Sponsor me.

3

I enter the dining hall and sit at the far end of the Slytherin table, I've become familiarised that most people like to keep to themselves and the term hasn't officially started so it's quieter than usual. As I sit down my eyes roam around the tables, no Malfoy. How will they even know if i eat if he's a no show? I smiled lightly, already pushing my plate aside, instead, pulling out a book from my bag.

"I suggest you put that back."
He cleared his throat behind.

Without turning back I rolled my eyes.
"Was just about to."

He made his way round the table, sitting himself down opposite me, notebook in hand.
"Clearly."

He starts flipping through the notebook, going quite far back in the book, I stay still, watching him, curious as to how many other people's darkest secrets were in that book.

He stops at one of the first couple of pages and sighs. "Are you going to eat or are you going to continue eyeing me instead ?"

"I'll eat." I snap back. "And I wasn't-"

"Save it."

I look at the food spread neatly across the surface. Everytime something was taken it was replaced immediately, the worst kind of hell.

I debate my options.

Eat?
Puke.
Eat?
Run.
N̶o̶t̶ e̶a̶t̶
He's still watching me. Thats not an option.

This could be risky, I haven't tested any of the waters yet, the waters of what happens after I finish eating. 'No compensation' I remember back to the terms sheet.
How would they know?
If I ask questions he'll immediately get suspicious. I could-
He cuts off my internal dialogue, quirking a brow. "I thought you said you were better?"

"I am." Snapping back again.
Stop snapping it's suspicious.

I have to prove my point now.
Jump in the deep end.

I grab the pasta drenched in sauce and fill my cup with fizzy pop, already planning on ice cream for dessert.
This is going to be disgusting.

I eat until I'm full, which takes me approximately twelve minutes.
I'm cutting it fine.
I can feel my stomach against my shirt.

"I'm finished."

Fat.
Shutup.

"Nice work Milan."

"It's Phoebe."

He ignores me.

Fat.
Shutup.

I put my book back in my bag.

I get up abruptly, irritated by the voice in my head, ready for sweet relief. He looks up and I wait for any dreaded dialogue but nothing came, I use that time to leave without any further communication.
My pace fastens and I feel uncomfortably full. It takes me three minutes to reach my room. I shut my door behind me, throw my bag and go into my bathroom as I take a deep breath.

Fat.

I don't want to do this.

Fat.

I hate doing this shit.

FAT.

"SHUT UP." I yell.

Fuck this.
I force my fingers down my throat, retching.

-

I fall backwards against the chilly stone wall feeling briefly serene, heart racing and completely out of breath. Praying this wasn't the time my heart gives out and I die with vomit on my fingers. I shut my eyes and practice my deep breaths.

In.
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
Out.

In.
Thump...thump...thump.
Out.

In.
Thump......thump.....thump.
Out.

I sigh in relief. I'm okay. This time.

It will be the last time, I swear.
It's never the last.

I reach over to grab a couple wipes to clean off my fingers, not ready to get up yet.
I wondered when all this was going to stop, if it would ever stop. I think about the box on my windowsill. It haunts me. It always haunts me.

"Do you think I'm stupid?"

I snap out of my day dream violently.
He was stood in the bathroom doorway.

Double fuck

I stood up at high speeds, flushing and flipping the lid of the toilet but it was regrettably too late. I instantly fled to the sink, washing my hands, double scrubbing my fingers subconsciously. "I got sick."

After drying my hands I tried to walk out the door but he didn't move, ultimately I bounced into him.

"Like I said, do you think I'm stupid."

"It wasn't on purpose." I scowled, looking him in the eye hoping to show dominance.

He glanced over to the countertop where I'd taken the rings off of one hand only. Then to my hair that was in a neat little low bun. Then lastly to the scales set up next to the toilet.

"Shut-up bulimic Barbie."

"I am NOT bulimic." My cheeks warmed, embarrassed by this conversation, embarrassed by the word 'bulimic'.

"Puking counts as counteractive." He sighs. "I'm going to have to give you a strike-"

"Fuck off, leave me alone." I bite, furious now.

"You're going to give me too much paperwork Milan." He snarks, rubbing his forehead.

"I didn't ask for a fucking babysitter."

"Deal with it cry baby."

I push past him and make my way to my bed, sulking. "I just got back here, I'm not leaving again."

He swivels himself around, leaning back into the doorway. "Don't throw up then."

"Let me starve then."

He scoffs and crosses his arm, throwing his notebook onto the near by desk. "Nah, I prefer your body this way, why ruin it."

My cheeks turn red again. He smirks at my clear embarrassment.
"Let me take away the scales and I won't write this down as a breach."

I look up. "Deal."
I can easily get another set.

"But I'm adding a condition onto your list."

I frown. "What it is?"

"Supervision after meal times."

I slam my head down into my pillow. "Jesus Christ." I muffle.

"It's Merlin actually." I hear him mutter.

"It's Merlin actually" I mock.

"Do you want that strike after all?"

"Piss off." I throw my pillow at him but he catches it.

"Cheeky little bitch." Amusement written on his face. "Scales." He points.

"Take them." I groan.

"If I catch you puking again there will be consequences Barbie." He enters the bathroom and vanishes the scales, coming back out he throws the pillow at my head while heading for the door.

"Oh and I will find out."

"Course you will." I yawn.