Moon Struck

Chapter 2

Triggered by that deceiving thought all day, I sink into the depth of my bed, feeling nothing but a relentless need of relief that I constantly am deficient of, but never required the sensation as much.

“Melissa, Sarah, come down for food!” my mother screamed, however receiving no reply as my sister and I never seemed hungry or didn’t feel the need to eat in my case.

Suddenly I hear the same corresponding sound of my sister, Sarah’s, door open and I hear her moderate footsteps grow near as I sink my head further into my pillow.

“Why aren’t you eating?” she said, amidst an unsettled face, speaking as if I hadn’t repetitively heard that from her every day.

“I’m not hungry, um – feeling sick” I mumbled, unsure of how unconvincing it may have come across.

“Does it look like I care? Come down” Without any further words articulated, she dragged me down the unappealing stairs and I piled my plate with unwanted food.

“You’ll get fat, you’re not strong enough to resist!” Ana whispered.

“I know.” I replied, and that was enough for Ana to happy and all it took for the pain in my chest to accelerate, and the oxygen in my lungs to diminish.

Unanticipatedly, my door swings open, and Sarah storms in, gasping at my state. My eyes were bright red, staining every atom covering my face, and my shriveled up body placed under my bed, shaking uncontrollably.

“Melissa, what’s happening?” she shrieks, her eyes start to tear.

I don’t transpire any words, my nails start to dent my arms, but Sarah held them tight.

“You’ll be okay, just breath in and out.” She says, attempting to stay calm, but through my foggy eyes I contemplate my sister crying, all because of me.

We lie on the floor for a while, adjacent to each other. She grips me tight, almost as if I’m the only thing essential to her, and I clutch her consistently sweaty hands because they are all that I have left. We share a few tears, abruptly she releases her grip off me.

“Why are you upset?” I ask confused, realizing that this is the first thing I have said.

“You can’t expect me to be happy.” She says, as she wipes her tears.  “You know, I don’t like it when you have panic attacks as well.”

“You say you try and make me feel better, but honestly, this isn’t helping.” I blurt, and as the words slip out of my depleted lips, I feel a strong sense of regret.

“That’s your problem Mel, all you think about is yourself!” the anger in her eyes start to generate. “Have you ever thought about how I feel? Does anyone ever think about how to make me feel better? I’m pretty fucked up and sad, but you know what? I can deal with it on my own – I can deal with my emotions.” And without another word she storms out of my room, slamming the door, contributing to my excruciating headache.

Unable to move, I grasp the same pillow from my bed and scream emphatically. Every single muscle from the 850 in my body start to ache reluctantly, and my sisters’ voice echoes in my mess of a mind. I feel convulsion, but the true feeling was of melancholy – I can’t do this anymore.