I wrap my arms around my knees and let the water run down my body. The water becomes hotter and hotter, but I don’t want to turn it off. I’m curled up in a ball, sitting in the shower while the water runs down the drain, and stream soars over the top of the shower curtain like it hates being next to me. It’s okay. I hate being next to me too.
The next thing I know, ten minutes has gone by and my mom is knocking on the door. My skin is nearly melted off from the steaming hot water, so I get out slowly. I slip on my white and blue striped robe and open the door.
“You have been in here for over thirty minutes. Is everything okay?” She drills my brain with her question. Is everything okay? Do I look okay to you? Fat covers my entire body and all you care to ask is if I am okay?
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Well, okay. Let me know if you need anything.” I need you to stop looking at me like a freak. Like I weigh a million pounds, like I will never lose an ounce. I can feel her eyes run across my body, judging me with every extra pound I never needed in the first place.
She closes the door and walks away like nothing happened. I untie the strings on the robe, fold it, and place it on the toilet lid. My clothes are sitting on the sink, but I don’t want to put them on quite yet. I turn to my enemy and stare at the blank screen as it waits for me to step on it.
After a couple more minutes of contemplating, I step on my scale and watch the electronic blinking lights to either tell me to get off because I was breaking it, or give me a number I would have to split in half to make me happy. It blinks on with the number: 156.2. A number only the devil would want to see.
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General FictionJenna is fighting Middle School; problems around every corner, and anorexia controlling every move she makes.
