Stealing Stars

A Million Waves In The Ocean Crash At Once To Make You Smile

I crack open my eyes. The alarm clock on the floor next to my bed reads 2:57, and I realize that I must have fallen asleep laying here. My head hurts, indicating that I had been crying. Groaning, I sit up, stretching my stiff muscles. My stomach growls and I involuntarily smile. 3 days so far, I think. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, trying to ignore the burning sensation in my calves from running. There's a door slam downstairs, and I vaguely wonder how long my mom was out working the night before. I fumble against the wall for a light switch, flicking it on once I locate it. The light hurts and I squint. I step softly onto the scratchy carpet of my bedroom floor, careful not to hit any of the well-known squeaky floorboards. Shuffling to the bathroom, I immediately shut and lock the door out of habit. I strip and slide the scale from its place beneath the sink, sucking in a lungful of air before stepping onto the surface.

I nearly scream in delight at the little square display.

99 lbs.

A grin stretches across my face, and I squeal as quietly as I can manage. Only 9 pounds away from your current goal, Collie. Stay strong.

I turn around to face the full length mirror hanging on the door. Still fat, but better. There's a slow emerging space between my thighs, and my ribs are poking to the surface. I turn again and dress quickly, newly motivated to weight even less. I kick the scale under the sink and unlock the door, pulling slowly to prevent the telltale creak of the hinges. I sprint back to my room, shutting the door and stripping for the second time and dropping to the floor.

1, 2, 3, I count the curl ups.

386, 387, 388, I'm counting five minutes later.

498, 499, 500. Five minutes more and I'm panting, muscles burning, laying in a heap on the floor. I force myself to stand, breathing for a few seconds before beginning my jumping jacks.

1, 2, 3, I'm wheezing now.

788, 789, 790, I feel like my lungs are shriveling up in my chest.

798, 799, 800. I collapse onto my bed, in every sense of the word. Every inch of my body screams at me, but I'm satisfied for the moment. Reaching for the water bottle that's constantly on my dresser, I gulp from it thirstily until I have drained every drop of liquid from its plastic container. My throat, mouth, muscles, everything hurts; but it doesn't hurt nearly as much as being fat.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, ruthless to your victim. Suiting you becomes my law, tied to my reflection.