Thinspo {j.j.k.}

Aftermath

Warning: This is the first truly dark chapter in this book. I will not make another warning from now on, so please be prepared to be grossed out.

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It had been a few minutes after everyone left. The place was a mess from spilled food. Though Jungkook tried to help, I sent him home. My stomach was aching. I had eaten three cupcakes, almost entire bag of chips, four slices of pizza, and a large bag of peanut m&ms. It was the most food I had eaten in over a few months. Especially after eating so little previously, I was in pain.

My eyes looked over the scene as I made a small sigh. I chose to ignore it for now as I hesitantly stepped up the staircase. I listened to the gentle creaks in the lonely and dimly lit house. I hated being alone in times like this, but I had no choice. My heart ached in dread along with my screaming stomach with each step towards my private bathroom.

My shaking hands opened up the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. My eyes adverting so I wouldn't have to look at myself. But as soon as the cabinet shut, bottle in hand, I noticed my face. My dull, tired face. Eyes showing guilt and loneliness. Once filled with life and joy around my new friends, now showing guilt at my desires and thoughts. My dark circles stood out the most, with a deep frown and bloodshot, watery eyes. My hair messy from the way Jungkook ruffled it.

Thinking about him in this situation made me want to do it more but also stop me from doing it. I was conflicted. I hated him whenever he wasn't around. But as soon as I was near him, it was like my stomach was doing backflips and my eyes and grown their own hearts in the center.

I thought about my friends. I thought about how they discussed Bomi. How skinny she was and how laughable it was. I wondered if they were also jealous. If they were disgusted by themselves as much as I was disgusted with myself. I wondered if they also stayed up every night crying about their dreams that will never come true, ideals they could never meet.

I wondered if I was truly alone. Of course, I had friends. I had just made even more friends tonight. But I knew none of my friends understood what I was going through, nor could I ever tell them. I know keeping secrets is bad, but some secrets can't be shared without one person ending up in a mental hospital or dead.

Breaking out of the intrusive thoughts, I glanced down at the bottle held tightly in my quivering hands. I set it onto the white countertop, cracking the seal with my longest nail. I listened to it pop back after each failed attempt before it finally cracked open, I peeled it back with a quiet rip following. I threw the plastic seal onto the floor carelessly as I read the instructions thoroughly while lazily attempting to open the child safety seal.

"Intake tablespoon of liquid, followed by one to two glasses of water. If vomiting doesn't occur within 20 minutes, repeat." I mumble-chanted as the top finally popped off. I set the cap on the counter along with the bottle again as my eyes kept gazing over the label. I gently grabbed the cap and poured the syrup to the fill line.

While I did this, my foot lifted the ceramic toilet seat slowly. I set the cap aside as I began filling a few Dixie cups with water since I didn't have a cup inside of my bathroom. I had to estimate how much water I could drink.

I looked into the mirror again, if my face could get anymore pitiful I would be shocked. I watched my reflection as I quickly took the shot of ipecac. I gagged at the foul taste before quickly drinking the mini cups of water to follow. I quickly screwed back on the ipecac cap to put it away in case something happened where my mother would come home and find it. Filling more Dixie cups and downing them was a routine tonight.

Minutes passed before suddenly I fell to my knees in pain. I had to scooch my body towards the clean toilet bowl by pushing my sweaty palm against the tiled floor, brushing gently over some small, furry purple carpets on the floor. I gripped the edges of the bowl tightly as my eyes screwed shut and all of my memories poured out of me.

The frosting war with Jungkook, the cupcakes he had pushed himself into the crowd to save for me, the pizza that we all chipped our money into. It was like the memories of each moment were dissolving and being emptied into the awaiting toilet bowl.

I didn't have control over my vomiting. This shocked and scared me. My eyes were wide as I looked down into the bowl and saw tiny specks of blood. I wish I did my research. Now, I sat there, shaky and hopeless and I continued to vomit and vomit even after my stomach has been emptied. I was too shocked to push my hair back, dirtying the raven ends that fell in front of my face, hiding my shame and fear.

I desperately pushed the strands back into my clean hair so I could check for more blood. I continued coughing, gagging. But nothing came up now. It was over. I coughed and coughed. Wet coughs, dry coughs. It burned. I grabbed a wad of toilet paper as I coughed into it, my entire body shaking. I looked down at the once-white paper that was now coated with blood and residue of my dinner. I threw it into the bowl and flushed, watching the memories now vanish down into the pipes. My toilet bowl was clean again. As if nothing happened. As if I wasn't in pain, shaking on my bathroom floor, shivering as I held my dirty hands close to my body, falling back onto my bottom as I stared at the wall ahead of me.

I couldn't even lift myself. My whole body quivered in pain as I had to scooch myself to the sink, using my weak hands to grab the counter and lift my weakened body up. Now, looking into the dusty mirror, it was an awful sight. I almost fell backward. The whites of my eyes were coated in little red veins, my dark circles colored with blue veins. My lips were dry, cracked, and bleeding. My mouth and nose still dirtied from the residue of the vomit that now dried on my pale skin. My hair was streaked, my fingertips coated with dried blood and vomit.

My body shook, my eyes unable to widen as I looked at the me I had become into the mirror. I was dirty, I was filthy. I was a mess, a disappointment. I angrily hit the Dixie cups into the awaiting mini trash can. My angry feet carried me to my electric scale as I stripped myself down. Careful not to look in the mirror to disappoint myself even further. I stepped on the scale and read 55 kg. I angrily stomped on it.

My arms were still folded over my chest protectively out of fear as I dropped to the floor, my eyes stinging with hot tears that threatened to flow down my face. My body shook in pain and guilt as I looked down at my pale legs.

"Fat!" I shrieked and hit myself. I smacked my legs with such hatred, such aggressiveness towards myself. I sobbed harder as I continued to pinch and slap the fat on my legs angrily. Hours passed, and I fell asleep sobbing in pain on the cold floor.