𝙴𝚛𝚒𝚌 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚛 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ★ 𝙾𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ★

𝐼𝓃𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

The mirror is unforgiving. You've been standing in front of it longer than you care to admit, running your hands over every curve that feels too pronounced, every inch of skin that seems to cling to you wrong. The clothes that used to make you feel confident now only serve as a reminder of how much has changed.

It's been days since you last ate a proper meal. The gnawing hunger has become a familiar companion, a twisted reassurance that you're doing something about the way you feel. You've told yourself that if you just hold out a little longer, if you eat a little less, things will start to look better. But the hunger gnaws at you relentlessly, and your energy is fading. You sit down on the couch, willing yourself to focus on anything but the dull ache in your stomach.

Eric's not home yet. He's been at rehearsal for hours, and with any luck, he'll stay longer. It gives you more time alone, more time to avoid the way he looks at you with concern, the way he always seems to notice the things you try to hide.

The sound of the front door opening pulls you from your thoughts. Eric's home earlier than you expected, his voice warm as it calls out, "Hey, sweetheart!"

Your heart skips a beat, guilt creeping in. He doesn't know what's been going on. You've been careful to hide it from him, but Eric's always been too perceptive.

"Hey," you respond, forcing a smile as he comes into the room. His dark curls are a little disheveled from the wind outside, and the second he sees you, his face softens. He walks over and leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"How was your day?" he asks, his hand resting on your knee.

"It was fine," you murmur, hoping he won't probe any further. You're not sure how much longer you can keep up the facade.

Eric watches you closely, his brow furrowing. "You've been quiet lately," he says gently, his tone laced with concern. "And you haven't been eating much. What's going on?"

The lump in your throat forms before you can stop it, and you lower your gaze, unable to meet his eyes. "I've just... I've been feeling off."

"Off how?" He presses, his hand squeezing yours in encouragement.

You hesitate, but the words slip out before you can reel them back. "I feel fat, Eric. I hate the way I look. I thought if I just... stopped eating so much, it would help."

The admission hangs heavy in the air, and for a moment, you brace yourself for his reaction. But instead of saying anything right away, Eric lets out a soft breath, his hand still holding yours.

"Sweetheart..." His voice is thick with emotion, and when you finally look up at him, there's no judgment in his eyes. Just worry. And love.

"You're not fat," he says firmly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Not even close. But what scares me is that you're starving yourself, thinking that's going to fix something that's not even broken."

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, not wanting to break down. "I just... I want to feel better about myself," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eric's eyes soften even more, if that's possible, and he shifts closer to you, his hand reaching up to gently cup your face. "I understand wanting to feel good about yourself," he says softly, "but starving yourself isn't the answer. I love you exactly as you are. Your body, your mind, everything. None of that needs to change for me, and it sure as hell doesn't need to change for anyone else."

You swallow hard, the emotions swirling inside you threatening to overwhelm you. "I don't know how to stop," you admit, your voice cracking. "I just... feel so gross sometimes."

Eric doesn't hesitate. He pulls you into his arms, holding you tight against his chest. His warmth surrounds you, grounding you in the present, and you let yourself sink into his embrace, taking comfort in the steady beat of his heart.

"Let's start by getting you something to eat," he says softly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Just a little something, okay? You can't think straight on an empty stomach, and I want to make sure you're taking care of yourself."

You want to protest, to tell him you're not ready, but the way he's holding you makes it hard to argue. There's no judgment in his voice, no pressure. Just love. And that love makes you realize that maybe, just maybe, it's okay to let him help.

Eric gently pulls back, his hands still resting on your shoulders as he looks at you. "Come on," he says, his voice soft but firm. "Let's go into the kitchen."

Reluctantly, you nod, allowing him to lead you. Once there, he opens the fridge and pulls out a container of leftovers from the night before—something light, but substantial enough to make a difference. He plates a small portion and sets it down in front of you at the table, sitting beside you.

You stare at the food for a moment, your stomach twisting in a mix of hunger and anxiety. But Eric's presence beside you is steady, and when you finally take a bite, the knot in your stomach starts to loosen, just a little.

"That's it," Eric says softly, his hand resting on your knee. "You don't have to finish it all right now. Just a little bit at a time. We'll take this one step at a time, okay?"

You nod, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. He's not rushing you. He's not pushing. He's just there, by your side, and for the first time in days, you feel like maybe you can start to take those steps. Maybe you don't have to do this alone.

And with Eric beside you, you know you won't have to.