A/N – Okay, thank you for all the positive feedback. I have decided to continue this one, so keep reviewing please.
"So, Coop, are you just going to make me eat all of this by myself?"
Summer smiled as she shoved more fries into her mouth. Marissa forced herself not to wince as the grease from the fries glistened in the afternoon sunlight before disappearing into Summers mouth. Roughly, she calculated how many calories would be in the packet of large McDonalds fries that sat in front of Summer. It was another automatic habit that came with throwing up everything she ate. Before she ate – that was, when she ate – she calculated. How many calories were in what she was eating, the fat content, the sugar level, how long it would take to reach her stomach, turn into solid fat.
That determined how hard she stuck her fingers down her throat, how many times she threw up.
She smiled back at her friend, and shook her head.
Summer's smile faded, and she stared at her friend thoughtfully, chewing the food in her mouth slowly. Marissa cringed at the smudged grease on the edge of Summer's mouth. So much fat.
"You know, Coop…" said Summer slowly, swallowing what was left in her mouth. Marissa watched as her throat visibly pushed the processed food down, and felt her own stomach churn. Summer paused while she reached for her Coke, taking a gulp to wash down so much saturated fat that she had just poured into herself. "…You're looking kinda skinny lately."
Marissa was quick to scoff this idea, while she played with the straw of her own drink – Diet Coke, of course. She smiled, rolling her eyes for extra measure. "Yeah, as if, Sum. I just had a big breakfast."
Summer surveyed her friend, and her skinny exterior with careful eyes. Eventually, she shrugged, and returned to her food, while Marissa's stomach was inwardly churning.
You're a fucking cow.
That was what the voice in her head told her. That was what that low, razorblade-plated voice told her, whenever she caught a glance of herself in the mirror.
She was shopping with Summer, picking out clothes for the beach party that weekend, when she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirrors. It was unplanned, it was unexpected.
She caught one sight of herself, side on. The bumps on the front of her chest.
They shouldn't be there.
The curving of her lower body. She wasn't supposed to be curved. She was supposed to be flat.
She dropped the pleated skirt she had been holding, and quickly dropped to the ground on her hands and knees to pick it up, desperate to escape from the mirror, pushing her own disgusting, fat image back at her, desperate to escape the razor-edged voice. Neither left her; the images remained, her imperfect body, branded onto her mind like hot coals, the voice; replaying in her head like a broken DVD.
You cow. You fat pig. You're not trying hard enough. Harder! Harder!
"Coop? You okay?" asked Summer, looking at her friend from behind her own reflection in the mirror, where she was holding up a new mini-dress to her own body.
"Uh…" replied Marissa shakily. "No, actually, no. I'm feeling kind of sick. Can we just go?"
"Oh, yeah, sure." Said Summer, replacing the dress and lending her hand to help Marissa from the ground. "You look kinda green. You sure you're okay?"
Marissa's stomach was heaving. "I think I'm gunna be sick.
Two fingers.
Gag.
Two fingers, not enough, you idiot.
Three fingers.
Gag.
Push harder, you idiot! Harder! It has to hurt! You have to feel pain! You're nothing without pain, get it, nothing!
She pushes harder.
And she's empty once more. She's cleansed, so why does she still feel dirty inside?
Once more, she stands naked in front of her full-length mirror. It's okay now, she's expecting it. She's expecting the view of her body, she's expecting the voice to come creeping back into her head.
It's not looking good. You're still not trying hard enough. It doesn't hurt, does it? It has to hurt! You have to feel pain. Beauty is nothing without pain.
She's shivering. She watches as her lips turn slowly blue. It's warm outside, but she's freezing in her own skin. She slowly puts her clothes back on, trying her hardest to ignore the voice that pounds into her head. She's covered her flawed body in baggy clothes, sweatpants and huge jumpers. She's still freezing. Quietly, she crosses to the bathroom, drops to her knees in front of the toilet, and sticks her fingers down her throat until she gags.
It's hurting now. Good.
The voice whispers into her ear as her stomach twists itself into knots, as she wheezes and cries, trying to purify herself. She's spitting out blood again, but her eyes are closed, blocked by the veil of tears, and she can't see.
With her head still bowed over the bowl, clutching to the sides as her messy hair falls into her face, she reminds herself.
She's a disappearing act. She's a magic trick, and that's all she is. Magic takes practice. This is practice.
Practice makes perfect.
She'll be perfect. Soon enough.
Review please.
