Chances That You're Burning Through

Original | Chapter Twelve

~Anabelle's POV~

Fluttering my eyelids open the next morning, I discover that Demi's grip on me slacked significantly throughout the night. Her face is peaceful, her pink lips slightly parted as she breathes. Being careful not to disturb her, I slip out from underneath the blanket, making my way to the attached bathroom. When I try to turn the knob, it clicks and rattles. Locked. But no light is shining through the gap between the bottom of the door and the hardwood floor. Demi- possibly Wilmer?-must've locked it from the outside to prevent me from purging in the middle of night. On a whim, I stand on the tips of my toes and trail my fingertips along the top edge of the door frame in search of a key. No such luck. Begrudgedly, I exit the bedroom.

Creeping past Brianna sitting at the dining room table and Wilmer in the kitchen, I swiftly close myself in the upstairs bathroom. Lifting up the toilet lid, I drop to my knees and shove two fingers down my throat until I gag. My eyes water as I force myself to throw up. From the corner of my eye, I notice shuffling from the doorway. I curse myself for forgetting to lock the door. I crane my neck upwards to find a horrified Rebecca.

"Anabelle," she whispers, entering the room and closing the door behind her.

"What?" My voice is hoarse.

I clear my throat, wincing at the burning sensation.

"Why?"

Her chin trembles. In the silence, I can hear her teeth clattering as she tries not to cry.

"Because I'm fat," I shrug. "Isn't the answer obvious?"

Her eyes close as two tears trail down her cheeks, leaving behind red tracks.

"Now, can you leave?" I rudely question. "I'm not done here," I explain when she furrows her eyebrows.

"Yes, you-Anabelle, stop!" She shoves me away from the toilet as I try to expel even more from my stomach, and I land on my back.

"Leave me alone, Rebecca!" I scream, not caring if anyone hears me.

"Why?" she charges right back, reminding me of her mother in a way. "So you can continue on with slowly killing yourself?"

"Yes! That's exactly what I plan to do."

She's obviously taken aback, although her expression still remains furious.

"Do you honestly want to die, or do you just want the pain to end?" she calmly inquires.

"Girls," Wilmer knocks on the door. "Everything okay?" Just by his tone, I can tell that he knows that everything isn't okay.

"We'll be out in a minute, dad," Rebecca saves. "I'm telling mom," she quietly hisses.

"Fine," I chuckle, lacking humor. "She already knows."

"Does she know that you're throwing up blood like that?" She gestures to the toilet bowl where, inside, is nothing but a sea of red.

I hesitate, nibbling on my bottom lip, not knowing the answer.

"I can at least tell her that."

"No, Becca!"

"And why not?"

"She treats me as if I'm her own daughter, therefore; this will kill her."

"Metaphorically speaking, yes, she would be hurt, but you, you, Anabelle, could literally die from what you're doing to yourself."

"I don't want her to judge me," I try, knowing that Demi would never do such a thing. "Or any of you, for that matter."

"To some point, Anabelle, genetics plays a huge part in this. Trust me, you worrying over us judging you is just stupid."