Skin And Bone

Burn

Loud pounding on the bathroom door startled me.

"Josh?'' Mum's voice asked questioningly.

I wiped my face with the sleeve on my hoodie.

"Urgh, yeah?" I threw open the door and almost ran the small woman over.

A curious look crossed her face, she frowned and shook her hand. Wavy blonde hair hung around her shoulders, and her blue eyes were light and caring.

"Are you feeling okay?" She asked, following me down the staircase.

"Yeah." I mumbled.

I made my way into the kitchen. Dad sat at the small, round table, newspaper in hand, and dishes beside the soapy sink. The kitchen still had a smell of chicken, my stomach clenched. I'd only managed to eat a quater of it, along with a spoon of potatos. It's like I could feel the fat piling up in my stomach, layer after layer. I had rushed up stairs for the bathroom to get rid of it.

Throwing up my meals had been a "must do" every single fucking day. No matter what.

Awkward silence hung in the air as I slipped my hands into the sink and reached for the plate.

I could feel my mother's gaze burning into my back, I could imagine her sad, worried face staring at me.

Four months ago I stopped eating. Day after day meals were skipped, food was thrown away and cuts were made. After awhile people start to question you. They wonder how you've lost so much weight, and they wonder why you're always in pain. Mum realised something was wrong. Continuously saying "no thank you" to food probably rose suspicion. Mum didn't play games. She told my father, which then lead to a family 'meeting.' We discussed staying 'healthy.' I promised my parents I would eat again. And so I did. And I gained a lot of weight, once again. This time I discovered a new way to get rid of it.