Page 13 of Those That Don't Exist
“Ok,” I reply, but gather my things to slide out of the booth. I don’t want to be here any longer. “I’ll see you back at home.”
“Hey, we didn’t want you to leave,” Bree tries to grab my wrist. “We’ll let it go.”
“Yeah, don’t leave.” Claire looks at me pleadingly, although the worry in her eyes isn’t far from the surface.
I feel like shit for blowing up at them. Maybe this would've been the perfect opportunity to voice my concerns over my eating habits but the walls slammed up in my mind.
I let their words hang in the air before relenting and sitting back down.
The conversation for the rest of the evening stays firmly on other things. I force myself to eat another slice of the pizza. My friends don’t comment but I see the looks they share. They know I’m just placating them.
Later that nightI’m jittery, like I need to move to digest the food. It's sitting like lead in my stomach. I’m not trying to sleep,I’m restless on my bed trying to read some articles. No matter which way I contort myself, I’m uncomfortable. I glance at my phone, it’s just after midnight.
Fuck it.
I sneak out of the house, after I ensure Claire and Bree are in their rooms, and fit in another pounding workout at the gym. It's nearly dawn by the time I fall into bed exhausted enough to catch a couple of hours of sleep.
The next couple of days pass in a blur. It’s a little strained with my best friends but they don’t mention food again, and I start to relax around them again. We go back to a near constant stream of messaging, party planning in full swing.
I work harder in the library, getting ahead so I can start taking some time off on the upcoming weekends. I’m even skipping my nightly workout tonight to get this assignment done.
I regret that decision somewhere near dawn the next morning as I wake up with a jolt. Sitting up quickly, clutching my duvet, I scan my surroundings, panting and dizzy.
I’m in my room. Everything is normal, as it should be. Closing my eyes, I focus on steadying my breathing to stop the spots dancing in front of my eyes.
I’d had the nightmare again. I’d replayed my fathers death. Again. It's the most vivid dream I've ever had, maybe because it's a memory.
But the last few times it's shifted perspective. I watch the events from above instead of from my own eyes. I still get the agony through my wrist and arm. I don’t understand it.
Once I’m calm I turn to grab my phone. It's only an hour before my alarm. Giving up on sleeping I try to read, hoping the escapism will help.
It does for a while but my concentration soon wanes, images of the car wreck still plaguing my mind.
Groaning in frustration I throw the book down and decide to get up instead.
In the bathroom I pee, brush my teeth and turn on the shower, setting it to scalding to hopefully ease my tense muscles.
As I undress I catch my reflection in the mirror above the sink unit.
I don’t have my glamour in place, so I’m staring at a gaunt figure. My skin looks dry, stretched tight over increasingly prominent bones.
It’s scary how fast I’m losing weight.
I’m still feeling good though, I broke my record again at the gym yesterday for the weights I’m lifting. So I can’t be as unhealthy as I look.
My hair is limp, the red I love so much looking dull. I run my fingers through it as tears brim in my eyes.
I wish my dad was here to talk too. We’d been close, I wouldn’t have hesitated in confiding in him about this.
After silently sobbing in the shower I dress before returning to my room, glamour back in place.
I pull out some work, getting on with some smaller pieces of research until I hear my best friends moving about. Today is the day we’re going shopping for our Hallow’s Eve outfits.
I’m just finishing my makeup when Claire’s head pops through the open gap in my door.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
“Yep, ready and raring to go,” I say, putting my mascara down. I swing around in the swivel chair and stand.
