Author's Note: The following crappy oneshot concerns eating disorders. If reading about such content bothers you, you probably want to go read another fic.
Her eyes sting and her throat burns. She coughs and splutters as the hot tears leak from the corners of her aqua eyes, and she pushes the plastic straw she holds just a bit further back. It's only the second time she's used the straw, but it's just like using her finger. She gags and her head snaps forward as the acidic constituents of her stomach surge up into her throat. There's a sickening splash as they spew from her trembling lips and into the toilet bowl below. Spit dribbles from the corner of her mouth and she wipes it away with a scarred finger. She stands up and inhales shakily, fishing through her purse for a tissue. The steaming tears are wiped away as well and she flushes the toilet without so much as a glance down to the revolting chunks of food she's expelled inside.
She exits the restroom stall with the slightest of wobbles in her step as she approaches the sink. It disgusts her to have vomited in such a public place, but it was her only choice. The restaurant's vile, greasy meal was sitting in her stomach like it weighed three hundred pounds. She couldn't possibly wait until dinner was over to get rid of it at home. The reflection that stares back at her from its glass plane behind the sink is nearly as revolting as what she's just done. It's fat. Grotesquely fat with a belly that balloons out like Santa Claus's and cheeks as around as a baby's behind. Her meaty thighs scream visual obscenity and she wants to slam her fist into the mirror until it shatters just to make her image disappear. She wonders how she didn't notice she was this fat long before. Because she must have been this fat before, right? Appalling weight gain is not just something that happens overnight.
Amber didn't realize she was this morbidly obese until two months ago. She was shopping with her friends, a green wad of bills (courtesy of Daddy) burning a hole in her pocket and just begging to be spent. They found themselves in Cleo's Boutique just in time for the fifty-percent off everything sale, flashing each other victorious grins as they raided through the store. Li found a billowy sundress, strapless and cream colored with tiny sunflowers that dotted the fabric in happy rows. It was positively darling, but the onyx-haired teen found that it didn't look quite right on her. So she offered it to Amber, who gladly took it to the dressing room. But it took the blonde awhile to pull it on. And when she did, it was much too snug. The material constricted her curves and created unsightly bulges where her hips and middle were. Even her armpits showed pudge.
Disturbed, Amber put the dress back and stepped onto the scale as soon as she returned home. She cringed upon the discovery that she'd gained exactly a pound and a half since the last time she'd weighed herself. From then on, she'd put herself on a strict diet and exercise routine and had not deviated from it since. But no matter how many pounds she successfully discards, she never looks as slender as she wants to. The reflection in the pristine ladies room mirror she looks into now still shows her an ugly fat person who appears as if she gorges on cake for every meal. She loathes her repulsive figure and finds herself vigorously urged to take a sharp knife and forcefully slice her flab away.
Biting down on her sore tongue, she bears with the impulse to turn away from her hideous image long enough to reapply her makeup. Walking back to the table, she takes her seat between her father and her brother, and politely refuses to order anything from the dessert menu. She's just too stuffed from dinner.
.
.
.
Her breaths leave her lips in short puffs as she jogs up the block. She's only been at it for ten minutes and she's already exhausted, but she has to finish her route. There's a baleful stitch in her side and her chest heaves with the effort. Her hands and feet feel like lead weights, and her arms and legs feel like limp noodles. But she has to keep going. Because exercise is essential to meet her goal. She needs to drop all this blubber that she's packed on and jogging is one step closer to getting there. So she pushes herself block after block, her iPod in her sweatpants pocket and headphones plugged in. The music fills her ears and dances through her head, serving as a distraction from the weariness in her aching limbs.
Sweat clings to her skin and dampens her hair as her tennis shoes scuff on the pavement with each brisk step. She takes air into her lungs by the gulp and presses on. She's now on a busier street in the heart of the city and has to slow down a bit to avoid running into people, but she doesn't stop. And somewhere in the back of her mind, the part that she's failed to shut out but still refuses to listen to, she's grateful for the reason to gentle her pace. As she continues at more of a power walk than a jog, the aroma of food from nearby cafes and restaurants grows thick in the air. The mingled odors of tantalizing spices, meat, sugar and dough invade her unwilling nostrils. She wants to sneeze it out. Her stomach tightens and clenches with a pained groan that she tries to ignore. Hunger has no place in a diet.
Amber stumbles. The pangs of hunger are combining with the weakness in her physique, and the scents of food are simultaneously tempting her and nauseating her. It's too much to take and her feet lose their balance on the pavement. She stumbles and staggers awkwardly to the side, narrowly avoiding a collision with a man on his cellphone. She leans down, hands on her knees as her body quakes and she strenuously puts effort in to keep herself standing. Some people walking by offer their curious glances, but most of them are absorbed in their own lives. She doesn't even notice the ones who aren't. Her legs are watery and unstable, like they might give out beneath her any second now. But her will keeps her propped up and she straightens herself. Relief washes over her when she looks up at the street sign and sees she's actually finished her route.
But then she looks down at her stomach. At the fleshy weight that still clings to her once-slim and beautiful body. Her relief is just a little bit soured. It's time to turn around and sprint all the way back home.
.
.
.
She pops the diet pills into her mouth like candy and swallows them down dry. She normally doesn't take them in the middle of the hallway, but her parents are out and her brother is at-
"What the heck are you doing?" Scratch that. Her brother is actually standing a few lengths behind her, in the doorway of his bedroom with his mouth gaped open and his golden eyes bugging.
"What are you doing?" she shoots back. "You're supposed to be at Melody's house."
"Were you just taking pills!?" Nathaniel ignores her completely and stalks over, snatching her wrist like he thinks she's going to escape to avoid answering. She probably would have, too. But now she rolls her eyes and gives her arm a tug. He's not holding her tightly, so she should be able to break his grasp. But she can't. And she probably shouldn't find this surprising. She's felt weak lately. Feeble. Simple tasks take more energy.
"Vitamins, Nath." Amber gives him a pouty stare, urging him to let go.
His eyes burn into hers searchingly and after a moment, he gives a small shake of the head. "Look...Is everything okay? You've been acting weird lately. You're quieter and you've started to dress weird-"
"I do not dress weird!" She can't help snapping. She's nervous and she can feel her heart fluttering uneasily in her chest. Its erratic rhythm pulses against the confines of her ribs. She's been dressing in hooded sweatshirts and thick yoga pants for weeks now. They're always baggy on her and she likes it that way, because it keeps everyone from seeing how revoltingly fat she is. And baggier clothes are warmer too. She's not sure why, but she always feels cold lately. It is like there are chips of ice laced with her marrow and they never melt away. "Leave me alone, or I'll tell Mom and Dad you're bothering me. You know they'll be thrilled to hear that. Especially Dad."
Under the threat and the smoldering (but secretly desperate) glare she gives him, her brother backs down. He mutters something she doesn't care to catch and retreats to his room.
.
.
.
They're out shopping again. Amber feels more than a bit uncomfortable to be in this store full of beautiful clothes and dazzling accessories that will look awful on her sickeningly overweight body. But her friends insisted on shopping, and so they are. It's a moderately inexpensive boutique called Lila's Loft and while clothes are the only things sold on the lower floor, the upper floor has an array of soaps and perfumes. She supposes checking out the upstairs variety is the safest way to go. She can actually purchase something like mango body wash or ocean breeze perfume. And her friends do expect her to purchase something. That would be something normal for her to do, and they've noticed how she isn't acting normal lately. How she blows off their invites to cafes or diners, and invents excuses not to try on clothes that they say would look great on her.
She knows they're wrong. Nothing would look halfway decent on her, let alone great. Not until she loses more weight. Sure, by now she's lost ample pounds in comparison to the pesky one and a half she'd gained, but the mirror doesn't lie. She's still fat and she still needs to lose more weight. It is a simple, indisputable fact. It doesn't matter that hunger pains haunt her nights or that her friends are still deluded enough to believe she's still fit enough to wear the fashionable outfits they pull off the racks of respectable shops. She needs to lose more weight. She starts up the stairs to the second story of Lila's Loft, when a faint spell of light-headedness freezes her in stride. These have been happening more frequently and though she would like to sit down, there's no place to do so. Especially not without getting questioned. So she grips the banister and leans up against it, willing the carousel in her head to break down.
"Are you okay?" Both Charlotte and Li are staring up at her with frowns on their mouths and worry in their eyes, and she's not sure which one of them asked the question.
"Cramps," she breathes, shutting her eyes tight. They murmur their understanding. In truth, she's stopped getting her period altogether. She can't remember the last time she had cramps that weren't in the muscles of her fatigued legs. When the sensation of light-headness fades as much as it's going to, she stiffly continues on to the floor of sweet fragrances. They browse through one isle of bright products after the next, looking through bottle after bottle and container after container. Amber picks out a can of pomegranate and chocolate scented shaving cream. Li picks out a flower shaped sponge with shower gel already inside and Charlotte finds herself a face scrub. They start back down the stairs to purchase their items of choice, and Amber feels another wave of dizziness overtake her.
She can't fight the spinning in her head as struggling to stay steady drains the rest of her vitality. The world darkens before her eyes and she teeters down the last few steps, falling onto her knees. She sags forward and pushes her palms to the laminated cedar floor to keep herself from collapsing. Her friends gasp but she can barely hear it over the buzz in her brain and the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. "Amber!?" Li drops down beside her and puts a hand on her shoulder, a touch so delicate it's like she is afraid Amber will break beneath her fingers. "I'm fine," she mumbles quickly despite the crease in her brow and the tremble of her shoulders. "I just tripped."
Li and Charlotte help her up and look her over with eyes betraying limpid concern. They hover near her, seemingly expecting her to falter and crumple to the floor again. "We can go home," Charlotte says hesitantly. The blonde gives an impatient shake of the head and pushes past her friends. "I'm fine," she repeats with a bit more volume. She brushes off their fretting with a suggestion to keep browsing. She's pretty sure she's gotten control of the situation now. Her friends still flash her uneasy glances now and then as they flip through the clothes on the racks and survey the accessories on the shelves, but her own resuming of normalcy seems to have appeased them.
So she relaxes. She mills through the store idly, trying not to flinch under the poison thoughts that censure her for being too damn big and too damn ugly to buy anything pretty. All is well until Charlotte approaches her from behind, with a tap on the shoulder and a smile as she turns. "Here," the caramel-haired female breathes, holding up a wire hanger. From the hanger hangs a short-sleeved dress that looks built to hug the body from the bust to the mid-thighs, turquoise and shimmering with glitter flecks in the lightweight cotton. It's absolutely stunning and she opens her mouth to tell Charlotte that it's an excellent choice, don't she dare put it back- When Charlotte opens her mouth first. And tells her how much she thinks it would suit Amber.
The blonde can feel her head reeling and her stomach sinking in protest, but she can't refuse. It would be too out of character for her to refuse. So she forces a smile and takes the dress, numbly plodding to an available changing room. She shuts the door with frigid fingertips and sucks in a breath to soothe her scorching nerves. She unzips her XXL pumpkin hoodie and tentatively tugs down her sweatpants. The cool air is painfully grating against her skin and sends an icy shiver running up her spine. It feels as if she's swallowed a wad of cotton as she finally faces her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her portly body is rigid on its surface, mocking her with each spiteful role of flab. She's nothing short of awful and disgusting. But she's already down to her bra and panties, so she steps into the dress and pulls it on.
Surprisingly, it zips with ease. But that doesn't change the fact that it looks atrocious on her. She looks so horrendously, plainly obese that she is inclined to upheave the single celery stick she had for breakfast.
"Did you try it on?" Charlotte's voice comes through the door. "We want to see."
"I did. But I don't think I like it..."
"What?" Li lets out a squawk of disbelief. "That's crazy. It's totally your color! Your style too! Come on, let us see it."
She lays a hand over her chest, lowering her head as she feels her heart skip nervously inside. They're waiting on her. They expect her to come out and model this lavish raiment that looks so out of place on her less than perfect body. With reluctant and dread pooling in the pits of her heavyset abdomen, Amber unlocks the changing room door. And her worst nightmare comes true. The moment her friends lay eyes on her their faces twist up in horror. Li is so startled that she actually gasps aloud and drops her purse.
She feels like crying, but she holds it in. Instead she crosses her arms like she's still composed and tries to keep the offended quiver out of her voice by acting stern. "Okay, I get it, I'm fat. You guys don't have to look at me like that. I'm working on it."
Charlotte and Li exchange rapid glances and stare at her like she's insane. Or like she's just sprouted another head. As if she's some kind of purple Martian with roots on Jupiter. She can't help hugging herself under their shellshocked gazes. "Fat?" Charlotte exclaims at last. "No, no, Amber. You're the furtherest thing from fat! You're nothing but skin and bone!" Li takes a step forward as she nods her agreement. "Yeah. Amber, whatever diet you've been on, you've got to drop it. It's way out of hand."
But no matter what they say, she looks at her reflection and sees that it just isn't true. Friends can lie to protect your feelings, but mirrors can't. Mirrors are always brutally honest. No matter what.
It's so painfully obvious I didn't have a clue how to end this o.e'
I think this little segment of crap kinda came about cause I was torturing Nathaniel so much I figured it'd be unfair not to pass it on. And cause I'm listening to The Smiths. The Smiths are fabulous to write to.