I’m too fat to fly. It’s still a mystery to me how I was chosen to be lifted and thrown in the air. I am definitely not thin enough. Now I need to be extra skinny to fit the part of a true flyer. I feel like such a cow compared to the rest of the squad. I should really lose some weight. Maybe three to six pounds? Or maybe even more. Then I can soar like a flyer is meant to.
Ugh. I just ate so much food. Ethan, my older brother and my guardian until I turn eighteen, always liked to cook. I could feel all of the calories going to my stomach. How can I get the fat out of my system? I have heard of girls touching their uvula and making themselves vomit to get rid of fat. If so many people do it, it must work. Should I try it myself? Well I wanted to lose weight, and this could be the first step. I decided I should try it. Every little bit helps.
I excused myself from the dinner table. My older brother looked up at me with stern grey eyes. He had always scared me. His hesitation scared me more. His eyes scanned my face for secrets. I could feel a sweat break out on my forehead. Can he tell I’m going to purge?
Apparently not. When he didn’t find anything hiding in my face, he simply nodded his head and looked down towards his food again. I pushed the chair outwards and walked away from the dinner table and towards the bathroom. Leaving Ethan by his lonesome.
Each step I take I can hear two voices. I can hear both of them over my pounding heart.
One is quiet.
“Brielle don’t do it. You are beautiful inside and out.” However the second one is much louder and more convincing.
“You’re too fat. If you do it you’ll lose the weight. Do you want the squad to break their arms from lifting your fat ass?” I listen to it. It’s right. The fat need to go.
I finally reach the bathroom. The door creaks as I slowly push it open and then close it behind me. I bend down on my knees and lift the toilet seat up. The water is clear and still, about to be disturbed.
I leaned over the toilet and put my index and middle fingers down my throat. When I touched the uvula, I felt a bit nauseous. I gagged a little until I finally puked into the clear water in the toilet. It felt so good to have those calories gone. However, there was still pain. I am still fat. I am also ugly. Why am I imperfect? There was only one way to help the pain. My old habit. Something I did when I was thirteen. Cutting.
I pulled up the sleeves on my sweatshirt to see scars still healing from the last time I had cut. Clean for two and a half years will be ruined. I can’t do anything right.
I reached behind the toilet for a bag. The bag that contained my blades. When I felt the rough material of the bag on my fingertips, I grasped it in my hand and pulled my arm back towards me. I had to rummage through the bag to find the blade I was looking for. When I finally found it, I pulled it out and examined it.
It had a nice neat handle. The knife was sleek and sharp. It drew the most blood, making it my favorite blade. It was disturbing how clean it was, though. Had I cleaned it since last time? The memory of the last time I cut was still fresh in my head.
I shook it off. That was over. I was about to make a new cutting memory. I had so much more pain than before.
It’s almost as if time had frozen when I pressed the blade on my wrist. Blood dripped in beads out onto the floor. It felt so nice. One more time. I slit my wrist again and more blood came out. Something was different. Not just the amount of pain. It was how I was cutting. It then hit me. I was cutting deeper.
I started to slit my other wrist and my stomach. Why one Earth did I ever stop this? This felt so good.
Although I had enough cuts, I didn’t lose a large amount of blood. I started to feel dizzy but I did not pass out. I started to feel relief with each swipe across my skin.
I finally heard a faint voice. Was it in my head? No, it was Ethan.
“Bree? Are you okay?” I could hear him call. Shit.
I shoved the blade back in the bag and pushed it behind the toilet, once again. His footsteps started getting louder, as well as his voice. “Brielle?”
I rinsed the blood off my stomach first, and pulled my sweatshirt back down over it. Thank goodness it was a black one.
He started to knock on the door. “Are you alright?”
“I-I’m fine!” That was terrible. I quickly washed the blood off my wrists and pulled the sweatshirt sleeves down, just as Ethan burst through the bathroom door.
“Brielle Rachel Taylor. What were you doing?” He sounded like my father, before he passed. He then looked over at the toilet and saw the vomit inside.
“I felt a bit sick.” That was somewhat better. He once again scanned my face to see if I was lying. He sighed.
“Go lie down. You are not going to school tomorrow.” He huffed and shook his head before he stalked out of the bathroom.
He was so uptight. A twenty-two year old should be having fun with their lives. Not constantly looking after their sixteen year old sister. I have never met a relaxed Ethan. The only emotion he ever showed was seriousness. Was he ever happy before? I couldn’t think about that now. He almost caught me in the act.
I sighed in relief. I closed the door once again and pushed my sleeved back up. I started to put bandages over the cuts to stop the bleeding.
I’ll be wearing long sleeves for quite a while now. It didn’t matter. The pain had been erased from my mind when I pressed the cold metal to my skin and watch the red beads of blood pour out.
I flushed the puke down the toilet and walked out of the bathroom content.
Cutting deeper was the way to go.
