Time Sensitive Target

Part 32 - Unrecognisable Reflection

*This chapter could contain some material upsetting to those with EDs*

23A... 23B... 23C... my eyes finally rested on the ever so slightly askew digits of 23D.

"Do you have the-" Ant started before he heard the jingle of keys in my hand. The door to 23D opened smoothly, inviting me in to a simple apartment. The modern décor was outdated- occasional bold splashes of colour in tired looking prints of oversized fruit on stretched canvas, a mirror made up of at least twenty individual squares of glass winking a distorted reflection. The blundering attempt at style was somewhat endearing, giving the apartment a warmth I probably needed. It was not what I had expected of military housing. We'd been driven maybe fifteen minutes or so, over the bridge away from Coronado and on to the Californian mainland to the Naval base that dominated a large part of the San Diego coastline. It was odd, like a whole town within a city just for the military. There were banks, coffee shops, restaurants, bars, stores and gyms, just for serving personnel. On the fringe of the community was a towering development of apartments to distribute at their liberty. I had assumed maybe they would put us up in a hotel or give us a bed on site, I hadn't expected an entire furnished apartment with a 24/7 concierge, rooftop pool deck and free Wi-Fi.

"This is nice," Ant shucked the duffel bags he'd been given to the floor, assessing the surroundings carefully.

"What are you looking for?" I frowned as he approached an air-con vent and stared between the gaps.

"Bugs," he replied, not in the least bothered by my confusion.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of spiders," I nearly laughed, perhaps I would have if I felt I had it in me.

"Not bugs," he scoffed, shaking his head in amusement and reaching his hands up to all possible crevices on top of kitchen cupboards. "Bugs; recording equipment..." he trailed off as though he'd made a mistake. "It's a force of habit, sorry."

"Oh," I replied, glancing around the room with a fresh sense of discomfort.

"They've packed some clothes in here, why don't you take a shower and I'll heat up one of these ready meals," Ant stared inside the stocked fridge.

"I'm not hungry thanks, they gave me a sandwich in the hospital," it was the single biggest thing I'd eaten in weeks, American portions didn't disappoint. It had left me feeling uncomfortably bloated. After so long without bread I thought I'd have been dying for a crusty French baguette slathered in butter, but the soft wholemeal casing of the sandwich sunk to the pit of my stomach and sat there like an undigestible glob.

"You mean to tell me you don't want a 'Compleats Chicken Breast with Rib Meat and Mashed Potatoes with Gravy?'" Ant cast the meal in his hand a dubious expression.

"Isn't that two meals in one? I'll pass, thanks. A shower sounds good though." There were two double bedrooms, each with their own en-suite equipped with a large shower. As I walked to the bedroom and firmly shut the door behind me, flicking the lock shut, I forced myself to acknowledge small things as I went.

This room is mine. This bed is mine. These towels are mine. This shower is mine. This toothbrush is mine. These two rooms for my sole use suddenly felt full of endless possibilities. I could take a shower, or a bath, and wash my hair properly. I could brush my teeth and look in an unblemished mirror, pat myself dry with a clean towel, collapse on to a soft bed and lay there for minutes without fear of what may come next. There was a TV in the living room, I could watch actual TV for the first time in so long. It was luxurious. 

I twisted the shower on, water freely falling in a perfect trajectory- no clanging pipes or spluttering brown sludge. I shook myself free of the grey scrubs I'd been given to wear, locking the bathroom door as well even though I knew it wasn't really necessary. Still, it was my door for as long as I was here and I could lock it if I liked. 

The water hammered in to my skin, the pressure so hard I could almost feel it shifting layers of grime from me. I had shower gel, a real scented shower gel. I would smell clean. I opened the cap as the water pattered on to the top of my head, soaking my hair to the tips until the strands grouped together in sodden locks, and took a big inhale. It was beautiful; fresh; apples and something floral. I squirted a huge pool of it in my hands, some wastefully slipping through my fingers and snaking down the drain. I ritualistically cleaned myself, lathering every single inch of skin possible. Every toe had special attention. My knees were scrubbed. I washed my hair three times, disgusted and slightly impressed by the colour of the water on the first go. There was a pack of men's disposable razors in a bag of toiletries, so I went back over my body with a fresh layer of soap as though I could become a whole new person by removing some unwanted body hair. The only part I was gentle with was my wrists, which still required some dressings and considered care.

I switched the shower off and stepped out on to the bathmat, dripping wet and breathlessly hot in the steamy room. I wrapped a towel around my hair and a bath sheet across my body, and opened the door cautiously. The bedroom was predictably secure and empty, just as I'd left it. The carpet crunched with satisfying newness as I stepped out, leaving small damp imprints from my feet. A full length mirror hung on the wall next to the bedroom door. I unwrapped the towel and let it drop to the floor, looking at myself properly in a way I hadn't been able to do for months. There were still some smatterings of dying bruises across my ribs but they were now barely visible, like soft clouds of yellow and green. My neck had a few tiny prickly scars, like little indentations towards the sides where the muscles met my collarbone, but I had to strain to see them. The smattering of scabbed wounds and thread scars across my forearms and wrists would probably be a different story, and certainly weren't aided by my obsessional picking. The biggest surprise in the reflection was a sinewy frame I didn't recognise. I'd never been overweight really, but I'd always had some curves. This body was thin, almost fragile looking. If I leant backwards slightly the cage of my ribs protruded. There was a line of lean muscle in my thighs I'd never seen before, probably because it had always been covered in a light layer of fat that never seemed to shift. My breasts, though still full, had lost a majority of their size. I'd always had a disproportionate chest, only countered by the hourglass shape and curve of womanly hips. But any curves now were angled by bones stretching flesh as they jutted out. It was horrible. I knew some would literally kill themselves in attempt to look like this, and even want to be smaller, but I was so unrecognisable it was almost overwhelming. I'd seen my face many times in the smeared glass of the cracked mirror back at the black site, so the gaunt expression wasn't astonishing to me. Paired with the unflatteringly skinny frame however, the entire being was a stranger. 

A bag of clothes had been left for me, which I delved in to and found a bra that would just about fit, underwear, some soft leggings and a t-shirt. It was too warm in this apartment to wrap myself up in the sweater I'd eyed, but Lorres had said something about a meeting in the morning that I'd no doubt have to attend. It's okay, you're getting through this. You've already cleaned all that muck away and you're going to have some food, you're doing it, you're moving on. I gave myself exhaustive praise after every action, knowing the power of positive reinforcement on the subconscious. I just had to keep it up for everything, and occasionally push my boundaries until I was assimilated back into every day life. Piece of cake. 

"Paige?" I heard Ant's muffled voice call from the living room. "I know you said you weren't hungry but there's takeaway menus."

I pulled the top over my head and hoisted the leggings up, unlocking the bedroom door and stepping into the shared space. 

"Is there Chinese?" I asked resolutely, watching Ant sift through a pile of colourful pamphlets on the couch. He looked up in surprise and smiled.

"Good to be clean?" His own inky dark hair was wet, it must have been equally as important to him to ceremonially wash the operation away. 

"Great to be clean," I replied and sat on the two seater adjacent to him. 

"Chinese, yes. I thought you were full from the sandwich," 

"I've lost a lot of weight, I need to eat," I said resolutely, knowing even if I only managed a few mouthfuls it would be better than nothing. Ant looked up as though he was about to say something with his dark brows knitted in deliberation, and then thought better of it. 

"Chinese then. And dessert."