Basorexia - J.MAGUIRE

[1.06] weighing

Michelle had always spent her Saturday mornings at Chip's house ever since they had first met each other. It did not stop for illness or any other factor, apart from holidays which were extremely rare between the two. So, as per usual, Michelle strolled into Chip's bedroom at a quarter past ten and shook her awake. Chip, who had been up late the night before with a book and steps in circles around her room, smacked her arm and hid herself underneath the blankets to try and get away from Michelle's relentlessness.

"Why've you got a granny blanket hanging on your mirror?" Michelle asked with a laugh as she looked around the room, knowing that Chip was not likely to get out of bed unless provoked by something else.

"What?" Ciara mumbled sleepily, pulling the blankets from her head. She blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the blurriness.

"The granny blanket?" Michelle reiterated, pointing towards the huge mirror attached to Ciara's vanity that was now covered completely in a granny squares, a handmade blanket of various woody colours.

"Oh," Chip sighed, sitting up in bed as she pushed sprawling hair away from her face. "My granny had a rule about not having mirrors that face your bed so I cover it. I made it myself though, it took a couple weeks."

"What does she think some ghouls are going to creep through in the middle of the night?" Michelle laughed, sinking into the beanbag in the corner of her bedroom after removing a few discarded books from the top.

"Something like that," Chip grumbled in reply, laying back in bed to avoid Michelle's gaze as best as she could. Chip wasn't exactly going to tell her the real reason as to why that mirror had been covered for a good few days. She would never utter a word about the fact that she could not physically stand to look at herself in the mirror. And because that mirror pointed directly to her bed, where she spent the most of her time and truly felt the safest, she simply had to cover it.

-

Later in the day, Ciara found herself running through the doors to her therapist office - not because she wanted to but because time had forced her to. A whole twenty minutes late to their sessions. It was partly Michelle's fault, as she did not leave when she usually had and partly Cal's, for being too hungover to take her so she had to get the bus.

"You're late," Dr.W spoke monotony as she burst into the office, gently shutting the door despite the urge to slam it that writhed within her soul. Dr. W was one of the least understanding people she had ever met, certainly not a good quality to have in a therapist.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to be, honest," she huffed, due to lack of breath, as she slumped into the usual worn chair. She took a second to catch her breath, forcing herself to endure the awful feeling of feeling far too stuffy and uncomfortable. "My friend just wouldn't get the hint to leave so I could come here," she continued, choosing to forgo the whole story about Cal as she didn't want him knowing too much. Dr. W was already cautious of her brother for all the wrong reasons. He didn't see the good in Cal, only the bad which was mostly his choice of friends and their drinking habits. But other than that, he was the most understanding person within all of her illness, she felt as if he was truly the one person she could rely on and having to listen to Dr. W's bad thoughts about him was not something she could deal with on that day.

"Right," Dr.W sighed, a sour look pinching at his cheeks as he flicked open his usual booklet and clicked his pen. "So you're back at school?" he asked without so much as looking in her direction, instead focusing all attention onto the booklet and her notes from the previous week.

"Aye," Ciara answered breathlessly, struggling to catch enough air to stop the screaming occurring within her lungs. She had run from the bus stop to the office without stopping so she could minimise the grief she received from an impatient Doctor. It seemed her efforts had been for nothing though as she was still on the receiving end of a disapproving glare.