As James stumbled into the small bathroom of 2J, he prepared himself for what he thought was an ugly number upon the scales his feet were about to stand on. For the past three weeks, James had been not eating.
James had also been taking everything said to him as an insult - a reason that people wanted him to die. And for the first time in his life, he had turned to anorexia and bulimia as a way to make himself thinner because a teen girl fan on the street called him big. She meant it as a compliment, and stating the obvious, that James was a towering 6 foot one and a half inch over the teen girl's short five foot three inch, but James had taken it as an insult to his weight.
"What the scales say means everything," James quietly told himself, looking to the tiled floor on his left.
As James prepared himself for the third time that day, he removed his black v-neck, leaving him in nothing but a pair of black cotton boxers. James looked in the full length mirror in front of him.
James saw an ugly, flaw covered man, with an uneven complexion, and a bulging stomach supported by overweight, cellulite covered, stumpy legs. When, to everyone else, James was a stunningly handsome, even-complexioned, flawless man, with abdominal muscles that could be used as a table, supported by muscular, long legs.
As James lifted his right foot off the ground and on to the white bathroom scales, he internally prayed that the number revealed would be lighter than the previous one shown earlier that day. James' right foot touched the scales lightly, slowly distributing weight through out his foot.
"Even my feet are ugly," he muttered, ashamed. James was scared to lift his left foot on to the metal measuring device, fearing the scales in general - not just the numbers it showed.
"Do it, you wimp. This is for you if you want to make it in this town." he told himself for the tenth time that evening. James hesitantly lifted his left foot from the tiled floor, and watched the pointer inside the scales skyrocket. James cussed under his breath as he slowly placed his heightened foot on to the other half of the scales.
James nervously anticipated the out come of his body mass as he stood straight on the scales.
"One hundred and twenty seven pounds?" he exclaimed angrily. He hit his fist on the marble counter top in anger, pieces of his hair brunette falling in his face. His glossy hazel eyes focused onto the few bits of hair over his eyes. His eyebrows furrowed before he blew them away with his angled lips. After a few unsuccessful attempts, James grabbed the closest inanimate object he could reach for, which were a pair of scissors. James right index and middle finger looped through the larger hole in the scissors, his thumb grasping the smaller one.
The satisfying sound of hair being cut brought slight relief to James, some how making his worries of the just measured weight lift a millimeter from his shoulders. James rested his palms on the cream colored marble counter top, he took a step backwards and leant his weight on to his palms. His head fell downwards, facing the forever laid tiles.
After a few deep, yet shaky, breaths, James' shoulders shook as tears slipped from his now blood shot eyes. The tears fell down, under his eyes, down his cheeks fast, and off the edge of his jaw, his mouth occasionally tasting a few salty tasting tears.
"Down my throat, to the left, push it back next, up comes lunch" James chanted, a little 'rhyme' girls in Minnesota used to say. James looked at his green toothbrush that sat flat beside the basin. He looked up into the mirror at his reflection.
"Oh gosh, I look horrible," he said in horror, "But then again, when don't I?" he asked to himself rhetorically. James scooped up the toothbrush and walked unsteadily to the toilet. After leaning down and chanting his little 'rhyme', he forced what ever was in his stomach to empty itself into the toilet before him.
"Nothing, really?" he asked the toilet bowl after ten minutes of self inflicted dry heaving. James shook his head of now lifeless hair and stood to flush what ever of his insides landed in the water.
James returned to his position in front of the mirror to stare at what he thought was the most atrocious thing on earth. Why? Because he was searching for ways to improve it. James' eyes flickered from his lips, to his left eye, to his right eye, to his chin, then hair. This process repeated itself for a few silent moments, minus the sound of his heavy, uneasy breathing. James finally stopped looking over his face when his hair caught his eye once more.
"Hair, time for a cut" he said out aloud, rather than to actually alert his hair. He was self insecure, and was pro anorexic - not clinically insane.
James picked up one of his new razors and quickly, but carefully pulled it apart, leaving two single blades - clean and untouched, lethally sharp. As he picked up one of the blades with his right hand, he inspected it, looking for its sharpest points, with out actually touching the metal object. James nodded and bite his lower lip on the left side of his face before picking up a piece of his longer brown hair with his left. He brought the blade towards his hair and stopped just before it sliced through his trademark hair. Something caught James' eye though.
His left wrist.
Should I? He debated in his mind. "There's a first time for everything," he mumbled before dropping his hair and bringing his wrists level to his navel. James placed his wrist under the blade. James tried to cut his flesh, he truly did, but something was stopping him. Not a person or distractions.
James' body literally wouldn't do it. James looked up to his face in the mirror. A horror shocked face stared back at him.
"Now is when you start fighting?" he asked himself, not wanting an answer.
A noise at the closed bathroom door alerted him, though he did not move.
The boy clad in a helmet and boxer briefs walked into the door.
"Hey James have you see- What the hell?" He screamed, running up to James. He grasped the razor blade from between James' fingers and placed it carefully and flatly on the bench before grasping his hands.
James had been wearing shirts and jackets recently, giving none of his best friends a chance to see what his odd eating habits were doing to him, other than a chalkiness effect to his normally tanned face. Carlos looked to James' bare torso. His ribs were all visible, his skin tightly wrapped around the bones. James' normally rock hard abs were slowly decreasing and turning into a hollow in his body.
Carlos looked into James' eyes, they were still blood shot.
"What happened, James?" he whispered, still holding his hands in front of their bodies. James finally looked into Carlos' eyes, full of worry. James looked down.
"W-well, I haven't been eating a-" James started, his voice barely above audible level.
"What? James, why would you do that?" Carlos interrupted. James looked up to Carlos once more. James opened his mouth the speak, but Carlos beat him.
"If you've started this because you don't think you're perfect enough, then I think I need to tell you something," He started, seriousness and disbelief written all over his face.
"But I'm not perfect, Carlos. I'm never going to be unless I keep doing this, this makes me happy," James tried to reassure Carlos. Carlos shook his head before wrapping his arms around the tall boys waist.
"It makes you happy?" Carlos asked in all seriousness. James nodded intently. "So why were you holding a razor blade to your wrist?" Carlos was throwing questions a mile a minute - not because he was trying to be rude, but because his best friend, whom he secretly had the hots for, was putting his life at risk.
"Because there's a first try for everything…and it fit the mood," James explained to Carlos, Carlos removed his arms from around James' waist and put them on his hips.
"James, self harm like you were about to do would be a 15 minute death," Carlos tried to tell James. James' shoulders slouched. "How do you think I- I mean, we would have all felt if you died?" Carlos slipped up, revealing slight adoration. James shook his head.
"I-I guess I didn't think about that," he confessed, pouting. Carlos put his hands behind James' neck and pulled James a little closer to his height.
"If you died, I could have never done this, though, James," Carlos spoke before pressing his lips to the brunette's. James was stunned but quickly went into auto pilot mode and started kissing for more. Carlos pulled back from the kiss between best friends.
"We could have never found out what might be," he smirked before finishing his statement with a wink. Carlos unwrapped his arms from James' neck before stepping away from the taller one of the two boys and walking steadily out of the bathroom.
James put his right index finger to his lips, almost feeling if Carlos' lips were still there. A small smile spread on James' face.
So, for the first time in almost three weeks, James went and ate.