Slamming the front door, I discard my backpack somewhere in the living room. I check the time just as my stomach roars lightly with hunger. I quickly make myself a small plain salad. After placing my food down on the island counter, I grab my journal and a pen from my backpack.
I take a seat on a barstool and quickly jot down what I'm eating.
2 pm
lunch-
small salad, plain
2 cups of water
The two cups of water were a last-minute decision. I quickly eat and grab a bigger bowl, serving myself more salad, and finishing the last of my water. When I finish washing my plate, the doorbell rings, and I quickly drizzle dressing over my salad before mixing it and putting away the dressing.
"Coming!" I call, shoving my journal in my bag and zipping it up, chucking it near the stairs. I jog to the door and open it to find Ray with takeout in hand. I groan.
Not now, Ray.
"Dude, I just ate." She laughs, handing me a bag. I take it and instantly regret it as the smell of Chinese food fills my nostrils. "Chinese?" I ask, trying to seem unaffected.
"Yes, sir." She smiles. "Come on."
I'll just have a little bit.
"Fine, but if I get fat, it's your fault." I giggle. She rolls her eyes.
"You've been losing hella weight; you look great actually. It's just a little cheat day."
"Yeah, whatever." I roll my eyes. But I'm secretly happy she noticed I've thinned out a bit.
A bit?
Soon I'm laughing and stuffing my mouth with everything in front of me while Ray does the same. For a moment, the thoughts go away. Suddenly, I'm not fat or disgusting for eating something I wanted to eat.
It's going away. I smile.
Ray grins at me. "You sure look happy."
"Just glad I get to spend time with my big sister." I chuckle, standing and grabbing the dishes I used.
"Ew, that was way sweet." She grimaces playfully as she nudges me and took my dishes, tossing them in the sink.
"Me, sweet? Never." I say dramatically, and she giggles, kissing my head.
"I'm going to go to a party. Wanna come?" She asks me. I smile wider. My sister used to hate the idea of popularity and parties and all that. It used to be more of my scene rather than hers.
After mom left, she got more popular, and I lost my popularity due to me distancing myself from everyone, including Ray and dad at the time.
"Nah, I'm just gonna-"
Bludder
My stomach pangs as the name rings in my head, but I shake it off.
Ray laughs. "If you want me to stay, I will. You don't gotta act schizophrenic."
"No, it's just I think I've been poisoned." I breathe dramatically. She laughs again before shoving me out of the way playfully.
"Shut up, Loser. I'll be back. Love you." She kisses my head again and holds her pinky to me and I do the same.
"I love you too, don't do anything stupid." I giggle as she flips me off, the door closing behind her.
And that was the last time I saw my sister...
Kidding.
I cross my arms as if disobeying myself when that too familiar of a feeling settles in my stomach and tries to make its way up my throat. It takes me a moment to try to get rid of the taste of regret, and when I finally do, I sigh with relief.
It's time to stop now, I lost my last ten pounds and I met my goal. Technically, I only lost nine, but if I try to get rid of that one last pound I might just get pulled farther into this sick obsession of mine.
I'm done.
I officially don't fit into half of the clothes in my closet. I fit into my jeans from eighth grade and a few from seventh grade. If I keep going, I'm afraid I'll somehow end up fitting into my clothes from fourth or maybe even third grade.
I take a seat on my bed and turn on my speaker. It spews music as I slide onto the floor, sitting in my pile of clothes I need to fold. Right when I go to pick up a shirt to fold, it hits me.
Nasty.
You ate that?
What would mom say if she saw what you just ate?
You're not going to fit into your jeans come summer.
But if fat is what you want... your on the right path to getting it.
I try my best to ignore it this time too but I can't. This time, I don't have to stick my fingers down my throat to make myself throw up.
Come on, Grace, don't do it.
I push open the bathroom door and make it to the toilet just in time for all that Chinese food to spew out of me. I'm done but my brain seems to tell me I shouldn't be. So, I stick my fingers down my throat and wait for the rest of what I ate to come out.
And even when it does, I keep my fingers in the back of my throat just to make sure all of it has left my system.
The thought of all that being in my stomach almost makes me throw up again but I shut the toilet lid before I get compelled to throw up my organs.
I cough, reaching for the roll of toilet paper to wipe my mouth as I take a seat on the toilet. After bawling my eyes out for a good thirty minutes, I clear my throat and rise from my seat on the toilet to wash my hands.
Un-fucking-believable.
___
I start thinking once I make it to my room, first about school, homework, stuff like that. Then I somehow end up thinking about Sam. He didn't care less when I was ever sick and for all he knew, I was throwing up at school because I am sick. So why did he suddenly care?
Maybe Sam is growing soft. Or rather soft for me? Yeah, right. Sam's hated me since forever, and I don't think I ever got to know why but at this point, I couldn't care less as to why he doesn't like me.
I remember this one time, it was freshman year for him, and I was in eighth grade. I'd gone to his high school to take a tour of it with my mom.
~ flashback
I stood patiently by the front of the school, scrolling through my phone as I waited for my mom to finish talking to Spencer's teacher.
He'd probably stuck a pencil in the teacher's pants again. My brother was always a bit weird like that.
Suddenly, I felt my shirt get bunched up from behind and I was pushed up against the wall. I was turned around to face Sam-freaking-Winters.
"W- what are you doing?!" I nearly yell. He had tears streaming down his face, and his eyes were bloodshot. The tears resting on his eyelashes glistened like stars in the night sky.
"She's gone! It's all your fault. You know that?" He shouted, his voice hoarse, probably from crying or screaming for a long while. I reached my hand up to his cheek but he pushed my arms down, pressing them against the wall.
"Who are you talking about?" My vision was clouded by the tears that had started gathering. His grip on my arms was harsh and piercing. It hurt terribly but from what I was seeing, he was hurting more than he could ever inflict.
"She told me! She told me seeing you hurt her! You killed her, Grace!" At this, my first tear had fallen, and he was pulled away from me by his brother who looked just as bad as he did.
"Let go! She killed her, Grant! Grant!" Sam screamed as he was pulled farther and farther from me and towards their car.
I killed someone, and I didn't know it?
~ end of flashback
How does that make sense? I asked myself that question for months and months on end. After concluding I wasn't going to get my answer anytime soon, I stopped worrying so much about it.
But in a way, it always haunted me. I killed his sister, and I didn't even know how.
How do I know I 'killed' his sister? A few months after the incident, everyone started to ask his friends why he wasn't at school. None of them budged, well, not until I asked. Harper Sumorman told me Sam's sister died and he could barely get out of bed. He also told me it was best I stayed away from Sam.
I groan, throwing my head back and hitting my head on my laptop.
"Ow," I grumble to myself.
Something felt wrong. I felt wrong. I felt wrong for how I acted towards Sam today. He was just trying to help.
I don't want help.
But I need it. I groan again, standing up, tripping on a shirt, and falling onto my bed. I hear a chuckle from my door and see my dad leaning against the frame.
"Smooth." He grins. I roll my eyes and crawl off my bed. I stick my tongue out at him and he laughs, walking back downstairs. He probably just came up here to use the restroom.
I shut my door and close my curtains so I can change. I swap my shorts for black leggings and an old red shirt that was a little big on me.
"Dad?" I call when I'm downstairs. Dad's sitting on the couch watching the news, his cell phone in his hand.
"Yeah?"
"Can I take the car?" I ask as I stand in front of him. He looks up at me through his long eyelashes I sadly didn't inherit. He chuckles and raises a brow at me.
"I'd rather not have to tell your grandma that you died from driving into a mailbox." He snickers and I glare at him.
"I'm being serious. I'm not even going far, it's just down the next block." I reason. He sucks his teeth, shaking his head.
"No can do, little lady. You only have your learners." He reminds me. I groan, throwing my head back.
"Please?"
"No-" I give him my best pleading look and he chuckles in defeat. "Fine, but I'm not planning your funeral."
"You're right. But don't worry, I've been planning yours for years." I giggle. He throws the TV remote at my back as I walk away, fueling my laughter. "Love you, I'll be back."
"I'm being serious, don't crash into the Quintons' mailbox again, Gracie." I look back at him and hold out my pinky and he does the same. It doesn't just mean I promise not to crash and die from being a 'bad' driver. It's a promise I'll come back.
After mom left, he never let us go anywhere, he was scared we'd leave him just like mom and Spence did. When I started to get annoyed by the rule, I started jokingly putting out my pinky and saying 'I'll be back... maybe', then it just took place of the old rule and wasn't much of a joke anymore. We always promise we'll come back.
I drive past the old park and then turn into Sam's neighborhood. I can't believe I'm doing this. You know, I don't think he would do something like this for me. I know we're not friends or anything but-
-but he's getting into his car when I pull up. I get out of mine and lock it as I walk up his driveway. I catch his door right when it's about to close, he looks up at me.
"H- hi," I speak quietly. He moves to get out of his car and I back away, holding his door open as he gets out.
"Hey. I- uh- I was actually gonna go check on you..." He trails off and looks down at my choice of clothing. "Dude, it's freezing, why aren't you wearing a jacket?"
"Now that you mention it, it is kinda cold." He looks at me like I'm stupid, I'm not stupid.
Hamilton.
I giggle out loud and he looks at me like I'm crazy. "Yeah, the cold is getting to your little brain."
He takes my hand and leads me inside, his car beeping when he clicks a button to lock it. I'd been to his house just once. Me and his brother used to be friends, more like his brother and Spencer used to be friends and I was that annoying little sister that always wanted to be attached to her older sibling's hip.
When he opens the door, we're greeted by a sweet, welcoming smell. The kind that made coming home your favorite part of the day. I guess coming home is almost everyone's favorite part of their day, but you know what I mean. Hopefully.
A woman looks over her shoulder from the couch and instantly brightens at the sight of her son.
"Back so soon?" Then her eyes drift to mine and she smiles somehow wider. "Oooooh, who might you be?"
She stands before us and Sam takes her spot on the couch.
"Oh uhm, Grace. My name's Grace, I came over once with my brother Spencer when I was younger."
"Oh, my life! Gracie Rieder? You've gotten so big..." She trails off after hugging me for barely a second, she pulls away. "Dear Lord, I'm having deja vu."
My eyebrows furrow as I notice her eyes turn glassy.
"Sam, baby? Give us a moment, please." Sam tries to look over his mom at me but she's blocking his view. "Sam, now!"
"S- sorry." He says as he runs for the stairs. Once we hear the door to what I believe to be his room close, she speaks again.
"You're too thin." Her voice wavers as her sad eyes meet mine again. "This isn't healthy, Grace."
"I don't know what you mean." I ask, playing stupid. She sniffles, a tear falling and I look away. She cups my face and makes me look back at her.
"Sweetheart, have you seen yourself? You're so small..." She looks over my body and my eyes cloud with tears.
"Thank you." Right when the words leave my lips, it feels wrong. What am I thanking her for? Because I know I'm not thanking her for noticing that I'm hurting myself.
"That wasn't a compliment, Grace. Are you seeing a doctor?"
"No. And why would I need to?" I ask. She needs to stop asking me, I'm fine. Kinda.
"You're sick, Grace. You can die from this." As he says the last part, it doesn't seem like she's talking about me anymore.
"I'm not sick, and I am not gonna die, I promise..."
"I- I really need to talk to Sam, I'm sorry." I remove myself from the situation before it gets messy. Someone knows now, if one person does, the wildfire that is my insecurity will just spread.
And everyone knows once a wildfire starts, there are tons of questions from concerned friends and family members about how the fire started, who caused it. They wonder if they caused it from that one match they lit that one time.
The point is that people get hurt even if they don't get burnt the same way you do from the fire. Be it emotionally or mentally or even physically, the burns from that one person leaves scars on everyone else too, even if those people don't realize it.