Red Wine - White Linen | D.M

25

What does it feel like?

It hurts.

I could describe it like this;
It's anguish, perpetual misery.
Distressing, disabling, detrimental.

But in all honesty, it's too plain and simple.

So,

it hurts so bad.

———

My knuckles hurt. They are sore and they don't look pretty, girly or delicate.
Or skinny.

I wonder if the scent of vomit is smothered in my skin.

So yes that's what I've been keeping to myself.

I learnt how to force myself to throw up precisely 3 weeks ago. I'm unaware as to how, it just happened, but ever since I've been progressively getting better at it. Better at getting worse I mean.
Or worse at getting better?

It was great, I finally felt as if I found a cheat code to the bliss of a demon in my head, that I was above everyone else because I could do what others couldn't, I could eat what I wanted and feel light as a bird.
It felt euphoric.

I should know better.
As always euphoria wears off.
And it just left me outstandingly miserable.

The smell of vomit becomes second nature, you get used to it splashing you in the face everyday.
It starts to not matter because you just need to get it out.
The calories are absorbing, get it out.

I didn't want to do it everyday so I didn't.
Until I did.
I was in control.
Until I wasn't.

But what no one ever tells you is that the minute you stop throwing up you're hungry again.
Starving actually.
So soon enough your control grows less and less, until it can happen multiple times a day. Not because you choose too. Because it chooses for you.

Because your brains trying to keep you alive and you're minds not.

Or is it the other way round?

———

To be honest I'm not surprised he knew, it's hard to care about being quiet when it becomes the most important part of your day. But still, denial was always forefront and I'd like to believe that I was as quiet as I thought I was.

"What are you talking about? There's nothing."

He rolls his eyes and scoffs rather forcefully.
"I'm far from dim. You never showered before, only ever bathed, until now. Now you're apparently showering multiple times a day."

He's observant, got it.

I feel slightly awkward and too on show, still on his lap i go to roll off to the free side of the bed but he resists and locks me in place. He shuffles so he's laying against my headboard while I'm directly facing him.

"What's also fascinating is that when you're having these showers the toilet manages to flush a great deal."

I put on an amazed face. "We have a haunted dorm!? It's almost if we live in a magic castle."

He ignores my comment.

"When you already know something is going on then the signs are oh so prominent." He reaches out and grabs my hand, his middle finger briefly brushing over my knuckle. I don't bother to look at the mark.

I frown, defensive that there were even signs in the first place. I thought I was discreet, or maybe just thought no one would pay attention enough to notice.