Anorexia (#FreeYourBody)

Chapter Twenty Three

One night, though, November never showed up to the hill. He never showed up with his black hair in a man bun and he never brought a bottle of vodka and he never arrived in his run down yellow Chevy Cobalt.
So I waited. I waited for him. I waited there on that hill in the middle of March in the cold temperature at 11:00 PM exactly and he never came.
I went home and thought whilst my so called, "Mother," was out drinking and having one night stands and other people were living their perfect lives with their perfect families and children were having fun and smiling and laughing. And here I was, thinking about November when I could be doing a million things. But instead I was thinking about the boy I loved who didn't love me back.
So I drove to the closed down swimming pool.
I walked in, going through the Men's locker room like old times and walking into the main pool room.
I walked down into the big pool and what I saw there made my breath hitch and my body go weak but I still walked over to him and sat down next to his body, avoiding the blood.
November lay there, dead, with his skull cracked open and blood pouring out.
A sticky note was attached to his chest that said '"But wouldn't it be cool if this is how you died?"' and another one next to it that said 'our hearts are animals, that is why our ribs are cages'.
I couldn't help but notice that November had quoted himself when he said 'But wouldn't it be cool if this is how you died?'.
I thought back to when he said that and then cried.
I laid opposite of November, our feet touching, and cried for hours on end before leaving, rushing back to my house.
I dug the food he gave to me months before out of my dresser under my small amount of clothes and ate it all. And when that was gone I ate everything in the kitchen and when all that was gone and I went and bought Arby's and ate that.
And once that was all gone, I felt good. Because I had eaten. For November.
After puking up half of the stuff I had just eaten, I went back to the swimming pool and laid opposite of November again.
And then I cried even more, for real. Because crying over November was like crying when you were disowned because you aren't straight; it fucking hurt but at the same time, for whatever reason, it felt good. It felt good to cry over November but it hurt like fucking hell because it will never be the same.

Go on, get out. Last words are for fools who haven't said enough.

THE
END