Red Wine - White Linen | D.M

17

Things were promising.

I was studying, socialising, all of that. I was keeping busy which helped distract me. Time was abandoning.

It was a Thursday, early morning, around 2am. I couldn't sleep, I was hungry and it continued to brew. Overall I had been keeping well, feeding myself enough to fuel my body and to keep Draco's wondering eyes away from me. He had distanced himself, I didn't feel remotely as watched. Although his lingering ice glares were slightly missed.

I pondered for a short while, deciding a small snack wouldn't hurt. I lit my wand with a quiet Lumos, and made way downstairs into the common room. The coldness of the floor seeping through my socks, remains of the fire embers radiating an orange cast over the opulent furniture.

I should of known better. I should of.
Food. Alone. Night. My survival instincts kicked in.
What went from a nourishing snack turned into an uncontrollable feast. I was beyond full, I was now stuffed. But my subconscious wasn't. Food just kept entering my mouth. No stopping, none atall. I didn't get to decide that. But what I did get to decide was how to get it out of me. To get rid of.

Ten minutes and boundless amounts of calories later, my mind was satisfied but I was far from it.

As soon as the food ridden thoughts left, the guilt swarmed in.
It was threatening, loud and excruciating. And when your in the midst of those thoughts they can quiet literally persuade you that you can feel and see the fat seeping into you, that your suddenly going to become overweight in an instant. It's mental torture.
Everything you're afraid of is coming true.

I bolt back to my room, not caring how much noise my feet are making against the floor boards.
You would think In a school full of teenagers there would be people awake at all hours, Especially in Slytherin, but it's deadly quiet.

It still feels strange fumbling around the boys dormitory's. I close my door then halt, holding my breath, listening for any slight sounds from the room next door.
Nothing. Nothing but the sounds of my heavy breathing and plethoric emotions.

I carry on to the bathroom, dangerous territory but I lacked bother. I make way to the toilet and pull up the seat, probably slightly heavier than intended.

I thrust my fingers down my throat and start to gag.

Again and again, gagging, coughing, choking, trying, just trying to bring something up.

An exasperated sound escapes from my throat. I'm shoving two fingers even further, forcing myself to cough and praying gravity does the rest, when suddenly I'm being pulled back. No, thrown back, the force of my weight hitting hardly against another sturdy torso. I can only assume it belongs to the only other accessor of the bathroom. The mirror's reflection confirms my guess.

I'm fighting his grip as a reflex at first, he's firmly holding onto both my arms pulling me away from the facility. I go limp then quickly snap forward. He looses his grip and I break free, momentarily stopping for what must of been a split second, in shock.

But just as quick I'm thrown back into reality  courtesy of my racing mind, my impulsive thoughts controlling me, flooding my head, banishing any rational ones away. Within another second I'm back at the porcelain seat, again trying to rid myself of thoughts, fingers doing the work.

He growls, sinister enough to frightened me in any other circumstances but I'm narrowly listening. He jolts forward again, repeating the same actions from only a minute ago.

"Stop-" huff  "-fucking fighting." He spits, voice rough in my ear, it traveled down my spine causing goosebumps.

I let out an involuntary wail, sort of whimper, then a short angry cry, a puff of despair.
I attempt to grab the side of the sink as a hoist but I end up knocking over one the lavish crystal drinking glasses, it smashes loudly, echoing off the glassy tiles.