The girl in the mirror.

She enters the bathroom, steps onto the toilet seat and slowly, reluctantly she lifts her gaze to the large mirror above the sink. Her eyes widen in fear and disgust at what she sees. What is this thing staring back at her?

She examines her body methodically, almost clinically, noticing every lump, every imperfection. She breathes in so she can see her ribcage. Oh, her beautiful ribcage.

She exhales and watches as her stomach flops out, her ribs lost in a sea of fat.

She stands with her feet and knees together hoping for her thighs to have miraculously parted, but no, there's still a 5cm portion where they squish together in the most disgusting way possible. *I can't believe you thought you'd have a thigh gap! You silly little cow, you obviously know nothing about being thin.* She looks down at her legs and sighs, trying to hold back the tears. She moves on to her arms, wobbling her arm fat, *Ew, that is SO gross* and then her wrists, fitting her pinky finger and thumb around them easily. Her wrists are the one part of her body that's not coated in layers of horrible jiggling fat. *what are you talking about, your wrists are just as fat as the rest of you, and don't you forget it!* She slumps down on the toilet seat, sobbing uncontrollably.

*Stop crying you pathetic little girl, you've brought this upon yourself. If you didn't eat like a greedy little piggy then maybe you wouldn't be so huge.*

"Shut up!"

*You know it's true!*

"I said shut up!"

She can't take it anymore. She opens the cabinet, rummaging desperately around, knocking bottles off the shelf. Finally she finds what she is looking for. She breathes a sigh of relief. She opens the box, her hands shaking. The familiar feeling of the cool razorblade in her hand gives her butterflies in her stomach. She pushes the sharp edge into her skin, watches as red pools appear on her thighs. It feels good, so she does it again and again, until the pain inside is gone, replaced by the much simpler, more manageable pain of her cuts. She is punished, pure, purged, and most importantly, in control. She shakily stands up and looks in the mirror. What she sees scares her. A broken little girl, pale skin and smudged mascara, light reflecting off a razor clutched in bloody hands. Her reflection does not belong to her, but she knew that already. She lost herself to this monster a long time ago.

She bandages her legs and slips back to her room unnoticed, the comforting throbbing of her cuts helping her drift into sleep.