Page 46 of Bewitch

CHAPTER14

Ilower my backpack to the ground and remove the smashed banana. My entire bag reeks of banana now, and I take out one of the perfectly good bananas and throw it across the room. It splatters against the mirror and explodes. Shit. It’s a good thing the mirror didn’t break. Can you imagine? That’s just what I need, broken glass everywhere.

Holding the last good banana in my hand, I limp over to the mirror. The banana pieces all over almost serve to act as a shattered mirror for how it distorts my face. My red eyes. Black circles beneath my eyes. I’m a fucking mess, and I don’t know how I ever thought I might be able to convince Lucas to want me.

He’s an ass. Just like the others. What’s the fucking point of any of this? I’m not going to ever be happy with my body or my appearance. Even if I do lose weight, I’ll still have loose skin or else I’m stressed out and have pimples or my hair looks like shit or… or… or…

Something oozes through my tightly clenched fingers, and I realize that I squeezed the banana in my hand to mush. Gross.

The smell of the bananas is enough to make me want to lose my appetite, and I throw out the banana from my hand and then wipe down the mirror and sink. After washing my hands, I wash my face too, and I try to find some kind of center, something good to latch onto.

But there’s nothing. I’m empty.

No, I’m not empty. I’m raw, cut open.

Put down like a lame horse.Thank God I didn’t see the face of the person who said that because that guy would haunt me. It’s bad enough that his words are on a repeating loop in my head.

A lame horse. Fucker. Who says that to someone?

I haven’t eaten anything yet, and now there’s nothing for me to eat, so I head to the grocery store, grab only a few items, and then make sure to go to self-checkout because I don’t want any more judgment.

The food I bought? Nothing healthy. Some chocolate and a massive bag of chips, and right there, in the parking lot, I eat all of it, some chips and then a piece of chocolate, rinse and repeat until it’s all consumed.

And I’m sick to my stomach.

The entire drive back to campus, I debate pulling over to the side of the road and trying to force myself to vomit. I’ve never done that, the purge after a binge, but the thought won’t leave my mind.

I clean out my car, mostly to hide the evidence, and then I shower, trying to wash away my guilt and self-loathing. At least the sound of the water pouring and rushing down the drain helps to drown out that voice in my mind and also the sound of my gagging and sobbing.

After, I change into a hoodie and jeans. Bulky clothing. Clothing that means no one will bother to look at me. Earlier, I had worn a nice sweater dress with the leggings, wanting to feel cute, but I probably just looked desperate, like some kind of wannabe.

Fuck that.

And fuck happiness. It’s too damn fleeting.

What’s the goal, then? Aren’t all emotions fleeting? Nothing ever lasts.

Except for love handles.

I almost smile at that and shove a baseball cap onto my head before I force myself to attend the rest of my classes. I’ve made some terrible choices so far today, but that doesn’t mean it needs to continue to get worse and worse.

Hopefully, at least.

* * *

The rest of my classes are fine, I suppose, and I don’t run into any of those assholes from earlier. Maybe the change of clothes did the trick.

The last several times I’ve gone to the gym, I did my best to make sure to wear my gym clothes there in an effort of trying not to hide my body and any progress. I know how to hide myself in clothes. Hell, I’m doing that now, which is why I have to get changed once I arrive at the gym. At least I’m here, but in an effort to try to get my life back on track, I ate some chicken for lunch. Just chicken. Had to choke it down. I wasn’t hungry for it, but I need to still get protein in, right? Ugh. This is serious punishment. What did I do to deserve all of this?

I limp to the bathroom and get changed. I’m still running a little slow, so it’s already five after by the time I meet up with Lucas.

“Any chance you already stretched?” he asks. “I can’t go over. I have another appointment, and you’re late.”

“I know I’m late. I’ll stretch at the end. Let’s go.”

“No. Stretch first. And after. I can’t have you getting hurt.”

I huff a breath but stretch even though I don’t feel too well.

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