FINGERTIPS ║ Larry Stylinson

19 ║ Emptiness

  

⚠ May be triggering  (binging/purging). Please be careful, do not read if you're easily triggered by this kind of subject.  ⚠   

August 13th

When it had first happened, it was a week ago, Louis was home alone once again. The whole family was at a theme park and would stayed overnight and would only come the next evening while Louis had stayed home. He was laying in his bed and his stomach was hurting, he hadn't eaten anything in three days, drank a lot of water, he read online it would make it seem like he had eaten. He hated himself for making such research. He was pathetic, felt pathetic. This whole situation was becoming so ridiculous he couldn't look at himself in the mirror anymore, he would turn the light off while taking a shower which resulted with some bruises on his knees and elbows. He couldn't describe how it felt each time he would see his reflection. When he laid his eyes on his thighs while walking upstairs, he would only notice how the fat on his upper thighs would jiggle each time he climbed another step. If he ran downstairs, he would notice his butt moving and the fat around his stomach bouncing over his abs. When he brushed his teeth, he would see his double chin and look away from the mirror. If he ate something, he would go to his room and stare at the mirror, in his boxer while whispering to his reflection how ugly he was. He would list all the disgusting features. He would punch his stomach sometimes, punch his thighs like he could pack the fat and make it disappear under his pale skin.
The reflection was a lie though. The biggest lie. The sketches he had made of his "fat" body to remind himself how "disgusting" he was were lies as well. He was so far from being the person drawn in the mirror. The fact he had to change belt for a tighter one hadn't opened his eyes on reality nor the fact his previously tight shirts were now floating over his skin. His tan and glowing skin was now pale and drab. His big and expressive blue eyes were now subdued and bloodshot. His lips were more bluish than pinkish. His hair was thinner and it wasn't shinning anymore. His body had changed massively. When he laid down, his stomach would grow hollow between his hip bones and ribs, almost like an empty lake. The veins over his hands and wrist were more visible than ever and his skin seemed almost see-through. His ordinarily attractive prominent cheekbones were now scary. He was cold, freezing and shuddering under his covers every night.

But that one night, it was different. He was cold but his stomach was keeping him awake, his stomach had been begging him for food for hours and he didn't manage to sleep. It was around 4am. He didn't want to call Harry at such an hour like they were used to. So after he had tried to walk around the house for 20 minutes he ended up in the kitchen, sitting on the counter and staring at the fridge. He was cracking his knuckles and swinging his legs. He had rubbed his hands over his face, trying to convince him not to do such a thing. Trying to convince him he was not hungry. It wasn't hunger. He was fine. He should just go back to sleep. But he didn't. He had jumped on his feet before walking up to the fridge slowly, he had opened it and the light had hit his face. He had looked up and down. Yoghurt, cheese, cooked meats, soda, some pieces of cake his mum had cooked the day before. Nothing he should eat. But strangely, as he was still trying to convince himself how bad it was, his hand had grabbed the plate with the cake and he had smashed the door closed before sitting at the counter with a knife and fork. He had cut a small piece and had slid it into his mouth, closing his eyes as he let it drop down his throat, slowly, he wasn't chewing so much, wasn't cutting the cake, he was simply biting violently and swallowing quickly. He hadn't stopped though when the plate was empty. He had opened the cupboard's doors, grabbing the peanut butter jar, some cookies packs and crisps bags. He had scattered them on the counter, he had drank soda and bottles of water as he had let everything roll down his throat to fall in his stomach until it was hurting. Hurting and so uncomfortable. Until he had jumped back into reality as his taut and heavy stomach was pressing against his cold skin under his shirt, pushing against the fabric. He had grimaced from pain as he had pulled up his shirt, his fingers greasy and covered with chocolate, salt and other crumbs he was now disgusted by. His skin was tense and when he had pressed gently on the small bump between his ribs and belly button, he had felt his throat burn. Warm tears had started rolling down his cheeks and realisation had hit him violently. He had just eaten, not just some snack, he had emptied the cupboard to fill his stomach with whatever it contained. The pain was horrendous. He could barely breathe, like his lungs were pushing against his already overflowing stomach. Louis would never be able to describe how it felt as he was sitting in the darkness of the kitchen, his hands covered with the food he had just swallowed, his cheeks covered with tears. His chest was heavy, like the heaviest anvil was crashing his sternum and ribs. But it was the weight of guilt and hate pressing onto his heart. He had pulled on his hair before running up the stairs, a trembling hand over his stomach as it was threatening to explode. When Louis had collapsed in front of the toilet, his heart had started beating faster. He didn't know if it was from the pain on his stomach, the pain of guilt, shame and hate or the fear of what was to come. His fingers were trembling before he had knelt and leaned over the toilet bowl and slid his index and middle fingers into his mouth. That night, the only little shining star left in the bottom of his soul had turned off. There was no Harry, no mum, no Zayn or Liam. He was alone. Alone facing one of the most painful and shameful thing he had ever done. He had never thought he could hate himself more than he was already, but he was wrong. So wrong. Because when he woke up, he couldn't find any reason to wake up and keep on living. Because when Harry showed up the next day, his blindness wasn't something to reassure him anymore and he ran away from his touch and kisses, until the boy left. Because there weren't anything that could bring him to smile anymore, the sky seemed colourless and it couldn't warm his heart anymore. His head and throat hurt and he couldn't find a reason to explain why he was still alive anymore.