Wonderland

❅H25❅ Completely Aware, But I Don't Care

Chapter Twenty-Five

Heather's POV

Completely Aware, But I Don't Care

Seven years ago

April 16

"Heather! Where the hell are you? We have to get going!"

I almost spilled the juice in my hands when I heard my dad's irate voice.

"We don't have all day, you know! Dr. Vanderbilt is not going to be happy if we're late again!"

"I-I know," I stammered, whipping my head around to make sure my door was locked. I crawled over to my bed and reached under it, pulling out my glittery pink box that I keep hidden from everyone in my family. With the tiny key on my charm bracelet, I opened it, revealing cotton balls inside-stashes of them. I stole them from Kathy.

I took two out and went back to my desk, plopping my eleven-year-old butt down. I dipped the first cotton ball into the juice and stuffed it into my mouth, wincing as I felt it make its way down my throat.

"Heather!" My dad, who was now outside of my door, could be heard banging on it.

"Coming! Just let me get my shirt on!" I lied, as I swallowed my second cotton ball. I gulped the rest of my juice down before standing up. The uneaten lunch Kathy had made me sat at the bottom of my trashcan, hidden beneath quite a few crumpled pieces of paper. I darted over to the mirror beside my closet and lifted my shirt up, revealing skin that clung a little too tight to my ribs. I could see the outline of them, and I knew I was beyond skinny and that this wasn't healthy, but I just didn't care. I just wanted to be skinny. Maybe then, I'll be loved by him. Maybe then, people will finally accept me.

I tugged my shirt down and opened the door, letting my dad in.

He looked livid. "Heather Forde," he growled. Before I could react, he grabbed my arm and roughly jerked me down the stairs, towards his car outside. I was so used to him handling me like this that I didn't even scream in pain at how hard his grip was on me. I just let him drag me along.

"You know how much a single therapy session costs, Heather? Do you? I have to pay a hundred and fifty dollars just for an hour. With a price like that, I expected results in less than a month — but a year? How are you still anorexic?" he growled.

I flinched under the glare he was sending me. I didn't respond to him, though. He and Kathy didn't know that all the food they ever gave me just ended up in the trash. I wasn't anorexic either. Even my eleven-year-old mind knew that. I was just unhealthily skinny. Dr. Vanderbilt told me so.

"I don't give a damn what Dr. Jorge said: I'm canceling these therapy sessions as soon as possible. Fucking con therapists," he muttered, as he pushed me into his car. Dr. Jorge was my physician, and he was the one who had pressed my dad in taking me to therapy. It seemed like everyone was worried about my eating problems except for my dad. I thought he'd be happy to see me skinny.

Oh, who am I kidding? He doesn't love me. He's never loved me. Me being perfect won't change anything.

❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄

"Do you know how much someone like you should be weighing right now?" Dr. Vanderbilt's warm brown eyes stared at me as I sat there playing with a piece of string in my hands. I found it clinging to my shirt.

I shook my head in response to her question. Dr. Vanderbilt was beautiful. She was Chinese, and she had such silky black hair, I was jealous. Her eyes were almond shaped, and she had the most perfect set of teeth I had ever seen in my life. She's married to an American; I know so because I questioned her once on why she had such an American surname.

"Around eighty-two pounds. Are you aware of how much you weight right now?"

Again, I shook my head.

"Sixty-five. If you keep at it, you'll become anorexic — and believe me, being anorexic is not something you want to be. In last week's session, we discussed how dangerous that disease is. It's very hard to overcome. As you can probably tell even now, trying to put an end to your eating disorder is no easy task."

"I know," I murmured, my voice quiet.

Dr. Vanderbilt's eyes softened as she looked at me. "Sweetie, is there a reason why you are doing this to yourself? I know I haven't pressed you much for an answer, but the only way I can help you is if I know the reason behind all this. You're eleven-years-old and a beautiful girl. I can't see why you would want to destroy that."

Maybe because I just want to be accepted, maybe because I need a way to punish myself for being such a failure. "I don't know either," I lied, unwilling to tell her the truth. I looked at her steadily in the eyes, my gaze unwavering. I've always been good at hiding my feelings. No one could ever guess them so easily. Not even Dr. Vanderbilt. Realizing that I wouldn't be revealing much of myself to her, she launched into another session about making healthy choices.

I zoned out for the most part of it. I was happy with my weight and there was nothing anyone could do about it...

Well, that is, until I was rushed to the ER one night. That was when I was forced to change my ways, and that was when Kathy and my father knew just how severe my problem was.

I was diagnosed with aspiration pneumonia. I didn't correctly swallow a cotton ball, and that caused me to aspirate liquid into my lungs because of all the coughing I was doing. The doctor said that this was because my lungs had tried to get rid of all the fibers from the cotton balls in my respiratory system. I ended up in the hospital for a few days, and they had to do surgery on me. There's still a faint scar on the side of my stomach to remind me of that day, just another flaw on my body.

You'd think that I would've learned something from that experience; you'd think that I'd never do it again because, hey, it looked like the treatment worked.

But that's where you're wrong. Just because I recovered, it didn't mean that I'd never relapse into my old ways again. At eighteen-years-old now, I was completely aware of the dangers of cotton ball swallowing — but did I care?

No, not at all, because if I did, then I wouldn't be finding myself eating a few cotton balls every time my stomach felt empty. The feeling of being full, and yet not really gaining any weight, was the best feeling in the world to me.

Maybe I should thank Berkeley for helping me find myself again, or maybe I should thank her for ruining me. Either way, I don't care anymore. She's taken everything from me. My self-confidence, my best friend, my faith in myself...

Oh, who am I kidding? This was all my doing. I pushed Brayden towards her. The only person I have to blame is myself.