𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒔

nine

"i'm my scared of my fears, yet they're all i think about"

The plain clock on my desk ticked past midnight, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room.

I stared at the ceiling, my heart pounding in my chest. The buzz from the pills had worn off hours ago, leaving me raw and restless.

I rolled over onto my side, pulling the covers tighter around my body, but it didn't help. Sleep wasn't coming, no matter how much I tried to force it. My body felt hollow, my mind racing in a thousand different directions at once.

Five months.

That was how long it had been since my last period. I had tried not to think about it, tried to convince myself that it didn't matter, but the absence was all-consuming.

It was like my body was punishing me for everything I'd put it through. Every calorie I had counted, every meal I had skipped, every time I had purged. It all felt like it was catching up to me.

I ran my fingers through my hair, the strands tangling between my fingers as I tugged, hard, just to feel something other than this tightness in my chest. The ache in my stomach had become a constant companion, the hunger gnawing at me, but I couldn't bring myself to eat. The thought of food turned my stomach, made my skin crawl.

My eyes flicked over to the mirror across the room, but I couldn't bring myself to get up, to face the reflection I knew was waiting for me.

The weight I had lost was starting to show in all the wrong places.

I used to feel powerful watching the numbers drop on the scale, but now all I felt was this overwhelming fear that I had pushed too far, that I had lost control.

But I couldn't stop.

I kicked the covers off and stood up, the room spinning slightly as I walked toward the bathroom.

The house was eerily quiet, the only sound was my bare feet against the cold floor.

My mom was in Paris again, leaving me alone in this enormous mansion, just me and the emptiness. I think I was high the last time I saw her.

The bathroom light flickered on, harsh and blinding in the darkness. I avoided the mirror, focusing instead on the sink, gripping the edge tightly with both hands as I leaned forward, staring into the running water.

I needed to feel empty again.

Last night's binge still weighed heavy in my stomach, the guilt suffocating me.

I hadn't meant to eat that much.

I just couldn't stop.

One bite turned into five, then ten, and then it was like I had blacked out.

When I came back to myself, the wrappers were everywhere, and my stomach felt like it was going to burst.

I swallowed hard, feeling the familiar panic rise up in my throat. My hands trembled as I turned away from the sink and knelt in front of the toilet, my fingers already pressing down my throat. It had become a routine by now—the nausea, the burn in my throat, the relief that came after.

But this time, it wasn't enough. The relief didn't come.

I collapsed against the bathroom wall, pulling my knees to my chest. My body felt like it was betraying me, like nothing I did could make it right again.

I pressed my hand to my stomach, feeling the bones beneath my skin, but it still didn't feel thin enough.

It never did.

The tears came out of nowhere, hot and angry as they spilled down my cheeks. I wiped them away quickly, hating the weakness they made me feel. I wasn't supposed to cry. I wasn't supposed to let anything get to me.

But lately, it was like everything was too much. My body, my mind, the silence of this empty house. It was all closing in on me, and I couldn't breathe.

I forced myself to stand up, leaning heavily against the wall as I stumbled back into my bedroom. The air felt too thick, like it was suffocating me, but I couldn't open the window. I didn't want anyone to hear me, didn't want anyone to know.

I was supposed to be perfect.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, my hands still shaking. The numbness was creeping back in, that dull, hollow feeling that I couldn't shake. It was better than the panic, but it still left me feeling empty, like nothing mattered.

I looked over at my phone, the screen lighting up with notifications from people I couldn't bring myself to talk to. Vicki had texted me earlier, something about meeting up tomorrow, but I hadn't replied.

I didn't want to see anyone.

No one could know what was really going on.

Not Vicki, not Naomi, not Melody. They wouldn't understand. They'd look at me the same way everyone else did—pretty, popular Gina who had it all together.

But I didn't.

I was falling apart, and no one could see it.

I grabbed my phone and threw it across the room, the screen going dark as it hit the wall with a harsh thud.

The anger simmered just beneath the surface, but I couldn't let it out. Not yet.

I couldn't afford to lose control.

Not again.

I lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, my heart still racing. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, counting down the minutes until the morning light would filter through the blinds again, and I would have to pretend everything was okay.

But for now, I was alone. Alone with my thoughts, my body, my guilt.

And for now, that was enough.