Page 47 of A Dark Melody

“I’m going to lie down until then.”

“Okay.”

I crawl into my bunk and bury my head in my pillow, so I can cry into it.

I don’t want to be like this. I wish I could eat and not even notice the feeling of being too full or, better yet, enjoy it. I wish I could eat and not care like everyone else. I wish I didn’t find comfort in being empty, being hollow. I wish I didn’t find joy in hugging myself and feeling my ribcage. I wish I was different, better, stronger.

I don’t know why I’m this way. I mean, I know my mother is partly to blame. She would weigh me three times a day as a teenager. She would starve me if I ever got above 115 pounds. She made me take laxatives after big meals and fiber pills to make sure I stayed skinny.

She was obsessed with my weight. She was convinced if I wasn’t skinny, I wouldn’t be attractive, and would never get a contract with a label. She would tell me it’s all about looking the part. I had to look the part of sexy rockstar if I ever wanted them to love me.

So, of course, she is part of the reason I’m like this. You would think the freedom I had from her now would make me the opposite. That I might like to eat. That I might enjoy food since she’s gone. Yet, every time I eat, I just feel nervous that maybe she was right. Maybe they only like me because I’m skinny, because I look the part.

Sure, my voice is great, but the bottom line is that I only got so famous so fast because I was attractive. That’s common knowledge. That’s a known fact. I’ve heard comments about how my looks got me here. I read the new articles, the headlines. I hear the people talking about me.

There is a fine line between being skinny and being too skinny. I found that out when I got below 100 pounds. That was too skinny. I was a skeleton. I was less beautiful. I had too many angles, not enough curves. That’s what everyone said. That’s what the label said, so it must have been true. If everyone believed it, right?

I no longer looked the part. Like a rockstar, I always played the part of Abbey. Instead, I looked like I was dying. They couldn’t have that. I had to look the part, after all. Which only made me want to lose more weight. I was tired of being told to look the part, play the part, act the part. I’m still tired of it. I’m tired of just being a part of some larger scene. I want tobe me. The Abigail Dark that exists without the fame to tag its unwelcome self along.

I don’t even know who that is anymore. I don’t know who I am anymore.

All I know is that I have to get to 120 to get my freedom back.

And I want to be better. Better so then, maybe I could actually be with someone like Wes. No, not someone like Wes, but Wes himself. That’s the real reason we can’t be together, because I’m not good enough. Because I want to throw my life away headfirst in a toilet. I have to be better if I want a chance with him.

I cry for a few minutes before forcing myself to stop. I couldn’t have my eyes be too puffy now, could I? I wouldn’t really look the part then, would I? Sue would get onto me, the label would get onto me. It would be a whole mess.

I march back out to the kitchen area. Sue doesn’t look up at me. She is busy on her computer. I think the idea of me going over for pizza took her by surprise. I think I even got bonus points for it being my idea. Or, well, at least I hope I did. Though it wasn’t really my idea, she doesn’t know that. I’m sure she is starting to like the idea of Wes more.

I pull out an eye mask from the freezer and lay down on the couch, draping it over my eyes.

“Tired?” Sue asks.

“A little.”

“I’m getting you a pick-me-up.” She says.

“Can you get more? I share with Wes.”

“Sure.” She pauses. “Wes and you seem to be getting along well.”

“Yeah.” I say, trying not to cry again. I feel awful for disappointing him.

“Still just friends?”

“Yes.” I roll my eyes.

“How long do you think that will last?”

“I don’t know. Hopefully, a while.”

“Abbey, that man looks at you like he is in love with you.”

“We are just friends, okay!” I yell, sitting up.

“Okay.” She says. “But will you tell me if you become more?”

“Why?” I say, lifting the eye mask off my face.

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