Status: For Anna's contest.
Starving for Control
Control
She ran, widening her strides as she sprinted through puddles, over speed bumps and down hills. She ran and ran until her weak lungs gave out, sending her stumbling to the ground. She looked down at her bleeding knee, a frown forming on her parched lips. Perfect little girls like her weren't supposed to bleed, they were made from scrubbed pink insides where nothing touched them, nothing at all.
She stood on the scale, watching the numbers flicker and then finally settling on a perfect eighty two. She let her mouth curve into a rare smile, letting herself feel a moment of happiness before shutting herself down again. She wasn't in the habit of letting herself feel emotions, they were too messy for a girl like her.
She was nibbling on the edge of a rice cake with a teaspoon of mustard, enjoying the rare burst of flavor. She caught the envious glares of her girl classmates as they surveyed her body, and the looks of the boys that said "You're a dead girl walking." They were right of course, she expected to die soon and she didn't really care. After all, she would die in perfect control.
She lay in bed, feeling her bones, counting them in a sick ritual that calmed down the screaming in her head. The screaming that only stopped when her mind was white with hunger. Delicious hunger, a hunger that fed her and nourished her and let her escape. Let her be in control.
She sat on the edge of the tub, wincing as her hip bones crushed against the hard porcelain. Some girls like her were a fan of pain, opening up their skin bags and letting the juice drip out, but not her, she hated pain with a passion. A passion almost as big as she never wanted to be. She let herself slip into the scalding water, letting it burn away her sins and impurities.
She cried as she looked down at the scale, showing that she had gained a pound in two weeks. Her mother screamed and banged on the door, wanting in to see what her stick and stone daughter weighed. She slid down the wall, sobbing at her failure. This one pound was all it took for her to lose her precious control.
She slipped, smiling into a dream until a sickening crunch woke her up. She woke up to a world of crushed metal and bone, blood and screams. She had fallen asleep while driving, slamming into the car in front of her at a red light. Shit, this was not good. What if they took her in and found how small her little girl body really was?
She woke to a world of white. Was this what heaven looked like? No, she sat up only to be pushed down again. Fuck, this was the hospital. She groaned as someone shone a light into her eyes, checking for brain damage. She pushed his arm away and tried to sit up again, wanting to see around her. He was talking to her, motioning but she couldn't hear. The crash had too badly damaged her hearing for now. She looked over and read what they were pumping into her. Oh no...pure glucose. In other words, pure sugar, pure calories and fat and carbs. He stuck her in the arm with a needle and she was gone again, floating in her dream land.
She came around and looked around, surveying the damage. No broken bones but plenty of bruises and cuts. She lay back down onto her pillow and let a few tears shed themselves from under her thick lashes. She started bone counting until her mother walked in, looking grim and handing her daughter a chart, her chart. A chart that described damaged organs and a strained heart and a necrotic stomach from her ten year stint of bulimia. In short, she had two weeks to live, two very short weeks that would be spent pumped to the brim with food. Why bother?
It had been a year since that hospital visit and Reave Dashkov was on her way to recovery at a healthy one hundred and ten pounds. She, the bone girl, had made it and there was no going back.
She stood on the scale, watching the numbers flicker and then finally settling on a perfect eighty two. She let her mouth curve into a rare smile, letting herself feel a moment of happiness before shutting herself down again. She wasn't in the habit of letting herself feel emotions, they were too messy for a girl like her.
She was nibbling on the edge of a rice cake with a teaspoon of mustard, enjoying the rare burst of flavor. She caught the envious glares of her girl classmates as they surveyed her body, and the looks of the boys that said "You're a dead girl walking." They were right of course, she expected to die soon and she didn't really care. After all, she would die in perfect control.
She lay in bed, feeling her bones, counting them in a sick ritual that calmed down the screaming in her head. The screaming that only stopped when her mind was white with hunger. Delicious hunger, a hunger that fed her and nourished her and let her escape. Let her be in control.
She sat on the edge of the tub, wincing as her hip bones crushed against the hard porcelain. Some girls like her were a fan of pain, opening up their skin bags and letting the juice drip out, but not her, she hated pain with a passion. A passion almost as big as she never wanted to be. She let herself slip into the scalding water, letting it burn away her sins and impurities.
She cried as she looked down at the scale, showing that she had gained a pound in two weeks. Her mother screamed and banged on the door, wanting in to see what her stick and stone daughter weighed. She slid down the wall, sobbing at her failure. This one pound was all it took for her to lose her precious control.
She slipped, smiling into a dream until a sickening crunch woke her up. She woke up to a world of crushed metal and bone, blood and screams. She had fallen asleep while driving, slamming into the car in front of her at a red light. Shit, this was not good. What if they took her in and found how small her little girl body really was?
She woke to a world of white. Was this what heaven looked like? No, she sat up only to be pushed down again. Fuck, this was the hospital. She groaned as someone shone a light into her eyes, checking for brain damage. She pushed his arm away and tried to sit up again, wanting to see around her. He was talking to her, motioning but she couldn't hear. The crash had too badly damaged her hearing for now. She looked over and read what they were pumping into her. Oh no...pure glucose. In other words, pure sugar, pure calories and fat and carbs. He stuck her in the arm with a needle and she was gone again, floating in her dream land.
She came around and looked around, surveying the damage. No broken bones but plenty of bruises and cuts. She lay back down onto her pillow and let a few tears shed themselves from under her thick lashes. She started bone counting until her mother walked in, looking grim and handing her daughter a chart, her chart. A chart that described damaged organs and a strained heart and a necrotic stomach from her ten year stint of bulimia. In short, she had two weeks to live, two very short weeks that would be spent pumped to the brim with food. Why bother?
It had been a year since that hospital visit and Reave Dashkov was on her way to recovery at a healthy one hundred and ten pounds. She, the bone girl, had made it and there was no going back.