𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫

eleven

Summer

I blink awake slowly, my head pounding with a relentless, dull thud that reverberates through every nerve in my body. Sunlight slips through the blinds, piercing and unforgiving, landing squarely on my face. I groan, pulling the covers over my head, hoping I can somehow will myself back to sleep and out of this fog.

My mouth feels dry and sour, and as I shift in bed, a sick feeling starts to build in my stomach, heavy and rolling, like the aftermath of a storm. I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting it off, but it grows, insistent, bubbling up until I know I can't ignore it.

I barely make it to the bathroom, stumbling out of bed and down the hall, clinging to the walls as I go. My vision blurs as I fall to my knees, clutching the edge of the toilet just in time. It all comes up, the bitter taste of last night's drinks mixed with shame and regret. I feel my body lurch, emptying itself until there's nothing left but the sour taste of bile.

When it's over, I sit back on the cold tile, my head resting against the side of the tub. My chest heaves, and I feel drained, hollow, like I've left pieces of myself there in the toilet bowl. It's painful, uncomfortable, but at the same time... there's a strange satisfaction in it.

I know it's wrong, this feeling. It shouldn't make me feel relieved, but it does. The emptiness, the ache in my stomach — it makes me feel lighter, like I've shed a layer of myself that I didn't want anymore. I tell myself it's just the hangover, that I'll feel better after some water, some food, but I don't move. I just sit there, breathing slowly, trying to savor the strange, fleeting sense of calm that comes with the emptiness.

I pull myself up after a few minutes, washing my mouth out at the sink, watching my reflection as I rinse. My face looks pale, almost translucent under the harsh bathroom lights, my eyes dark and tired, shadows smudged beneath them. I lean closer, studying the lines of my face, the angles that feel sharper, more pronounced than they used to be. My fingers trace along my jawline, thin and fragile, like it might crack under pressure.

The scale sits there in the corner, half-hidden under the sink, as if it's waiting for me, calling me. I know it's not healthy, that I should ignore it and go back to bed, let myself recover. But the pull is there, undeniable, and before I know it, I'm stepping onto the cold surface, letting the numbers flash up at me.

They're lower than last time. Just by a little, but it's enough to make my chest tighten, a strange mix of pride and relief settling over me. The numbers don't lie, and for once, they're on my side, confirming that everything I've been doing, everything I've been trying, isn't for nothing.

I step off, feeling a small, guilty smile tug at the corners of my mouth, even as my head pounds and my stomach twists in protest. It's wrong, I know it is, but I can't help the satisfaction that blooms in my chest. It's like a secret, this little victory, something only I know, something I can hold onto.

The mirror catches my reflection again, and I watch myself, trying to see what everyone else sees. It's hard, sometimes, to recognize myself, to see the changes that feel so drastic on the inside but seem invisible on the surface. I want to believe I look different, that I've become someone new, someone who deserves to be here, but doubt clings to me, thick and heavy.

I turn away, heading back to my room, hoping to shake off the lingering haze of last night. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, lighting up with missed texts from Kayali, each one more insistent than the last.

from: kayyy 🤍
You good?
How are you feeling?
Message me when you're up!

I smile a little, grateful for her concern, but I don't reply. I can't bring myself to put everything into words, to explain the mess that's swirling inside me. It's easier to keep it to myself, to let it sit quietly, like another secret hidden beneath the surface.

I flop back onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the thoughts running through my head. Last night feels like a blur, fragments piecing together, bits of laughter, snide comments, JJ's drunken slur echoing in my mind. The way he looked at me, like I was still that girl he used to ignore, the one he didn't think was worth his time.

I press my hands over my eyes, trying to block it out, to silence the nagging voice that tells me he's right, that I'll never be enough. But it's there, persistent, whispering doubts that cling to every corner of my mind.

The emptiness in my stomach is comforting, in a twisted way, a reminder that maybe, just maybe, I can control this one thing. That if I keep trying, keep pushing, I might finally become someone worth noticing, someone worth caring about.

I get up slowly, forcing myself to go through the motions, to brush my hair, change into something clean. Each movement feels heavy, my limbs weighed down by fatigue, but I keep going, pushing through the haze. It's all I know how to do, this endless cycle of pretending, of holding it all together even when it feels like I'm falling apart.

By the time I'm dressed, my head feels a little clearer, the nausea subsiding into a dull ache that I can ignore. I glance around my room, at the piles of books and clothes, the remnants of a life that feels foreign to me now. Everything is shifting, changing, and I can't quite keep up.

My phone buzzes again, another text from Kayali, this time a simple question that makes my chest tighten.

from: kayyy🤍
girl are you alive?

I hesitate, my fingers hovering over the screen, unsure of what to say. How do I tell her that I don't know? That I'm not sure I even recognize myself anymore, that every day feels like a battle against the person I used to be, against the girl who never felt good enough.

I type a quick response, something vague and dismissive, assuring her that I'm fine, that I just need a little rest. She replies instantly, a string of heart emojis and a promise to check on me later.

As I set the phone down, a sense of isolation settles over me, heavy and familiar. It's like I'm trapped in this space between who I am and who I want to be, unable to bridge the gap. The world outside feels distant, unreachable, a place I can only observe from behind glass.

I lie back down, staring up at the ceiling, letting the silence wash over me. It's easier this way, to retreat, to let the world fade into the background.