DYLAN
*FLASHBACK*
"Fat!"
"Ugly!"
"Disgusting!"
"Gross!"
"Ehmagawd, eww!"
"Is she really eating that?"
"Don't say that; she's going to become anorexic."
*FLASHBACK END*
Whoever had said that last line had been close. Dylan hadn't become anorexic; she'd become bulimic.
She threw up all her food, and ate more, and threw up again. To Dylan, it was an easy way to be able to eat as much as she liked, yet still not become any fatter than she was. She had lost 30 pounds already, which brought her from a Size 6 to a 4.
She smiled at the empty plate of chocolate cake before her. "Hey, guys, I'm going to the bathroom."
The Pretty Commitee waved her off, so she got up and power-walked to the restroom. The longer the food sat in her stomach, the more fat would accumulate before she could get it out. When she got there, she pulled the door to the huge, tiled room open, closed it, locked it, and positioned herself in front of the toilet. Three, she stuck out two fingers, two, she lifted them up to her mouth, one, she stuck them down her throat...
"Dylan?" Two knocks accompanied the question.
She bolted to her feet. "Yeah?"
"It's Alicia's mom. Are you okay? You've been in there awhile?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Stomachache," she lied.
"Oh, okay." She heard Ally's footsteps recede down the corridor, and leaned back over, her heart pounding. She knew she needed to wait. She knew it wasn't safe to throw up all her food, especially when her heart was racing. But a few more seconds could make all the difference between a Size 4 and a 3. She jabbed two fingers into her throat and watched the bile rise up. Then her head spun, her ears rang, and she fell back. The last thing she heard was her head cracking against the floor.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
