The Writers Weren't Kidding About How All Good Things Must End

Whisper's P.O.V.

I walked inside and I saw my Dad in the kitchen cooking. He looked up at me and he no longer had his affectionate eyes. He was back to the normal Coach Dad.
"Hey Dad, what are you cooking?" I asked.
"For you a salad and for me and your guest a gourmet pasta dish," he said coldly.
I frowned confused for two reasons.
"What guest? And why am I only getting a salad?" I asked.
"You're fat and I don't know who your guest is," he said harshly.
I took a step back in shock. I didn't think I was fat and he'd never told me this before.
"W-what?" I whispered.
"That's why you're so slow, you're lugging all that body fat around in the water," he spat.
I wrapped my arms around my barely there stomach. I looked at him with teary eyes.
"Don't look at me like that! You have to know you're like a whale! Watch!" he growled.
He walked over to me, lifted the hem of my shirt up and jabbed me in the stomach. His finger sank into the first joint. I looked at his finger and my stomach horrified. I was fat! Maybe that's why no one recognised me. Maybe I'd gotten so fat that they didn't recognise me... I looked up at my Dad.
"Please...help me..." I whimpered.
He put his arm around my shoulders.
"Sweetie, what I'm going to do next is to help you. However, the people out there don't want me to do this to you. They want to wreck you so you won't win that those trophies. This will help you, I promise," he said.
I nodded naively. He guided me to the bathroom and lifted up the toilet seat. I stared at it dumbly then back at him. Surely he wasn't suggesting...
"Now be a good girl and throw it all up," he encouraged.
I looked at it and then backed away. I wasn't stupid. I knew what he was trying to make me do.
"No. I won't do it," I said firmly.
His face twisted into an ugly mask of fury and disapproval.
"You WILL do it, or I'll force you to," he growled.
Fear made my heart flutter but I still held my ground. I shook my head stoutly. His face went a red colour and he stalked over to me. He grabbed my hair and pulled it harshly. I whimpered slightly and he growled,
"Now make yourself throw up or I'll do it again."
I trembled and he raised his hand threateningly. I whimpered and cowered away. He stood back and I cautiously made my way to the toilet. I knelt in front of it and looked at my Dad. He glared at me and I turned back to the toilet.
Just once won't hurt, will it? I mean, it's not like I'm going to become bulimic from one forcing...right?
But will it stay as one though?

I gulped and I made my shaking hand form a fist, except for my index finger. I looked at the water in the toilet bowl and my stomach began to churn at the thought of what I was about to do. My heart beat faster in nervousness and I opened my mouth and shoved my finger down my throat. It felt extremely uncomfortable, having a finger down my throat. I was gagging, but I wasn't actually retching. Which is what I needed to do.
"Hurry up!" my Dad growled.
I closed my eyes as tears slid down my face. I wiggled my fingers and I hit the back of my throat and suddenly bile was rising in my throat. I wrenched my hand out of my mouth and I hurled into the toilet bowl. It ended up coming out of my nose as well, burning it. I coughed and opened my eyes. At the sight and smell my stomach wrenched again and more came out. I felt so dirty and horrible. I coughed again and I could feel my stomach churning. Once again I chucked and then I slumped away from the bowl, sobbing. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them.
"Grow up," my father growled and left.

When I finally stopped crying I cleaned myself up and washed out my mouth. I changed clothes and sprayed myself with deodorant and trudged down to the kitchen. I felt miserable and not hungry at all.
"Who's the guest again?" I asked in a raspy, dull voice.
"I told you I didn't know," he said annoyed.
"Oh, okay," I mumbled.
I walked to the cupboard and pulled out a packet of Advil and popped a couple of them to relieve my headache. I then walked into the air conditioned movie theatre room and put in Lady and the Tramp. I have a weakness for Disney movies and I'm not ashamed to admit that. I curled up against the arm rest and started to watch my favourite Disney movie. However I was fast asleep before 20 minutes had passed.

I was woken up to the sound of the doorbell ringing through the house. I groaned and rolled back over.
"Will you get the goddamned door?!" yelled my Dad.
I sighed and stood up and walked to the kitchen.
"Y'know, you could at least ask me nicely," I said.
He turned to me and glared.
"You'd better be nice to me. I'm the one who gave you everything! Everything you see is thanks to me! I gave you a home when your mother kicked us both out! If this is how you're going to repay me then I think you should go pack your bags...do you want that?!" he shouted.
I trembled against his fury. My Dad was scary. He was a big guy, about 6'1 and packed with muscle. He wasn't scared to hit me either.
"S-sorry," I stuttered.
"Get the door," he growled.
I nodded obediently and walked to the door with my shoulders bowed and my head down. I turned the handle and flung the door to see our guest.

My face went white with shock and my eyes widened. My heart leapt in my chest and my mouth dried up. It was my brother. The one my father loathed. The one who didn't remember who I was. He looked at me and frowned confused.
"Am I at the right house?" he asked uncertainly.
"I-I don't know..." I whispered.
"Well, I'm meant to be going to my sister's place. But I think I have gotten the wrong place. There's no way she could afford all of this. And you don't even look like her, she was bigger--no offence. Except for your eyes," he rambled.
The corners of my mouth dropped. He thought I was fat? Tears started to form but I forced them back.
"Michael," I whispered.
He looked at me with fear in his eyes.
"How do you know my name?" he asked.
"You're in a band called The Academy Is..., you have a sister, and a split family. Your mum is in Australia and your father is in America. Your father hates you because you picked music over sport. Your sister lives with her father and she had been your very best friend up until you met the band and they just became your other very best friends. You haven't seen or heard from your sister in roughly six months. You love dogs, not so fond of cats. And above all you hate being called Mikey by anyone other than your sister, Whisper," I said softly.
He looked at me as if I was a crazy, stalker person.
"How the fuck do you know all of that?!" he shouted.
A tear slid down my face.
"Say hi to Whisper," I said, twirling in a circle.