𝙴𝚛𝚒𝚌 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚛 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ★ 𝙾𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ★

𝐵𝓊𝓁𝒾𝓂𝒾𝒸 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

Trigger Warning ⚠︎: This story contains themes of bulimia and disordered eating. If you or someone you know is struggling with similar issues, please seek professional help.

Disclaimer: The following story is inspired by my personal experiences with bulimia, which was not severe, but has informed my writing.

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The sun filtered through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the cluttered table. Eric was humming softly to himself as he prepared breakfast, a melody that always made your heart swell. It was a cozy morning, the kind that reminded you of how good life could be. Yet, beneath the surface, you were fighting a battle that felt increasingly isolating.

You had been struggling with bulimia for a while, a silent war that waged within you. Each meal became a source of anxiety; each bite felt heavier than the last. It was easier to hide it, to pretend everything was fine as you smiled at Eric, who seemed blissfully unaware of the turmoil brewing inside you.

"Breakfast is ready!" he called out, breaking your train of thought. You forced a smile, walking into the kitchen and taking a seat at the table. He placed a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of you, his eyes bright with excitement. "I made your favorite!"

"Thanks, Eric," you replied, your voice steady despite the unease coiling in your stomach. As you picked at the food, a familiar anxiety crept in—what if you couldn't keep it down? What if you lost control?

You ate a few bites, feeling the food settle heavily in your stomach. With each swallow, the urge to purge bubbled beneath the surface, a relentless tide threatening to wash away everything you had just consumed. You pushed your plate away, the food still untouched.

"Not hungry?" Eric asked, concern flickering across his face.

"Just not feeling great," you replied, avoiding his gaze. "Maybe later."

"Okay, but you need to eat something," he said gently. "I don't want you to get sick."

"I know," you murmured, forcing yourself to breathe evenly. The last thing you wanted was to worry him, but the pull of your coping mechanism was becoming stronger.

After breakfast, you excused yourself, the familiar dread clawing at you as you made your way to the bathroom. You shut the door behind you and leaned against the cool tiles, closing your eyes as the nausea twisted in your stomach. The urge to purge was almost overwhelming, a siren song that promised relief from the chaos in your mind.

As you leaned over the toilet, your heart raced. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to resist, but the compulsion had a hold on you. Just as you began to succumb to it, you heard a gentle knock on the door.

"Hey, babe? You okay?" Eric's voice broke through the haze of your thoughts.

Panic surged through you, and you quickly wiped your tears, trying to compose yourself. "I'm fine! Just feeling a bit... off."

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again, concern heavy in his tone. "Can I come in?"

"No! I just need a minute!" you replied, desperation creeping into your voice.

But he didn't listen. With a quiet determination, he opened the door, and your heart sank at the sight of him. His expression shifted from worry to shock as he took in the scene before him.

"Babe..." he whispered, his eyes wide.

You froze, caught in a moment of vulnerability. The mask you had worn so carefully shattered, revealing the raw truth of your struggle. "Eric, I can explain—"

He stepped closer, his expression softening. "You don't have to explain. I just want to understand."

Tears brimmed in your eyes as the weight of shame settled on your shoulders. "I... I can't help it. It's like there's this voice inside me that won't shut up. I just want to feel in control, and I don't know how else to cope."

Eric's gaze never left yours, his concern deepening. "You don't have to do this alone. I want to help you."

The sincerity in his voice broke something inside you. You sank to the floor, burying your face in your hands as the tears flowed freely. Eric knelt beside you, his presence grounding and warm. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as you trembled against him.

"I'm so scared, Eric," you sobbed. "I don't know how to stop."

"I know it feels impossible right now," he whispered, his fingers running gently through your hair. "But we'll figure this out together. You're not alone in this."

His words were a lifeline, pulling you from the depths of despair. You let yourself lean into him, feeling the safety of his embrace. The storm inside you was still raging, but with Eric by your side, you felt a flicker of hope.

"I'm sorry for hiding this from you," you said, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

"Don't be," he replied, his voice steady. "I'm just glad you let me in. You deserve to be heard and supported. Let's take it one day at a time."

In that moment, you realized that opening up was the first step toward healing. It wouldn't be easy, and there would be setbacks, but having Eric beside you made the journey feel a little less daunting.

As you sat together on the bathroom floor, you felt the heaviness of your struggle begin to lift, replaced by a sense of connection and understanding. Together, you would face the shadows that lingered behind your smile, slowly learning to find the light again.