Secrets in the Spotlight

Flush

I sat on the edge of my new bed, staring at the boxes still waiting to be unpacked. Tomorrow, I'd be the new girl at a school where no one knew my name.

The thought twisted in my stomach, but I tried to push it away. The new house was supposed to be a fresh start—a bigger place with room to breathe, a sign that all my parents' sacrifices had paid off.

But sitting here,

in this spotless, too-perfect room, I felt more out of place than ever.

It was strange how you could be surrounded by so much space and still feel trapped.

Downstairs, the low murmur of my parents' conversation filtered through the floor. They seemed better since we moved here, like the extra room had somehow given them more to share.

Mom's been watching me closely, asking questions about what I eat and how I feel, but I just tell her I'm fine. I don't think she understands that it's not about the food—I just don't feel like myself anymore.

Maybe it's the stress of the move, or maybe it's just me trying to keep everything together in a house that doesn't quite feel like home yet.

Tomorrow, I'll walk into that new school and try to blend in, hoping the day passes without anyone noticing how out of place I really feel.

That fact makes me shudder every-time.

After stealthily poking an ear downstairs to observe mum and dad's conversation, I walk back into my assigned bedroom and look into my vanity.

I've always wanted a vanity and loved the idea of one. This house has its positives really.

I bent down and ran my fingers over the soft, white rug beneath my feet, enjoying how it cushioned every step.
The fairy lights draped along the walls cast a warm, magical glow, making the shadows seem to dance.
My eyes wandered to the spacious wardrobe, its mirrored doors reflecting the pink expanse of my bed, plush and inviting, like something out of a dream.
I caught sight of my vanity in the corner, its surface gleaming, a quiet corner just for me. With a contented sigh, I settled into the chair at my new desk, finally feeling the calm I'd been craving. Here, I could focus, breathe, and maybe—just maybe—start to feel at home.

While in my trance, I hear a familiar loud voice. "Diana, if you don't come downstairs now your sister will eat your food!" A woman belts at the top of her lungs, making the whole house tremble.

Typical Mum who only speaks in yelling.

Dinner happened. I ate and ate-

Until I ended up in the bathroom,

Every muscle in my face heaved tightly together in an upwards pull, everytime I dug my two fingers deep down my rancid mouth.

As I hit "the spot", my body heaves violently, expelling an array of chestnut chunks, following with a flurry of foul, murky, fluids.

A blended concoction of roasted potato and chicken that I'd just eaten.

As the flow dwindled, I repeatedly shoved my fingers down my throat for the vomit to kickstart again.

I was stood weakly, a fly could knock me over. My back was hunched over, as if I was trying to shrink.

My abdomen tensed up like a full body workout as the gagging continued.

When I felt "satisfied" with the sessions "output", I spat the remaining into the drain.

I switched on the shower and watched all the shame go away with the throw-up.