the book of fluff (that usually isn't)

twisted beauty pt. 2

trigger warning: anorexia, self-harm, blood, depression, attempted suicide, and mentions of purging

Mitch didn't like recovery.

He was trying. He was trying to eat because it made his parents and Scott happy, but he wanted it to stop. He wished they would understand that he'd been losing weight for them, for Scott especially. He was doing it so he could be the perfect son his parents always wanted and the perfect boyfriend for the most popular boy in school. If they would understand that, they'd let him go back to his old ways.

Whenever he saw his reflection, he wanted to cry. Whenever he saw his body, he wanted to throw up. He could see and feel the little fat he'd worked hard to lose returning. No longer could he count his ribs, as they'd disappeared under the flab. No longer could he take comfort in his prominent hip bones while lying in bed. No longer were his thighs inches apart.

He was getting back to where he was, but he was sure he was worse. Most nights, he stayed up crying and pulling desperately at all the fat, wishing it would all go away.

It wasn't long before he broke. His hands shook as he got the forbidden scale out of the closet and tugged off his clothes, discarding them carelessly. When he stepped on the scale and saw he'd gained ten pounds, one whole month of hard work erased, he started to sob. He pulled on Scott's sweatshirt like he always did when he was sad, grabbed a random pair of sweatpants so he wouldn't have to see his thighs, and collapsed on his bed with his phone.

my baby boy: i'm sorry i can't do this

scotty: can't do what?

my baby boy: get better
my baby boy: make you happy
my baby boy: i'm so sorry

scotty: oh angel yes you can
scotty: you're the strongest person i know
scotty: thank you so much for trying, i love you and you're doing great

my baby boy: i can't anymore i'm so sorry
my baby boy: i lost a whole month of progress in just these few days i can't do this anymore i can't eat
my baby boy: i'm so sorry i failed you
my baby boy: i know if i gain any more weight you'll leave me and i'd die i can't have that happen i'm so sorry
my baby boy: i'm doing this for you
my baby boy: trust me you'll thank me once you have to see me naked

Scott's heart just about broke.

scotty: mitchy no please i want you to eat
scotty: your perception of your body is wrong

my baby boy: no it's not
my baby boy: i love you i'm so sorry
my baby boy: i'll fix it i promise i'll be better

Mitch's hands were shaking and his vision was blurred with tears, his heart pounding in his chest. The number on the scale swirled around before his eyes, taunting him. It seemed to be laughing at him. He sobbed and pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to get the image to go away, but it loomed in front of him, sneering and laughing and poking at his bulging stomach. Like his legs had a mind of their own, he got up and rushed into the bathroom, fumbling through the drawers to find where he'd hidden his blade. He had to punish himself. He was disgusting and fat and gross and Scott would never love him if he looked like this, he should've had more self-control and fought their pleas, he should've lied and pretended to eat when he wasn't. He was such a failure. He had to fix it.

Before he knew it, he'd cut his wrist, and blood immediately rose to the surface and bloomed over the wound. Mitch stared at it for a moment with his eyes full of tears before it registered that this was Scott's sweatshirt. He didn't want to ruin it, what if it lost Scott's smell in the wash? Being careful not to touch his bleeding wrist to the soft fabric, he practically ripped it off and dropped it so he could get back to his punishment. Cut after cut he made on both of his arms, blood dripping down the sides of them and into the sink, but it wasn't enough. He wasn't enough. Sobbing harder than ever, he dug his blade into his stomach, his thighs, everywhere the fat was.