Shards of Your Reflection - Tsukishima x Reader (Angst)

6. Void

The invariable number on the scale was a distorted deception, overweight in the view of the public's expectations.

Standing in front of the mirror, you stared at the jutting layer of fat on your stomach with your dull, empty eyes. Your frown deepened, the mirror displaying a body too wide.

All you could see were the flawed imperfections: the small bumps that ran over your tear-streaked face, the black specks dotted across your nose, and the bloated fat upon your face and stomach.

"Tsukishima, I don't understand," you murmured underneath your breath.

You were supposed to be alone, to repel the people with your flaws, to be like before. So why?

Tsukishima Kei, your first acquaintance, your first friend, your first love, your first kiss. He was your first everything.

I shouldn't be with Tsukishima. He deserves to be with someone who can make him happier. He shouldn't be dating a freak.

But you desired him: his touch, his voice, and his love. He was too irresistible, too delicate, too magnetic to lose.

I don't want to leave him.

"Damn it."

You clenched the edges of the bathroom sink, falling to your knees. The ambivalent emotions clashed against one another, tearing yourself apart. All the plans, choices, and future you thought you had under control were crumbling in your grasp, bit by bit.

It was the distressed fear that burned your skin, igniting the pain locked beneath the surface of your mind. An indescribable torrent of insecurities, neglected, emerged inevitably, trapping you from the escape.

You dug your nails into your pale skin, drawing blood as the shadows of the walls loomed into an abyss, but it wasn't enough to distract the ache. Here, it was empty, and you sat there, unthinking, left with the shards of your reflection. They were splintered and distorted with the imperfections: the invariable number, your flawed skin, the bloated fat. You fruitlessly clawed your body to escape this grotesque creature, but, still, the pain was malignant, splitting your heart into shattered fragments.

"Go away, go away, go away, go away," your voice diminuendoed into inaudible whispers, overwhelmed by the rest.

A low hunger panged in your stomach, now starved from the vomited meals of before.

You stood up slowly, as you leaned on the bathroom sink for support. Heaving a shaky sigh, you climbed down the stairs to the kitchen fridge. You reached for the small container of leftovers, but you were cut off by the quiet yet audible whispers.

'No, you aren't hungry.'

'You just ate, what are you doing?'

'Put that away, pig.'

"I'll just skip dinner for tonight," you mumbled. "I'm not even that hungry... and besides, it's better like this, anyways."

You were finally in control.