Words, Words, Words

It's been seven years since I started this problem. I've grown thinner and thinner, but Oliver keeps coming with all the comments, so I keep forcing myself to do what I do.

Tom's noticed. He sat me down and interrogated me for hours, but I denied it all with a sour scowl on my face - then proceeded to ignore him for three days. I'm sure he doesn't believe me when I say I'm fine, but he doesn't push it anymore in fear I'll stop talking to him altogether.

Even now, he's giving me suspicious looks in his room as he talks about a barbecue his parents are having to celebrate their 25th anniversary.

"They're invitin' pretty much everyone," He says, shrugging as he fiddles with some rolls of tape and his cameras on his couch. I stare at him, laying on his bed. "They'll be servin' vegetarian food too, 'cause of yeh and Olleh, so yeh betta come. No excuses, missy."

I sigh and look away from him. Picking at some thread on his comforter, I mutter, "Well I don't know, I might be busy, Tom."

"Busy? Yeh? Yeah, righ'," He scoffs as he finishes messing with his cameras and sets them on his table. I glare at the back of his head as my fingers tug at the thread, pulling it out. "I'm hungry, wan' a snack?"

"I ate a big breakfast," I say, putting a hand on my stomach.

Tom raises his eyebrows at me disbelievingly, pursing his lips. I look away from him, out the small window. He sighs and mutters as he walks out the door, "Alrigh', be righ' back."

I hear him march down the stairs and let out a big sigh. I wasn't exactly lying. I had binged in the morning before coming to Tom's. I haven't let anything out yet and I feel completely bloated. I'm just glad Oliver was asleep when I arrived so he hadn't seen the little tummy I grew.

I slide off the bed and walk out into the hallway, looking for the bathroom. Through his door, I can hear Oliver talking on the phone to one of his band mates. I glance at the white, stickered door, biting my lip before going into the bathroom.

Slowly, I flip the lights on and then the fan so it drowns out all other noises. Shutting the door behind me, I remember to lock it and get down on my knees, sliding towards the toilet. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I take a deep breath, letting the tears form.

Sliding my finger down my throat, I close my eyes. The tears fall, smearing my make up as my stomach contents rush out. For a moment, I think I'm done when the sensation hits again and I let the rest of my meal from this morning fall into the toilet.

Breathing hard, I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand and get up, flushing. I walk over to the sink, washing my hands and wiping the smeared make up off. I turn off the fan and the lights and open the door to be greeted by the sight Oliver.

He stands in front of me with his arms crossed over his bare, tattooed chest. His black skinny jeans cling to frame, unbuttoned. His hair, messy, sticks out here and there but still looks nice. He raises an eyebrow when he sees me. "Oi, I though' yeh'd be downstairs in the kitchen like yeh always are."

I let my eyes meet his as I bite my lip. I'm always emotional after letting it out. The sneer on his face loosens into a look of sympathy when he notices that my eyes are bloodshot from tears. Before he can say anything else, I push past him and walk downstairs, out of the Sykes household without a goodbye to Tom.

What hurts the most is knowing that if Oliver stopped saying the rude comments, I'd stop putting myself through all this torture.