Routine Two:
I
She wakes in her bed in the morning light, with sweat-soaked skin, and harsh breathing, and she still hears the whispers.
Hears the clock, chiming once.
Twice.
Thrice.
And four times.
Did she just imagine it? Dream as she got high on Special K? It's supposed to cause hallucinations and take the wheel, or at least, she thinks that's what it's supposed to do… She hadn't thought it would make her imagine breaking to pieces in front of Eddie Munson, shattering like a china doll as she slammed against his trailer's roof.
It had felt so real.
And the deep voice had been lying as he broke her. It hadn't been peace. It had been agony. And he had enjoyed it.
Chrissy stares at the ceiling, chest heaving.
"Good morning," her mother's voice in the morning is sweet, always at first, and she enters her room, passing by the doorless frame like she always does, "Chrissy baby, it's time to weigh yourself before your run. You have an important game today, Jason's championship! We need to make sure you're perfect."
Chrissy looks at her, looks at her, and can understand that something is wrong. She had already- She had already lived today, hadn't she? She had been perfect until she couldn't and she went to Eddie to his castle and that deep voice had broken her-
"Christine Elizabeth Cunnigham, " her mother hisses, "I have told you good morning, young lady."
Christine straightens in her bed, chest still heaving.
"Sorry, Mom. Good Morning," she replies, voice chipper.
She doesn't feel chipper. But, she never really does. Laura Cunningham clicks her tongue, manicured hands primly in front of her. A smile curls on her perfectly made face.
"Well get up you lazy cow," she replies, and her voice is as sweet as before.
Bile rises in Chrissy's throat. She leaves her bed. She's in older pair of cheerleading green briefs and an oversized sweatshirt with a beautifully sketched dove and purple teardrops, a gift from her older brother, Thomas. It's her favorite, a handmade gift like the one they exchange every Christmas, and she distinctly remembers tossing both the briefs and her sweater in her hamper. Like she does every morning, Chrissy strips and pointedly steps toward the scale that's right next to her closest. She again tosses the sweatshirt and briefs into her hamper.
Vivid bruises from Jason's hands encircle her wrist. The same pattern from her- maybe dream. Chrissy blinked. Jason's thumbprint has especially curled just so into her left wrist, a little higher than the rest of the imprint on of his fingers. On her right, it's the opposite. The thumb is lower than the other fingertips, and Jason had dug his nail in after she had made a quiet request that he not make a scene about them at the pep rally today when her coach had said he was making a speech.
Her mother looked at her wrists. She clicked her teeth again. Her pinky nail scraps along the faint scratch of Jason's nail.
"Oh Chrissy, baby, you need to be better for Jason."
Chrissy nods, automatically, and doesn't flinch when her mother's grip goes to her chin. Her french tips dig a little into the tender point between her jaw and her throat. She tries not to remember how it felt when her jaw broke. Because it did, it snapped to one side and it hurt-
"A little foundation, and wear your cheer letter as much as possible today, Christine Elizabeth."
"Yes, Mom. It's cold today, nothing weird about it."
A little squeeze of her chin.
In the dream, I weighed exactly a hundred and ten pounds and four ounces, and mom called me a bloated manatee for those four ounces, and refuse to give me anything but Slim Fast… If-If this wasn't a dream, that's what I'll weigh again.
Sure enough, she weighs exactly a hundred and ten pounds and four ounces. Her mother pinches at the taunt muscles of her abdomen, tsking all the while.
"Only Slim Fast today, god Chrissy, why do you have to be such a bloated manatee-"
Chrissy's mind whirls.