please, pretty please just skip this chapter if you think that you could be affected. and never, ever, ever try this at home. please.
this is a sincere plea from me.
it's one thing to write it, but i never ever want this to make you think that it's okay.
it's not. and if you ever need anyone to talk to, i'm here.
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"Dinner's ready!" her mother called as Holly just finished up her shower. Her voice was muffled by the close door, but Holly wouldn't have heard it anyway.
She was too busy focusing on the scale under her feett.
5 pounds? Is that possible? Is it possible gain that much in just one week?
She looked at herself in the mirror - pale, average enough at 5'4", and fat. She poked at the flesh around her stomach, watching as her mirror-self did the same.
"Oh my God, oh my God," she repeated over and over again.
As she slipped on her ratty old shorts from two years ago that she now used as sleepwear, she thought it felt tighter around the waist.
No, no, no, no, she thought frantically, and as if it would work, slapped her waist. She was only more mortified when the flesh began to jiggle.
"No, no, no, I can't have gotten fatter, I don't want to get fatter," she whispered to herself urgently.
She ran down the stairs, desperately wanting to get rid of the feeling of her thighs rubbing up against each other, of feeling gross and fat and bloated.
Just go away, please, she begged.
But it haunted her all throughout dinner, and she couldn't even focus on the most basic of conversation.
"Is everything okay, sweetie?" her mother asked halfway through dinner when Holly had failed to respond to question for the fourth time that evening.
"Yea, it's fine," she said with a dismissive wave of her fork. Almost everything on her plate had been left uneaten, and she poked at the mashed potato absentmindedly, dotting the surface with holes that she was just as quickly smooth over.
"You're not eating," her father chimed in. "Does it taste bad?"
"No, it's fine, Dad," she said, forcing herself to smile. She didn't want her dad to feel bad, since he'd done the cooking tonight (all except for the mashed potato, that was the microwaveable kind). It isn't the food, it's me, she wanted to say.
She knew that by morning, the feelings would go away. But she felt so ugly right now.
"Are you sure?" her mother asked again. She got up and stretched her hand across the table to feel Holly's forehead. "No fever. Does your throat hurt?"
Holly shook her head taking her mother's hand with it. "I'm not sick, mom."
"Well, if you're sure, sweetie. But try to get to bed early tonight, and if you still don't feel good by tomorrow morning, tell me, okay?"
Holly nodded numbly. "Can I go, mom?"
"Well, you've barely eaten, sweetie."
"Just...I just don't feel like it," she tried.
Her mom frowned, but after a few tense moments, sighed. "Okay, but just for tonight. You don't look so good."
Holly took off immediately that and bounded up the stairs to at a time, bursting into the bathroom so quickly that the door slammed against the wall. She heard the clink of silverware dropping against a plate, and then her mom shouted up from the foot of the stairs, "Holly?"
"Everything's fine, Mom! It was just an accident!"
"Well, all right then...," her mom said, still sounding unconvinced. The conversation at the table resumed in a few moments though, and Holly closed the bathroom door behind her. No need for her family to hear this bit.
She grabbed a water bottle, took a long sip of water, and hunched over the toilet, desperately wanting to get it over with. She'd only read of this, never done it, but she was feeling just so gross and fat right now, and she needed to empty it out, empty all of it out.
Just two fingers will be enough, she thought remembering back to something she'd chanced upon on the Internet a few weeks ago.
They were enough.
She didn't feel better when she finished, but there was some satisfaction as she flushed the toilet, not even wanting to look as it took away everything that had been in her stomach. It felt emptier and smaller already.