𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍 & 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒 | ❝You want to eat everyone you see and I don't want to eat at all. Sounds to me like we'd be great friends.❞
In which an anorexic girl believed losing was the only way to win the game. Or, alternatively, Rory Swan's road to re...
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IN THE HUMAN PSYCHOLOGY OF LIFE, it's common that we use games as a way to waste time.
It's whipping out the raggedy piece of cardboard with the faded letters of Monopoly printed on it. It's rolling the dice and shouting, "Yahtzee!". It's putting your left hand on the green dot and your right foot on the red dot, hoping to whatever God in the sky that was listening that you wouldn't fall onto your friends in a twisted mess. It's bonding with those around you throughout your third round of Mario Party that makes the time fly with the blink of an eye.
Just like the games, winning and losing hold a special place in the matter of it all, in the matter of life. It's going bankrupt in Monopoly; It's getting the worst cards in an intense game of Uno; It's your ship sinking in Battleship that defines the position of winner and loser.
Sometimes games become just a little too real.
"You lost again."
When playing a game, it's important to accept that losing isn't the desired outcome; however, for Lorelai Swan, hearing those words made her feel more alive than any breath of air could provide.
With her head hanging low, she swung her legs beneath her, making idle note of how her hospital gown seemed baggier than usual. The only sound that came in that cold, quiet room was the click! of the man's pen in front of her. He scribbled across his clipboard, his face always set with something Lorelai was used to, yet couldn't quite place. It wasn't quite indifference, not disdain either. She could never tell what it was, only that she felt safe when he was there.
Still, Lorelai didn't like silence. Not always.
Picking at her gown, she softly asked, "How much?"
"I don't know if telling you is such a good idea."
Lorelai looked up at the pale man that was Dr. Carlisle Cullen. There was a sullen expression stamped across his admittedly handsome features, just as it always was. The familiarity in his face always made Lorelai feel the need to hug up, but she never did. Instead, she repeated, "How much?"
The silence between them was still. Even the simple drop of a pin could create a ripple of echoes in the room. "You're 83 pounds, Lorelai," finally revealed Carlisle, hesitance bleeding through his practically nonexistent pores.
Lorelai pressed her lips together, unsure of what to say. A rush surged through her—the same one she always felt when she arrived at Forks Hospital for her usual appointments. The best way to describe it was bittersweet. She was happy with herself, pathetically prideful that she was finally reaching her goal: to be skinny. However, there was that twang of tart that would always steal the spotlight. It was wanting to lose more weight, it was the feeling of Carlisle's and her father's disappointed gazes, it was the regret. It was anything her tainted mind could muster up with that brought upon Lorelai sorrow.
