things i can't (l.s)

Chapter 14

Harry's POV:

Wednesday. 1:07 am.

I awoke in a sweat. My body sat itself up straight before I felt it. There was pain- so much pain in my stomach, I could barely move. A hunger pang.

My stomach growled and whined for food- I hadn't eaten since what was it... Monday night? My mind thought of all the foods I couldn't eat, like the rice cakes with Nutella smeared on top, and the left over pasta, and the bag of salt and vinegar chips. Fuck, I wanted all of it. I turned to the clock and read the time.

My mom is asleep. No one will know what I'm about to do. There will be no evidence.

I slip out from under the covers and race to the kitchen. My body is aching for something, anything... Everything. This happens from time to time, when my body becomes too weak. I can't help it. The food just lures me in and makes it so I can't stay away. I open the pantry, careful not to make any noise and grab the rice cakes and Nutella. I don't even bother with a knife, or plate, or anything to make this less messy- I just need it in me as fast as possible. I dip the rice cake into the Nutella and stuff it into my mouth. The taste of it nearly makes me have an orgasm, it is so fucking good. The next thing I know, I've eaten the entire cake.

At this point, my mind does this thing where it likes to tell me that once I've eaten, I might as well eat everything in sight since I have already fucked up. So, I grab the chips, the pasta, the ice cream, and anything else that looks calorie infested.

And I sit in the middle of the kitchen floor- at 1:30 am, and eat as much as I can.

I finish the last chip in the bag and finally look around to see what I had just done. When you starve yourself for days on end, and then you finally eat something, you get this frenzy. It's like being a vampire, sucking on someone's neck. You just can't stop until there's nothing left.

Unfortunately, for people with eating disorders, it's different. We actually feel remorse after we do the deed.

So there I was, sitting in the middle of my kitchen floor, surrounded by empty wrappers and containers. There are two things that inevitably occur after one of these binges: one, I go and throw everything I can up in the toilet. Or two, I cut. Since it was very late at night and I didn't feel like giving too much energy away, I settle on cutting. I just needed a punishment. I felt so disgusting and worthless. I'd go on a run tomorrow or something to burn it off. But I needed something now.

Go cut, Harry. You filthy, disgusting piece of shit. Look at what you've just done. Punish yourself. Go look in the mirror and look at the fat waste of space you are before you slice your arm up. You need to be taught a lesson. Go, now.

I listened to the voice ringing in my ears and I rushed back up to my room, needed an instant relief and punishment at the same time.

Grabbing the small box, I took out a good sized blade.

This oughta do it.

I went to the bathroom to look at myself. All I saw was fat, everywhere. I pinched my pregnant-looking stomach and at my legs. I smiled deviously into the mirror before punching my leg as hard as I could, to leave a bruise. I loved giving myself bruises. The way they made such an ugly looking mark on my body as a reminder of the punishment I had given myself gave me a feeling of control. I loved it. I needed it. Looking back at my body in its entirety, my face flushed. A warm tear dripped down my face as I watched the fat move up and down the length of my torso. I couldn't believe how disgusting I was. I was so disappointed in myself for eating. I was so disappointed in myself for breathing.

I held the blade in my hand, shakily, as I knew I wanted to go deeper this time. I wanted to feel accomplished in my punishment. I wanted to feel control. I turned my wrist up, gazing at the previous scars I had given myself, and pressed the blade into my cold skin. I winced as the metal slid further into my skin, but I loved it. I breathed out as I pushed deeper, I needed to go deeper. My breath hitched as I felt the blade inch closer to my vein.

Not today. One day, just not today.

I decided that four slashes would be enough tonight, and if I went running tomorrow, I would be okay. I wiped my tears away as the fourth mark was made, and cleaned myself up.

I'd have to make sure that Lou wouldn't suspect anything tomorrow, so I bandaged myself up well.