Fragile

38. Change

And Elijah, my sweet and precious little brother who sometimes annoyed me to death. And mom who loves me but has no idea what to do with me.

Sighing, I swing my legs around and jump off the windowsill, to my room I mean. Not to the ground!

I couldn't do it. It'd hurt and after-death scares me. I just had to find a solution to lose even more weight and get everyone to think I am getting better.

Or actually getting better. I wave the sudden thought away. I didn't want to get better? Right?

***

I'm served breakfast at eight a.m. Ironic. But not to anyone's surprise, I don't eat it.

Doctor I don't even give a fuck about her name comes in to yap sometimes about how bad this could get.

She's in here now, fighting with my nerves.

"I am going to say this one more time and as clearly as I can tell, you will not live long if you keep going. I have had patients like you-"

"Like me? Seriously?" I roll my eyes, not wanting to listen and face the truth.

"Well, patients suffering from eating disorders. At least that's my opinion of your state." She says.

"I already told you three times, and I'm going to say this one more time and as clearly as I can tell, I do not suffer from an eating disorder. Clear enough?" I mimic her last statement just to annoy. I hate the word eating disorder, anorexia, bulimia. No, I didn't even hate them. I despised them. I don't even know why. They just, I don't know, felt too real and heaving my heart. I guess I just didn't want to be framed as some sort of erroneous thing that would always be considered disordered.

"Bellemonte, you must understand that realisation is the first step to recovery. And until you want to recover, the feeding tube stays on."

"I have nothing to recover from." I tell with a noticeably toxic voice.

But Dr. Still don't care about her name pulls out a list and begins to question me; "How much have you lost weight in the last month?"

"Not your problem." I am afraid to say the actual answer.

"Compared to other things in your life, how important is your weight to you?" She goes on.

Wait... I was supposed to have other things than worrying weight in my life? Shit. "Not really." I lie and stare at the ugly walls.

"Do you feel fat?"

I consider it for a moment. Right now, I didn't even feel that fat. Though there was still lots of kilos to go down, I wouldn't say I was exactly fat anymore. "Nope."

"Do you consume a very small amount of food on a regular basis?" She asks, scribbling something down on her paper.

"Depends what's small for you?"

"I'd say under 1200 calories a day is very small."

I have to hold my jaw to not drop to the floor. If that was small amount... oh fuck. "No, I eat more than that." Lies.

"So do you know how calories work?"

"Doesn't everyone?" I am so confused.

"Hmm." She just mumbles. "Have you ever made yourself to vomit?"

"Never." I say but this time she narrows her eyes and sighs loudly.

"From your swollen throat and cheeks, and very bacterial throat it's clear to a doctor that you have been purging. And that damage isn't done with a couple of times."