Problem Kid

Chapter 74

.

Once I'm dressed in my pyjamas and have given Summer her praise for alerting me so well, I head downstairs. The bags of baking items are sat on the kitchen side and I prop my phone up on one of them, taking a quick photo and sending it to Jimmy. He replies straight away.

J: beautiful. I'm proud of you

E: I love you, got to go bake now!

I put my playlist on, connecting my phone to the speakers and start baking. I zone out for most of it, going through the old familiar rhythm of softening the apples in a pan on the hob with cinnamon, nutmeg and sugar, moving over to the countertop as it heats up to begin on the crumble. It hurts my arm as I mix the flour, butter and sugar together. I begin to crumble it between my fingers and just as I finish, my timer goes off. The apples are almost done so I give them another mix and turn down the heat slightly, turning on the oven. I put it on 200°c and leave it to preheat, going over to the sink and washing my hands. I prepare the dish I'll be cooking it in and take a moment to sit down at the table. My heart is racing from something so minor. I'm exhausted but I'm nearly done now.

My stomach rumbles. Shit, I'm hungry. I don't want to eat but I need to. With a reluctant sigh, I decide to make dinner when I'm finished putting the crumble in the oven. Once it's finished preheating, I put the apples in the dish, spreading a thick layer of crumble on top. I sprinkle some extra cinnamon, nutmeg and brown sugar over the top and then put the crumble in the oven. That can stay in there for 30 minutes. I move over to the fridge and stare into it. There's so many options. It takes me 15 minutes just to decide on a meal. I chose some spinach ricotta and pine nut ravioli, I'll cut up some roast chicken slices to go inside and mix some pesto into it. That should be good. I prep my dinner, bringing some water to the boil on the hob before adding the ravioli. Whilst that boils for 4 minutes, I cut up the roast chicken slices and open the bottle of pesto carefully. Seeing the small layer of oil on top makes me feel sick so I pour it out.

And then the ravioli is done. I drain the water from the pasta and throw in a tablespoon of the green pesto into the pot, mixing it carefully. I then throw in the chicken pieces and stir it, adding in one more spoonful of pesto before serving half the pasta up on my plate and taking it to the kitchen table along with my knife and fork. I'm doing this meal alone, no support, no one to stop me from throwing it away and no one to tell me to carry on. I look down at the plate in fear. I can do this. I take a bite and it tastes so good. I try to focus on that, the tangy flavour of pesto blended with soft chicken. So the pesto would be about 200 calories, the chicken would be about 200 as well and the ravioli would be... crap. I can't remember. I stand up quickly and rush over to the bin where I pull the packet out, turn it over and look at the nutritional information. 307kcal. I drop it back into the bin in disgust and stand there staring over at my plate of food. Come on, eat it... I want to sit down and eat but my mind adds up the numbers and I want to break down. 707 calories. For that? Fuck I can't be thinking like this again. I can't. I sit down again at the table and take a few deep breaths. Then, I eat. Each bite is slow and painful but I push through. Halfway through I get up to take the crumble out of the oven and place it at the back to cool down. I return to my meal and finish the last few bites with much disgust to myself. I put the plate in the sink and instantly begin pacing the house. It's 9pm now so Jimmy will be back in half an hour. I need to fix this somehow. I can't have just eaten that whole damn meal...

I walk into my bedroom and grab my toiletries bag. My hands are shaking but I need it. I run to the upstairs bathroom and lock the door. With my back against it, I bein to pull out my razor and pull it apart with my hands and teeth. I accidentally slice into my thumb in the process but I don't care. Once the blades are out, I pull down my trousers and cut my thigh. One large messy swipe. I go over the same spot again. And again. And again. Until suddenly, relief washes over me. I sigh and relax my hands, staring up at the ceiling. Better. Much better. Then I look down and see the blood. My mind panics. It's not TOO much but it's enough that in my few seconds of relaxing, it's spread out into a pool below me soaking the floor, my underwear and is just about to touch my trousers. I quickly pull my trousers fully off and away from me to avoid them getting covered and grab the toilet roll near me. I unravel half of the roll and force it down on my leg applying enough pressure to make me wince and gasp in pain. I maintain the pressure with one hand as I use my other to throw the broken razor and blades back into my toiletries bag and then begin cleaning the pool of blood on the floor. By the time I'm done with half of it, I've used a whole roll of toilet paper and have flushed the toilet 10 times to get it all gone. I grab a headband from my toiletries bag and use it to hold the wad of toilet paper which is now almost completely soaked on my leg. I hurry up and finish cleaning the floor and finally then do I assess my damage. It's not good but I refuse to tell anyone, they'll never trust me again. Never. I quickly dig around the bathroom cabinets until I find bandages and I rush to cover it up. I use gauze pads to cover the wound and then wrap bandages around it all, using safety pins to keep the bandage in place. I'm finally done. I grab a small plaster for my thumb, check there's no more blood or anything in the bathroom and once it's all clear, I put my trousers back on and head down stairs. Just as I get to the bottom stop, the door opens and in comes Jimmy.