Cold

9 - Cold Room

Ezra pulled himself under his covers and let his phone illuminate his face. He opened up his photos to see the picture he took of the lemonade cup. Julia was insistent that he threw it away.

He typed the number into his contacts and sent a message.

Ezra: Hey, it's lemonade boy, is this Briar?

If she doesn't respond this might be the stupidest shit I've ever done. She probably gave me her number to tell me I'm fat.

Briar: hey ;P

Briar: how are you?

Ezra: I'm doing great rn, you?

Briar: fantastic ^u^ i didn't think you'd actually text me

Ezra: Wow, do I really come across as that much of a jerk?

Briar: i threw all hopes of you texting out the window when you sat down with that pretty girl

Briar: is she not your girlfriend?

Ha.

Ew.

No.

Ezra: Goodness gracious, no! She's just my friend.

Briar: do you have a girlfriend?

Ezra: Nope, never had one, never wanted one. I guess "the one" has yet to come along. What about you? Are you dating anyone?

Briar: no

Briar: can i ask you something?

Ezra: Sure, go for it.

Briar: do you think I'm pretty?

Ezra: Yeah I think you're beautiful.

Briar: well then, maybe you and i could go out sometime?

Briar: maybe?

Ezra: Oh, well, you're not really my type. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't lying, you are really pretty but you're just not my type.

Ezra: You know?

Briar: yeah, i understand.

Ezra: I hope I didn't hurt your feelings.

He threw his head back into the pillow. He didn't have room in his head for another thing to worry about. His brain was all used up and his stomach was so hungry.

So hungry.

He clutched his stomach as sharp pains shot through it. The first things he consumed after not eating for nearly four days was basically straight sugar. Now his stomach was trying to digest it all and it didn't know how. Ezra sighed and pressed his palms into his eyes. He took deep breaths and stretched out his stomach but nothing really eased the pain. He grabbed his phone again, pulling up his ed account to distract him.

Pretty boy after pretty boy filled his feed. Skinny hands. Pulling tendons. Concave stomachs. Rib bones. Hip bones. Collarbones. Tiny wrists.

I wish a guy with those hands could grab all the way around my thigh. I wish those hands could slide up my torso and grab my collarbone. His fingers going up my ribs like a ladder. Tracing along the tendons in my neck like they're delicate strings of glass he's afraid to break. Even his thumbs would be the perfect size and they'd run across my adam's apple before reaching up and pressing it under my cheek bones. He'd tell me how great I look because I'll be so skinny and perfect and just like him.

I'll be just like one of these pretty boys who have floppy hair and call themselves grunge. I don't have floppy hair and I'm definitely not grunge but that boy that's running his hands on me won't care because I'm just like him. We'll both look so perfect and we'll both love it. His floppy hair will be tangled in my curly hair and nothing will matter because we'll know that everything is perfect and in its place. Once I'm skinny. I'll be perfect.

Ezra's hands ran along himself, his face flushed at the thought of it all. All the excitement of the world ahead of him when he's perfect. He pictured one of those perfect boys with him right now, thinking of the future, thinking of everything that will be perfect. Moving out and never buying food. Going on runs every single morning. Not worrying about anyone hearing him weigh himself. Not having to do anything but live.

Live.

And be perfect and have a perfect boy being perfect with him.

His fast, hot breath came to a stop before settling around him slowly in the cold room.