She has a salad, and her eyes narrow coldly, tongue clicking as I butter my second roll. Somehow, I know Daphne always judges me. Everyone, it seems, judges me, especially when they see us together.
"Daphne's perfect."
"Why can't you be more like your sister, Tori?"
"I'd kill to have her legs."
"Astoria, you're not really going to eat that, are you?"
The words and whispers build and build until they become heavy in my mind. I brush them off like they mean nothing, but they creep in at every glance at the mirror.
Thighs touch.
"I'd kill to have her legs."
Face shows too much baby fat.
"Daphne's perfect."
Stomach on the flabby side.
"You're not really going to eat that, are you?"
OoOoO
Meals become strange to me. I feel eyes on me every time I take a bite. Slowly, the portions become smaller and smaller until there's only enough to simply survive on my plates.
"Have a sausage," Pansy suggests, spearing one for herself and popping it into her mouth.
I shake my head, content with my cup of tea- black, no unnecessary calories for me. "I don't feel well," I answer, taking another sip, the hot liquid satisfying my empty, quietly rumbling stomach.
