Puppet Strings

Chapter Seven

Today, they found themselves back in Hatori's office for a follow-up appointment. Kyo drove them there with a mix of hope and apprehension, his eyes frequently darting to Tohru as he tried to gauge her mood. Tohru, sitting beside him, looked both determined and weary. Her attempts to maintain a semblance of normalcy were evident, but Kyo could sense the

underlying strain in her demeanor.

Upon arrival, they were greeted by Hatori, who ushered them into the examination room. Hatori's demeanor was warm and reassuring as he began the check-up. He was methodical, but there was a glimmer of optimism in his eyes that Kyo noticed. The examination seemed to take longer than usual, and Kyo watched as Tohru's nervousness grew. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape from

her anxiety.

Finally, Hatori concluded his assessment and looked at them with a bright smile. "I have some good news," he said cheerfully. "Tohru has gained a few pounds since our last visit.

This is a positive development and an important step forward in her recovery."

The words were meant to be uplifting, but to Tohru, they felt like a crushing blow. The victory she should have celebrated felt hollow and even punitive. Her stomach knotted as she tried to process the news. Gaining weight was a goal, but it had become a symbol of her

failure, and the reality of it hit her with a force she hadn't anticipated.

She forced a small smile and nodded, trying to mask her distress. "That's good to hear," she

said, her voice faint and lacking conviction.

On their way home, Kyo noticed that Tohru was unusually quiet. Her usual chatter was replaced by a heavy silence that made Kyo's concern grow. "Tohru," he said gently, glancing

at her as he drove, "you seem really quiet today. Is something wrong?"

Tohru shook her head, her gaze fixed on the window. "I'm fine, Kyo. Just a little tired, that's all," she replied, her tone flat and unconvincing. Kyo was not convinced, but he chose to let it

go for the moment, hoping she would open up when she was ready.

Once they got home, Tohru made a beeline for their bedroom, her shoulders slumped in resignation. Kyo, however, was determined to address the issue. He intercepted her at the

door, gently but firmly guiding her to the dining table.

"I know you're struggling," he said, his voice filled with a mix of firmness and compassion.

"But we need to stick to the plan. Please, just try it."

Tohru sat at the table, her eyes already welling with tears. Kyo placed half a sandwich in front of her—a simple, well-balanced meal, carefully prepared to meet her dietary needs.

He could see the resistance in her eyes, and the sandwich, though ordinary, seemed to carry

the weight of her internal struggle.

"I know it's hard," Kyo said softly, his eyes pleading. "But I need you to try. I'm here with you,

and we'll get through this together."

Tohru stared at the sandwich, her anxiety mounting. The sandwich, though seemingly benign, felt like a symbol of her failure. Her hands shook as she picked it up, her gaze locked on the food. She took a tentative bite, her face contorting with discomfort. As she chewed, her gag reflex kicked in, and she began to sob, the effort of eating causing her immense

distress.

Kyo watched with a heavy heart, feeling helpless as he saw her struggling. Every bite seemed to be a battle, and each sob was a painful reminder of the internal war she was fighting. Kyo wished he could take away her pain, but he knew that wasn't possible. All he

could do was be there for her, offering his unwavering support.

As Tohru continued to eat, she cried openly, her tears falling onto the plate. The sandwich, once whole, was gradually reduced to a mere remnant of what it had been. Kyo remained by her side, his expression a mixture of sadness and resolve. He understood that this was more than just about eating—it was about confronting her fears and insecurities.

When the half of the sandwich was finally gone, Tohru sat in front of him, her head resting in her hands, her shoulders shaking with the aftermath of her sobs. Kyo could see how exhausted and defeated she looked, and he knew that this wasn't what she truly wanted.

Kyo knelt in front of her, his eyes filled with deep concern and love. He gently cupped her face in his hands, his touch tender and soothing. "Tohru," he said softly, his voice quivering with emotion, "seeing you like this... it hurts me so much. I'm scared for you. It's terrifying

to watch someone I love so much hurt themselves."

Tohru looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. The raw vulnerability in her gaze broke Kyo's heart. "I'm scared too," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I don't know what scares me exactly... I just feel like I'm living in fear all the time. Every time the number on

the scale goes up, I feel like I'm the ugliest person in the world."

Kyo's heart ached at her words. The pain and self-loathing she expressed were deeply troubling, and he wished he could make it all go away. He held her gaze, his expression filled with a mixture of determination and love. "Tohru," he said firmly, "you are beautiful.

You always have been and always will be. The number on the scale doesn't change that. You are so much more than that number. You are kind, strong, and incredibly loved."

Tohru's tears continued to fall, but there was a flicker of hope in her eyes—a glimmer of belief in the words Kyo was speaking. Kyo wiped her tears gently with his thumbs, his heart

swelling with a mix of compassion and resolve.

"We're going to get through this," he said softly. "It's going to be tough, but I'm here for you every step of the way. We'll face it together. You don't have to do this alone."

Tohru nodded slowly, her breathing uneven as she tried to absorb his words. The road to recovery was still fraught with challenges, but Kyo's unwavering support and his heartfelt declaration of her worth provided a glimmer of hope. As they sat together at the table, Kyo's presence was a reassuring reminder that, even in the darkest moments, there was a path

forward—a path they would walk together, one step at a time.