These Demons

Chapter Four

Leaving the diner, I feel proud because I didn't eat and a little more awake because the caffeine's effect has reached my brain, but the rest of my body is so tired that I could lie down right here and sleep on the curb. Zoe keeps rambling about nonsense, but instead of listening, I drift off into my world of self-doubts until my movements suddenly freeze.

"What's wrong?" Zoe wants to know, tugging on my arm to get a response from me, but it's not possible for me to react.

There she is. Right on the other side of the street.
I know that she doesn't see me, but I see her, and even though I strongly believed and still believe that I'm over her, seeing her again after all this time takes my breath away.
I actually consider crossing the street to say hello and find out how she's doing and coping with everything that happened between the two of us, because I obviously didn't do a good job at that, but I quickly change my mind.
Juliet stops walking, looking gorgeous with her new haircut and expensive purse she certainly paid with the money she got from me after the divorce, and then I notice who's walking beside her.
Because of how stunned I was by spotting her without a warning or chance to mentally prepare myself, I didn't notice the handsome muscular guy next to her earlier, but when she turns to him and that piece of shit who looks a hell lot better than me puts his arm around her waist and they exchange each other's saliva in a way too passionate kiss, I can't help but stare at them.
Now I know how she pulled through. She just moved on to the next guy right away.
While I cried like a baby for weeks, got drunk, let myself slip into a dark mental state of depression and hopelessness and turned into a fat disgusting blob, she just picked some guy to get her brains fucked out by. Some guy who looks insanely attractive, has muscles I can only dream of and seems to have erased every memory of me.

Half a decade we spent together and she never seems to have given a damn.
If she had, she wouldn't be so happy. She wouldn't look so great. And she certainly wouldn't let some manwhore touch her like this in the middle of the street.
Their lips part again, but my heart has turned to ice that's ready to burst into a thousand tiny sharp pieces. They giggle, hold hands and keep walking, but I can't move on from seeing something like this.
Did she ever care? How many pretty men did she think about when we were still together? How many men touched her? How many men gave her things I obviously couldn't give her?
How often did she lie when telling me about how much she loved me?
None of her promises seems to have meant anything when I look at her now and see how she just completely forgot about our relationship that meant the world to me. She meant everything to me, and what was I to her? Was I anything at all?

Images pass by in front of my inner eye, memories and moments, everything that once mattered to me. But none of it does anymore. Turning into an emotional wreck, I completely forgot about Zoe who keeps trying to make me talk because I just turned into a zombie out of the blue, but instead of wasting my time explaining the tragedies of my life, I make up some stupid excuses about not feeling well (either still or again) and leave as fast as my tired feet can carry me. Thank God my little weight loss program has turned me into a rather athletic person compared to how lazy I used to be and I actually manage to get home before breaking down due to crying or exhaustion.

As soon as I'm through the door, I head for the pantry.
I kept all of my candy and junk food in here to prove and test my strength and discipline, but also to have it incase of an emergency- like right now. I know that I don't actually want to do it and I'll regret it tomorrow, but none of that bothers me right now. I just need to stop myself from feeling like this.
Honestly- I don't even know how I feel right now, but I know that I cannot possibly stand it and make it through it without numbing it, and alcohol is not an option. Food. Much food.

Without wasting another thought, I throw away my gloves, grab everything I can carry at once and move it to the living room where I sit down on my leather couch. Soda, chips, chocolate, muffins, brownies and other gross stuff I crave every minute of the day, but can't eat because it'll make me get even worse line up in front of me on the small table, and then I shovel every last crumb of it into the even more gross body of mine.
One after another rustling plastic bag's content ends up in my mouth and I can finally, for once, calm myself down enough to stop my thoughts from running wild.
Filling my stomach like this has the same effect on me meditation has on normal people- until the second I'm done. When all the bags are empty, my brain turns back on and I start to panic and feel the need to cry, but I can't.

Instead, I need to jump from the couch, hastily grab all the empty packages, throw them into the garbage and run to my bathroom. Again, I remember I should drink water to make it easier, but there is no time.
Every second I keep the food inside gives my tricky fat body the opportunity to absorb more calories that'll settle down on my flabby thighs, chubby hips and wobbly arms.

It's unthinkable for me to quit jamming my thick fingers down my sore throat before I can be absolutely sure that there is nothing left of my gruesome sin, so I purge and purge until I actually see blood in the toilet in front of me. It scares me a little, but not enough to make me stop until I'm as sure as I need to be.
When I am, it feels like hours have passed and my body is close to breaking down because literally everything burns, but I need to clean up my mess first. Frantically, I scrub my hands, the toilet, floor and sink to ridden myself of the smells and stains, but the guilt doesn't leave.
My mind is torn between ecstasy because I actually tricked my stomach and got rid of it all, and regret because I gave in and binged in the first place, and I have no idea how to handle it, but gladly, it's the middle of the night, so I don't have to.

As soon as I'm done with the bathroom, I don't even bother to change into more comfortable clothes or at least brush my teeth and just turn off my phone to make the world leave me alone until the sun goes up.
With my last tired steps, I make my way to my bed on the first floor, lie down and slip under the warm covers to stop myself from shivering, finally fall asleep and stop overthinking everything, but even with my last breath before drifting away, I can still taste the shame on my lips.

A great mistake. Maybe that really is all I am.