Une Fleure Fanée

Week 8 Part 3 (Tuesday)

     I look around as my alarm goes off. I'm still here. There's still a bandage on my left wrist. My scars are getting paler on the right. But more importantly, I'm stuck another day in this hellhole. I force myself to drag my feet out of bed so I can work on my wrists without Mom finding out.

     I didn't cut it too deep last night. Five marks all collecting into one point on my arm, almost like a star. They're pale pink against my skin. I examine both of my wrists. One only has three cuts, my right wrist. The other one has five.

     I throw away the bandage, hiding the blood-soaked gauze under a bunch of other trash. I press the concealer and foundation hard against my skin, making sure the small lines aren't visible.

     I look in the mirror and suck in my stomach so much I can grab my ribcage. Eventually, I'll be able to do this without sucking in my stomach. I just need to lose around seven more pounds. You'll never be skinny enough for that, Lilliana. You're always gonna be fat and ugly.

     I choose a gray and navy blue cropped ALDC sweatshirt hoodie, black leggings, and black sneakers. Why is there even a hoodie if we're not allowed to wear it? I put my hair in a high ponytail. I also take my medicine and I put on skincare and makeup.

     Ensures have become practically my breakfast because we are always running late. But I never drink them. So I'm basically skipping breakfast, which is great. I don't think about the flavor I'm picking. I pick a chocolate one out of the blue and set it on the counter.

     "Lilly, we're going alone today," Mom informs me.

     I don't say anything back. Don't you dare eat today, Lilliana. You're so fat. You don't deserve food. I grab the Ensure back from the counter, along with my dance bag, water bottle without electrolytes this time, and shoes and head out the door.

     It feels so weird but also so nice to be alone in the car. I don't feel like talking to people today anyway. I also get to stretch out and take up three seats in the car except one. You're so short, Lilliana. You can't even take up a single seat.

    I'm never going to be a professional dancer if I'm this short. Not only am I short by nature, but eating disorders stunt your growth. But even that is not enough motivation to seek out help for my current behavior. I'd rather be skinny and beautiful than tall.

     When we get in there, I'm ushered into Studio B where Pressley, GiaNina, and Hannah are already there. I wave hello, but they don't wave back. Nobody likes you, Lilliana. Everybody hates you. I walk over to join their semi-circle to hear what they're talking about, but a producer, Mr. Bryan, calls me over.

     "Lilly, I'm just letting you know, I just want you to know, if something doesn't happen involving you in the next couple of weeks, you're going to be on probation. You haven't been in the spotlight in the next couple of weeks, and you haven't stirred any drama. If something doesn't happen, you may not be here much longer" Mr. Bryan threatens.

     I nod and walk away before he can see the terror in my eyes. Before the cameras can catch up with me. I've gotten yelled at by producers before, threatening me with, "You're going to leave." So why does this one make me fear so much about getting cut? You're such a crybaby, Lilliana. Do something dramatic in the next week or two. It's seriously not that hard.

     I walk back to the semi-circle but there's a fight breaking out between Gia and Press. I quickly get out of the room. I don't want to see two of my friends fighting. But Sarah forces me into there to talk with the girls about Elliana. Ellie isn't here. Why are we gossiping about her?

     I don't like this at all. The worst thing that's happened so far with Ellie is that Ellie and Gia are always kinda hanging out unless Mom forces me to go over to Ellie's house. And that's what they have a problem with. People should be able to hang out with friends. But Press says something that takes it too far.