Misconceptions 》Styles

18.00

a/n, please read;

i posted a new story that i'm really in love with. it's called the book thief, and if you guys could give it a glance, that would be amazing. this story is still my priority though. okay, enough with the shameless self promotion lol.

so, she's in rehab right now, which means harry isn't there yet, but he will be soon to like visit or try to visit bc there's rules and stuff but don't worry. and thank you all for the support and constant feedback, i love you all to pieces. and i'm done with taking forever to update, at least i'm trying to be. update in less than a week, yay yay yay. lol okay have a lovely day. xx

     When I wake up, I hear gurgled voices and something is beep, beep, beeping. My throat is raw, like someone pierced it with a knife and dragged it all the way down across my neck, slashing left and right. My lips are chapped and dry, and I can't seem to move them, can't seem to form any words. I will myself to open my eyes, to become familiar with my surroundings, but I can't. It's like they're taped shut. When I try to move, I feel like there is an invisible weight upon me, like there are boulders keeping my down, strapped to the cold, barren surface I was laying on.

      And then it happens.

      I realize where I am, what Harry has done to me, that I am stuck. Only now do I feel the prickles in my skin, itching and aching and like bugs are crawling all over me. There are tubes sticking in and out all over my body, I feel crushed, like my heart has finally shattered. My mouth feels as if it's full of cotton, and I know that they have already begun. Have already started pumping me full of the poison, pushing and forcing and manipulating my body. They want to get me to the safety zone, to the promise land, healthy healthy healthy. For me, it was one hundred and forty. Because I was nineteen. Because I was tall. Because ever since I started, I feared that this would happen. That they would take me away. So I searched and took notes and always checked how much I was supposed to weigh. How much they wanted me to weigh. How much I would need to weigh to get into the safety zone; healthy, safe, alive, normal Skylar. No one wanted normal Skylar. Normal Skylar was dead and gone and she wasn't coming back because she was stupid and fat and ugly and disgusting and everything new Skylar didn't want to be. Couldn't be, shouldn't be, if she wanted someone to love her. And I did. I wanted to be thin and beautiful and light as a feather and be loved by everyone who laid their eyes on me. But everyone hated me. I hated me.

        But here, they would tear me open and fill me up with it, with the poison, with the food. I couldn't get to one hundred and forty, I couldn't. It was death and destruction and I needed to be lighter than that, I needed to be better than that. When I was twelve years old, I weighed one hundred and sixty pounds. My mum said that it was normal, low even, because I was so tall. It was the height, she told me. It's muscle mass, she told me. But I knew it wasn't. They told me it wasn't. Harry, and the voices inside of my head. They told me that it wasn't normal, that I was fat and stupid and a waste of space and an excuse of a life. So I stopped eating.

           But because I was weak and stupid, I couldn't handle it. So after three days, I ate everything in the pantry. And my mother yelled at me for hours. She told me that no one normal binged like that, that if I wanted to be a model, I would have to watch what I ate. But I didn't want to be a model, I never did. She forced me into it. You're getting fat, she told me. Cut down your portions, Skylar. You don't really need a second serving. I either stuffed my face and threw it up out of guilt and shame, or starved myself. There was no in between. I could never do something normal, something the right way. Never. I weighed myself everyday after that, and one day, I saw that all of my progress had reverted and I had gained weight, too much.