𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒔

sixteen

"loving yourself is the hardest thing to do"

The sun barely peeked through the blinds as I woke up, my stomach already twisting with hunger.

It wasn't new, that hollow ache, but this morning it was worse. Sharp and gnawing. I hadn't eaten since... I didn't even know when.

Not that it mattered.

I told myself I didn't need to.

It was easier that way, to just ignore it.

I pulled myself out of bed, my body heavy, aching in ways I couldn't explain. The bandages on my arms tugged against my skin as I moved, and for a moment, all I could think about was Cato.

His hands on my skin, stitching me up. The way he'd looked at me—not like the girl everyone thought they knew, but like he saw right through me. I wished I could forget it.

The guilt crept up as I grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie from my closet.

Even now, I felt raw—embarrassed that he had seen me like that. I wasn't supposed to be the girl who fell apart. I wasn't supposed to need help from anyone. Least of all him.

I glanced at my arms in the mirror, the bandages standing out stark white against my skin.

For a second, I thought about ripping them off, but I didn't. I knew Cato had done everything he could to help. But I hated that he had to see me like that. I hated that I had needed him.

With a sigh, I pulled the hoodie's sleeves down to cover the bandages and made my way downstairs.

As I hit the bottom step, I heard the faint clatter of dishes in the kitchen.

My mom was home.

My chest tightened, and suddenly I felt trapped. She didn't usually stick around long enough for us to cross paths.

Normally, I could get in and out of the house without her noticing. Today wasn't going to be one of those days.

I peeked into the kitchen, and there she was—standing at the island with her back to me, scrolling through her phone as she absentmindedly stirred her coffee.

I froze, the hunger gnawing even harder, and for a moment, I thought about grabbing something to eat.

I could hear the faint rumble of my stomach, but the moment my mom glanced up, her eyes flicking over my body, the thought vanished.

Her gaze lingered a second too long, and I could see the judgment there.

She didn't have to say anything—she rarely did anymore. It was all in the way she looked at me, that silent disapproval.

Her eyes dropped to the hoodie I was wearing, taking in the way it hung loose around me, and for a second, I thought she might say something.

"Are you going to be late?" she asked, her voice flat, distant.

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. I already felt disgusting, and standing there, under her gaze, only made it worse.

I knew what she thought—what she always thought.

That I wasn't thin enough.

That I was still too big, even though I could feel every inch of my bones pressing against my skin.

"Good," she muttered, turning back to her coffee as if I wasn't even there.

I swallowed hard and made my way out the door without another word, the hunger still twisting inside me, but I couldn't bring myself to do anything about it.

Not after that.

As I walked to school, the early morning air stung against my skin, and all I could think about was Cato.

I hated that he'd been there that night. I hated that he had to pick me up when I called him in the middle of the night, begging for something stronger—something to make everything stop.

He hadn't given it to me. And when he dropped me off at home, I hadn't even realized I'd left my phone in his car until it was too late. Until he came back and found me bleeding on the bathroom floor.

I wasn't supposed to need him.

I wasn't supposed to need anyone.

The memory of that night clawed at me as I walked through the school gates, head down, hoping no one would notice me. I knew I looked different today. The sweatpants, the hoodie—they were a far cry from the polished image I usually forced myself to present. But I couldn't bring myself to care. Not today. Not after everything that had happened.

My mind was still on Cato, on how he'd looked at me with a mix of shock and anger when he found me. He had freaked out—more than I expected him to. I didn't think he cared that much, but the way he'd been panicked, rushing to bandage me up, telling me to stay with him... it made something twist in my chest.

I kept walking through the hallway, tuning out the buzz of students around me. It felt like everyone was staring, though they probably weren't. It was just me. My paranoia, the guilt I still carried for dragging Cato into my mess. I didn't deserve his help. He shouldn't have had to deal with any of it.

As I reached my locker, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a text from him. My heart skipped a beat, the guilt creeping back in.

from: cato
You good?

I stared at the message for a long time, not knowing how to respond. Was I good? I didn't even know anymore. The guilt swirled again, thicker this time, making my stomach churn. He shouldn't be checking on me. He should've just left me to deal with it on my own.

But instead of ignoring the text, I typed back.

from: me
Yeah
Thanks for everything

It felt hollow, that message. Like it didn't come close to expressing what I actually felt. But what was I supposed to say? That I hated how much I needed him that night? That I hated how exposed I felt, how weak?

I shut my locker with more force than necessary, stuffing my phone back into my pocket as I walked to my first class. The day was already dragging, and I wasn't sure how I was going to make it through. The hunger still gnawed at me, but I pushed it down, focusing instead on keeping my head low, on not letting anyone see how messed up I really was.

As I sat down in class, I felt my phone buzz again, but I didn't check it this time. I couldn't. Not yet. I wasn't ready to face whatever Cato had to say. The guilt and shame from that night still clung to me, heavy and suffocating.

I could still feel the weight of his hands on my skin, the way he'd stitched me up without asking questions, without judgment. It made me feel raw, like he'd seen too much of me, like he knew things no one else did. And I hated it. I hated that I had let him see me like that.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. I wasn't really there, not fully.

My body was present, but my mind was still trapped in that night, reliving every moment, every glance Cato had thrown my way, the panic in his voice, the way he hadn't left until he knew I was okay.

By the time the final bell rang, I felt drained, completely spent. But the hunger was still there, gnawing at me, relentless.

I ignored it as I walked out of school, pulling my hoodie tighter around me.

I didn't know what to do with myself.

I didn't know how to fix any of it.

I checked my phone once more, staring at Cato's name on the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.

from: me
I'm sorry

It was all I could think to say.

Because no matter how much I tried to push it down, the guilt wouldn't leave me.

Cato didn't deserve to be dragged into my mess. He didn't deserve to see the worst parts of me.

And I hated that he did.