weak; mcduke

bulimia

bulimia (n)- an emotional disorder involving distortion of body image and an obsessive desire to lose weight, in which bouts of extreme overeating are followed by depression and self-induced vomiting.

that night / duke's pov

It was around 10 pm and we were sitting in a circle, wearing our nightwear and half-drunk out of our minds. I grabbed the wine bottle that Chandler had stolen from her parents and took the last swig, finishing it off.

"You know what that means, ladies!" Chandler slurred. McNamara and I turned to her, confused. She certainly wasn't a lightweight... who knows how much she'd drank.

"God, you're both r*tarded," she groaned. She grabbed the bottle and threw it aside. It hit the floor and a crack formed down the middle.

"Truth or dare, obviously." Heather and I both nodded as if we'd expected it. Through the drunken fog crowding my thoughts, I felt a stab of terror. Who knows what she'd force me to do?

"Heather, truth or dare?" Chandler shrugged, turning to me immediately. Just what I'd known she'd do.

"Dare." Even after drinking a few cup's worth of wine (a lot for someone my size), I knew it'd be safer to get physically hurt rather than leak a secret.

"I dare you to go down to the kitchen and grab something to eat. Bring it back up here."

Well, f*ck. This was a trap. I could hear the danger lurking in her voice. McNamara cast a concerned glance at me. She was much less drunk (she told me she secretly hated drinking and it affected her more than the average person) and knew I was doomed. I nodded, rising to my shaky legs and making my way to the kitchen. I grabbed a box of Cheez-Its and returned to the room. I sat down in the circle.

"Now what?" I spoke, trying not to stumble on my words and failing.

"Eat some," Chandler answered. I awkwardly went to work eating a handful of them. I set the box aside. After sitting in total silence for a bit, it finally hit me. My stomach was already doing backflips. A cold feeling of dread settled within it.

How did she know? I met Chandler's eyes, searching for answers. Mischief and burning hatred were the only things I found. My stomach seemed to slam into my ribs, trying desperately to rid itself of the thing that made me the lard-*ss that I was. I didn't want to look at myself. I was probably f*cking disgusting. That made me weak. And I loathed weak people. No, I didn't just loathe them- Get it together, Heather. Think fast.

"Uh... I gotta use the bathroom." I spoke slowly. I was about to stand when Heather shook her head.

"No, you don't, bulimic freak," she jeered. The sudden aggression was no surprise. I didn't even want to see the look on Heather's face. She had no idea... now she did. I didn't reply. My face burned with shame and disgust at myself.

"Go, you f*cking weirdo, and go puke up that f*cking stuff you just ate. Lard-*ss," she spat, throwing in the last part quietly. Giving in, I stood and stumbled out into the hall, finding my way to a bathroom. I locked the door shut behind me, leaning over the toilet. Tears slid down my face before I could stop them. I opened my jaws, shoving my fingers in the back of my throat.

It hurt. But I deserved it. I would not be weak.

After I had finished gutting myself, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and flushed it. I lingered, staying on the floor because the alcohol made it difficult to move anymore. Maybe they'd decide to go back to sleep. I clung onto the lip of the bathtub to keep my balance.

I don't know how much time passed before I heard a knock on the door. I'd probably fallen asleep. I didn't move and held my breath. If it was Chandler... I didn't want to think what would happen. I heard the knock again, gentler this time. I scooted to the door, forcing myself to stand as I opened it.

I was met with the smirking face of the queen bee.

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I barely remembered what happened. I remember blinding pain as Chandler punched me, kicked me, did everything to hurt me. This wasn't the first time this happened. I hadn't witnessed that much hatred for a single being in a long, long time. I remember her pressing her hand against my mouth so I didn't scream in pain and wake her parents. I remember her slipping out, closing the door behind her, leaving me bruised and bloodied on the floor.

I remember drifting in and out of consciousness, alone in the dark, cold bathroom. I remember McNamara coming in to pee and noticing me. I remember her bent over me, crying, whispering and begging to know what happened. My tongue was swollen, so I couldn't explain everything. I remember her helping me up, telling me in murmurs that we could go back to her house. She lived only two streets away.

I remember her and I scrambling to pack up our things in the shadows and leave the house undetected. I remember stumbling a few times as we walked to her place, and how she kept her arm around my waist.

I remember thinking, as we arrived at her front door, how much I truly loved her. More than I'd ever loved anyone else.

a/n (12/9/18): I have no idea how I missed the fact that Duke had bulimia, not anorexia. I edited the chapter to acknowledge this. Oops!