Une Fleure Fanée

Week 11 Part 3 (Tuesday)

***brady***

     If we weren't flying to Cardiff tomorrow, I would invite her to sleep over because I just feel bad for her. Lilly is going through so much right now. She's only ten, but just the amount of pressure on her is... wow. I want to yell at her mom so much now. No child should be pressured to have an eating disorder by her mother and her dance teacher.

***lilly***

     There are many times that I want to grab my water bottle and take a sip. I have an awful headache, I'm dizzy, I feel like I want to die. I'm seriously considering overdosing on pills. Life isn't fun anymore. I don't want to be here or on Earth to disappoint more people. I feel like I'm going to snap and break down any minute. I don't play the game, but observe the silly game going on.

    After a long, long grueling hour of pain and suffering, we finally make it to lunch. We decide to eat it outside to get some fresh air. Personally, the fresh air is helping. I have a sandwich, a fear food, an apple, and a cheese stick. The apple is 62 calories and the cheese stick is 80 calories.

     As I crunch into the disgustingly sweet apple, everybody's faces light up, but they try not to make a big deal out of it. The apple and cheese stick are safe, Lilliana. Compared to everything else, if you don't wanna pass out, those are your best options.

    "So, who's excited for the UK?" Pressley asks in a sing-songy tone.

    "Me!" we all shout.

    I am excited to go to the UK, even if it means I won't see Caden or Dad or Toby or any of my friends. It's going to be fun, but it's going to be hard to keep up this act over an ocean away from where I normally reside.

     "I can't wait to meet all the fans and explore the city..." Gia trails off.

     "It's crazy that we have fans," Sarah states, and we all nod.

     We all chat about our plans and the UK. I can't wait to show off all our outfits. We spent hours upon hours shopping for them, and now I have ten new outfits to show off to the public. You're going to look ugly and dumb and fat in front of your fans, Lilliana. The clothes you chose will make everybody hate you.

     I stay quiet during our lunch break, only piping up when asked, slowly munching on the apple and cheese stick, along with the water bottle. I know they notice my unusual quietness but I don't feel like talking. It's just going to reveal more and more of my horrible life.

     Ms. Michelle comes outside to let us know to come back to work on King of Queens and Body and Soul. We begin with Body and Soul. I hate the fact that I'll have to perform Body and Soul with a lace leotard, but I'll have no choice.

     The number is so intense that I feel out of breath by the first run. We fix minor issues with this and King of Queens. I feel so tired by the end. I'm ready to fall asleep and never wake up. Unfortunately, I have to go home, eat dinner, take a shower, and go to sleep to go on a plane to Cardiff tomorrow.

     "The flight is at six, and I want to go to the airport by four, so we have to be up by three in the morning. We're going to get some Starbucks at the airport for a makeshift breakfast and then we're off across the sea," Mom and Ms. Ashley inform us on the car ride back.

     Pressley and I are going to be on a plane together. Everybody else is on different flights, but somehow, we managed to book the same plane, so at least we won't be bored on the way there.

     "I'm already tired now," Pressley yawns, and I second that statement.

     "Lilly, I want you to go straight to packing," Mom orders me as we leave the studio.

     I nod sleepily as we merge onto the highway. Why was dancing so tiring for us today? We only danced for an hour and a half. Maybe because we've been out of practice for two days. At least we have an off day tomorrow and we're going to dance for a total of six to nine minutes every day.

     "I wonder if they have Disney movies on the plane?" Pressley asks out loud.

     "Maybe. We do have thirteen hours on a plane, so it's going to be movies and sleep," I respond, and she giggles.

     "I'm not going to sleep," Pressley promises, and Ms. Ashley shoots her a glare through the rear-view mirror.

     "You are going to sleep, young lady. I do not want to deal with a twelve-year-old with jet lag, and I'm sure Ms. Abby doesn't either," Ms. Ashley says playfully, even though she means that statement.

     The rest of the car ride is filled with us discussing a bunch of Disney and Pixar movies to watch, trying to block it around the four hours our parents are making us sleep on the plane. I enjoy sleep, personally. It's a thing to do that will take away more hours of the day in the blink of an eye.

     Mom is very stressed. She doesn't enjoy planes very much. She pours a glass of this alcohol named Prosecco with dinner, which is just a TV dinner of cajun chicken and shrimp. 240 calories. I don't want to eat all of this, so I just eat the shrimp, so I only eat 100 calories. I throw out the chicken and excuse myself to pack.

     All of the vacuum-sealed outfits for me are in a suitcase already. I just need to pack twelve nights of pajamas, underwear, and some other necessities like electronics, hair supplies, a whole bunch of gauze and bandages, extra makeup for my wrists, my journal, and my stuffed llama. I make sure to pack a couple of sweatshirts and sweatpants that are monochrome, so I won't mix them up, as well as normal pajamas. My stuffed llama, gum, and electronics will go in my carry-on.

     My room is so barren. I pull the stuffed llama out of my carry-on. I need it for the night to sleep. I decide to take my shower, even though it is five. I want to get some extra sleep so I can wake up early for the plane.

     I look at myself in the mirror. My ribs are showing more, my thigh gap is a bit bigger, the old clothes that I originally brought to Pittsburgh I am practically swimming in. I've lost over twenty percent of my body weight. But I'm still not pretty or worthy.

     Even though it's for coping, my wrists look like one of my dogs got too aggressive and scratched up my wrists. The ribs and the spine could show more. The thigh gap is almost non-present. I hate the way I look. I just have to lose more.

    This will be the last time I may ever be able to weigh myself since I don't know if the gyms have scales. I hope they do. Maybe in the gym bathrooms. I step on the scale. 57.7 pounds. Ok, so I haven't hit my fifty-five-pound goal yet, but I'm losing weight! You're going to look horrible in the UK, Lilliana. Why are you even going?

     I should just pretend I'm too sick to go, but then I'm disappointing Ms. Abby, and Ms. Gianna, Mom, and my friends. So I guess I'll go to the UK with everybody. Be positive, Lilly.

     Today is also the last day I'll be cutting in my normal cutting place. Sure, I cut in a hotel room once, but we're going to be bouncing from hotel room to hotel room and I want to make sure nothing gets loose or missing. How am I going to get my razor through airport security?

     Just thinking about it makes me throw up the seafood. Why am I so anxious about hiding my razor? I have to face the fact that I'm addicted to this cutting thing. It's always on my mind at the end of the day. It's how I cope with the stress of the show and my life. I need to get this razor through the TSA.

     After I look it up, the internet claims I can just put it in a checked bag. I'll hide it right before Mom puts the luggage in the car. That way, when Mom combs through my suitcase, she won't find a gleaming razor under my pink sweats.

    I hope this works. I put the razor back in my phone case. I need this to work. But I need to get some sleep for at least tonight. I grip my stuffed animal tightly in my arms as I put my head on the pillow.

     Why does airport security take this stuff so seriously? It's not like I could throw out the razor and get a new one. I'll do that when we fly from London to Pittsburgh. All I want to do is relieve my stress and feel happy for five minutes and I do that by cutting myself. Is that so hard for people to understand?