smiling and nudging each other, and they don't even spare her a second glance. They just leave her there, standing in the middle of an empty street, feeling raw and exposed and humiliated.
She picks up her backpack – eerily calm – and finishes the short walk to her house.
No one is home (she thanks her lucky stars) and she goes straight to her room. With slow, deliberate movements she removes her clothes until she is left completely naked – but still not as naked as they made me, she thinks harshly. The tears well up at that thought and they start to fall before she can do anything to stop them. They stream down her face, faster and faster, until she is sobbing from deep within her chest. She is gasping for breath, shaking as she looks at herself in the mirror. Her vision is blurry but she feels as though she's never seen herself clearer. She claws at the baby fat that coats her body, leaving angry red marks on her flesh, over and over until small streams of crimson blood leak out of her self-indicted wounds, a horrible contrast against the alabaster of her skin.
Ino stays like that for a long time.
She stares at herself in the mirror – her face is blotchy from crying, her body is covered in bright red scratches and darkening blood – and thinks she has to change.
She cannot live like this anymore.
And so it begins.
It is cold.
Ino lays under a massive pile of blankets, her fingers clenched tightly into the plush fabric, and does not move.
She knows she should get up – she has to get to school and should probably shower before she does – but she is so warm and so comfortable that the mere thought of moving leaves her feeling fatigued.
Finally, she reluctantly pulls herself out of bed and trudges off towards the bathroom. She passes a mirror – the mirror; the same one that she stared into all those years ago, red faced and broken – and can't help but pause in front of it. I'm so different now, she think proudly, twisting her body this way and that and scrutinizing the reflection. She's beautiful now, dainty and thin and light as a feather, and everyone notices her. No one calls her 'cow' or laughs at her or hurts her. They love her because she is so slender and so delicate and that makes her worth their adoration and attention, their jealousy and lust.
Ino smiles at herself in the mirror, and is pleased with the reflection that smiles back.
Ino plops down at the lunch table unceremoniously, dropping her backpack to the ground as she sighs loudly and pops the tab on her Coke Zero.
Sakura looks up, momentarily startled, before letting out a slight giggle at her friend's exhausted appearance. She drops a tater tot into her mouth before asking, "Rough day, Ino?"
Ino eyes the tater tots on Sakura's tray for a moment too long. She looks away hastily, taking a sip of her drink as she nods. "Kakashi was a total douche today. He came in like twenty minutes late, had some bullshit excuse for it, and then gave me attitude when I told him I didn't do my homework. He told me it was irresponsible! Like he's one to talk."
Sakura laughs again, and several boys look at her with dreamy expressions. Ino hates Sakura – just a little bit and only very, very secretly – because she is so perfect in such an effortless way. She doesn't have to try, doesn't have to diet and plan and lie to make others see her. She shines effervescently just the way she is.
"The line's gone way down now. Aren't you going to go up and get some lunch? Or you can have some of mine." Sakura says, tossing another tater tot into her mouth before she pushes the tray towards Ino. Ino's heart thuds against her chest. She can't eat that. Those little things have at least one hundred and sixty calories and she's already had one hundred this morning from her breakfast smoothie and she has to eat something at dinner with her parents. These tater tots don't fit into her careful plan – 500 calories a day at the most: the recipe for the perfect body, the perfect girl - and she doesn't have any extra time to go to the gym to work them off. And yet they look so good, all crisp golden brown, and she wants them so badly – she hasn't had anything of the sort in so long.
Ino takes a big gulp of her soda, and shakes her head in what she hopes is a casual way. "Nah, I'm good. Kakashi got me so pissed off that I lost my appetite. But I do have to go check out a couple of books from the library. Catch you later?"
Sakura smiles prettily and says her goodbyes, doesn't seem to notice the way Ino practically runs from the cafeteria. Ino can feel her heart beat thumping in her ears by the time she makes it into the hallway. She's moved too fast on too little energy, feels weak and faint, and she thinks she has got to get it together. She needs to have better self-control, needs to keep her calm, needs to be perfect.
She's worked too hard to let herself become a 'cow' again.
She's young and sassy, all tanned skin and sultry eyes and reluctant hope, and she puckers her pink lips and presses them softly against his. She isn't eight anymore – doesn't think that this is love – but there is something there, and if she's being totally honest with herself, she thinks it feels like promise, like potential, like possibility. They pull away, both breathing heavily, and he leans down slightly so he can rest his forehead against hers. He is smiling so widely that she can't help but smile back.
"I can't believe it…" Shikamaru says, grin still in place as he trails off breathlessly.
"Hmm?" she hums in question, not quite willingly to break the spell that lingers between them. She can't remember the last time she's been this happy and she's afraid to speak, to move, to breathe, lest she break the illusion.
"I just never thought that someone like me would be kissing the most popular girl in school," he says sheepishly, a light blush dusting his cheek as he rubs the back of his head.
And that's it. The spell is broken.
From somewhere on the other side of the room, someone calls Shikamaru's name and he excuses himself after promising to return to her in just a moment. She uses the opportunity to sneak out the back door, ignoring people that greet her and focusing everything she has on keeping her composure.
The cold air hits her like a ton of bricks, infiltrating her lungs in a way that is almost painful. And out there, all alone in the darkness and the freezing winter air, Ino falls apart. She thought she'd come so far, changed so much, and yet she still can't win. Back then, when she was just a child and it was Kiba she'd been kissing, she'd been a cow. Now, when she thought she was all grown up with Shikamaru's lips against her own, she was a popular girl. Never just Ino. Neither of them had ever really seen her for who she was and it made her wonder if anyone ever had.
She's sobbing before she realizes it, deep wet heaves that come from her very core. She's shaking from the cold and from the pain and she just can't keep it together. I'm never enough, she thinks once and then over and over like a terrible mantra, never enough never enough.
She cannot live like this anymore.
It is cold.
Ino lays under a massive pile of blankets, her fingers clenched tightly into the plush fabric, and does not move.