Bones
1/1
I run my slender fingers across my stomach, sliding my fingers over my abdomen as I rub where my shirt has slid up. A smile graces my lips as I run a single finger across my hip, feeling the bone meeting the skin which is shielding my skeleton from my fingers. I roll over so that my back is facing the whirling fan above me and my face is buried in the mattress of my bed. I stretch for a moment, lolling like a cat before once more rolling onto my spine. My fingers for a second time reach for my stomach, rubbing in the tiny little indent below my rib cage, before traveling up, bumping over each and every rib until I hit the hem of my shirt. I stretch once more, enjoying the lithe feeling of my muscles pulling against my bones. I roll into a crouch and stand up, giving a quick grin as I jump once on my bed before jumping to the floor. My bare feet slap the wooden floor, and the ground shoves up to meet my feet in a way that makes me wince. I pad to my closet, my pajama bottoms slipping and sliding loosely on my hips letting my hip bones peek through every once in a while, while the bones of my feet press down to meet the wood floor
The bones in my ankle click as I roll my foot in a tight circle. I’m now standing in front of my closet. I slip loosely out of the camisole that used to be skin tight and now hangs like a t-shirt, considering what shirt I want to wear. I grab a big yellow t-shirt that I love and pull it on, admiring in the mirror next to my closet how it drapes across my chest in a softly feminine way and hangs down from there, making me look even tinier than I already am. I glimpse my hair in the mirror, noticing the grease and quickly shuck the shirt off again, tossing it across my room where it drapes across the back of the chair in front of my desk. I pull a pair of black skinny jeans out of the closet and a new bra and underwear and chuck those onto the chair as well before moving into the bathroom that connects to my room.
I shower quickly, scrubbing my body and hair swiftly before taking a moment to let the hot water run over my body. I stretch, placing my hands on my back as I twist, pausing as I feel the ridges of my spine pressing into my fingers. I pull my hands away from my back and roll my shoulders, hearing the familiar click of my bones with a soft smile. Suddenly, a rebellious feeling invades my stomach and I clutch at it with my fingers, feeling the remaining soap on my fingers slip and slide across the concave front of my stomach and leaning my head against the shower door. The door falls open as I shove with a weak gasp at the handle. I stumble out, stepping over the edge of the bathtub as I make my exit through the curtain of steam that precedes me. I lean against the wall, the cool air soothing my now steaming skin, and I press my forehead to the steam-dampened wall paper. I roll around so my back is pressed against the wall, clutching my stomach as my body heaves, the non-existent contents of my stomach trying to make their way up. I laugh bitterly at it. My empty stomach seems to sense this and I am wracked three more times, falling to my knees on the marble floor. I kneel down, feeling the bones in my knees press into the freezing marble that was giving my bare flesh goose-bumps. My palms are flat against the floor and my hollow stomach makes its anger known again as I shake against the floor. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath as my stomach ceases its tumbling, standing to my feet and ignoring the pain in my now docile stomach. I suddenly realize I’m sitting in the middle of the bathroom without clothes on and the shower going full blast, the streaming water bouncing against the interior of the shower and misting in a fine spray across the floor outside of it. Stupid organs.
The girl in the mirror grins back at me as I spin in a circle, feeling content with my outfit. I throw my hair into a sloppy bun, leaving a few short strands down to frame the sides of my face, casting shadows on my already prominent cheekbones. I trace them with my fingers, pressing my fingers against the hard bones. My index finger slips from my left cheek, running across my jaw and falling down my throat to be caught in the dip of my collar bone. My eyes are drawn down as well, tracing the protruding bones and I find my hands copying them and moving to run across the bottom of the bones that complete the frame of my face, outlining them delicately. I pull myself out of my reverie upon noticing the clock, spinning and heading once more to my closet to get a pair of shoes.
I race out the door of my apartment pausing to lock it on my way to work, the key hard against the bones of my fingers. I’m racing down the stairs next, and soon I’m in my car. I strap in and pull out onto the road, tapping my foot as The Killers exit my radio and fill my car and my heart begins to slow its frantic beat. My stomach starts up again, and I make a mental note to thank God later that I’m at a stoplight. It’s one of those long ones that seems to last just about forever, and the entire time, I’m pressing my forehead against the cool, pebbly skin of the steering wheel, eye-lids clamped together tightly as I gag. The light turns and I sit up, my stomach finally settling as though in recognition of the fact that I need to drive. I keep going down the street, driving past all the fast food restaurants that do more to make me physically sick than my gagging earlier, but the mental stomachache it gives me is somehow worse than either.
I pull into my parking space, thankful to be off the road, away from the people shoving food down their throats in their cars and away from those ghastly fast food signs that line the roads like neon trees. I get out of the car and shut the door behind me, locking it as I sling my bag over my shoulder and stride inside of the tall, cement, prison-like building that was the home of my much less drab job, feeling the sudden urge to march like a prisoner being led to his execution. Just because it’s much less drab doesn’t mean I enjoy it.
The elevator ride seems to take forever, and I absentmindedly start rubbing my collar bone again, loving the feeling of the hard bone hovering just beneath my skin. Somehow I manage to endure the horrible music that is shoved through the tinny elevator speakers, that kind of music that seems like it was made just to drive people insane. The doors slide open with a soft ‘ding’ and soon my feet are leading me down the hallway to my office. I keep my eyes on my toes, although still remembering to answer as I pass through the gauntlet of inquisitions the beautiful people that are my subordinates in title only are throwing at me.
I’m safe inside my office, but the peace doesn’t last long as Tanya knocks on the marginally opaque glass door, opening it and letting herself in a millisecond later. She comes and sits on my desk, and I enviously watch her thin body carelessly and yet so gracefully sit down on my desk. Her bones are so beautiful. I bet her organs listen to her. She opens her mouth chattering away at me, in the way that friends do, completely oblivious to the fact she’s sitting on some of my important papers. I finally catch her attention long enough to get her to move, freeing the photographs and paperwork sitting beneath her. Then she’s talking again, her words racing and bubbling, knocking together and tangling up and my ears blend them and mute them until all I hear is a high-pitched sort of drone. Blackness starts to creep in on the edges of my vision, and I sigh pulling a piece of gum out of my pocket, chewing it disgustedly until the spots are gone. Stupid organs.
I’m in the bathroom, staring at my face in the mirror. I had to escape Tanya, and her perfect, lithe, body and all those beautiful bones. I had to escape the knowledge that her organs liked her and that she, in turn, did not have to abuse them. I stare at my face in the mirror, the bones that I loved so much this morning now seeming big and fat and clunky, seeming like they are holding on to too much fat. I hate it. Stupid Tanya. My stomach gurgles. Stupid organs.
I’m leaving now, locking up my office on the way out, eyes on my toes as I pass all those beautiful people, all those beautiful bones, and all of their good-byes. I’m standing in front of the elevator when it happens, staring at the crimson carpet. Tanya comes up, looking like a women on a mission and yet a girl with a secret at the same time. She leans over towards my ear, glancing around as though she doesn’t want anyone to see her, and whispers eight words I will never forget.
“You’re so thin, Jackie. You make me jealous.” We both enter the elevator, sitting in a comfortable silence as we make our way down, the only sound the muted noises of slightly tinny music. And with her words still ringing in my ears, I’ve never heard anything more beautiful.
The women leave the building still in silence, walking out to their cars. As they part, Tanya smiles to herself, feeling happy for complimenting Jackie, happy for making her feel good about herself. She is blissfully unaware of the fact that those eight words are going to slowly destroy Jackie later. After she eats for the first time in days.
.
The bones in my ankle click as I roll my foot in a tight circle. I’m now standing in front of my closet. I slip loosely out of the camisole that used to be skin tight and now hangs like a t-shirt, considering what shirt I want to wear. I grab a big yellow t-shirt that I love and pull it on, admiring in the mirror next to my closet how it drapes across my chest in a softly feminine way and hangs down from there, making me look even tinier than I already am. I glimpse my hair in the mirror, noticing the grease and quickly shuck the shirt off again, tossing it across my room where it drapes across the back of the chair in front of my desk. I pull a pair of black skinny jeans out of the closet and a new bra and underwear and chuck those onto the chair as well before moving into the bathroom that connects to my room.
.
I shower quickly, scrubbing my body and hair swiftly before taking a moment to let the hot water run over my body. I stretch, placing my hands on my back as I twist, pausing as I feel the ridges of my spine pressing into my fingers. I pull my hands away from my back and roll my shoulders, hearing the familiar click of my bones with a soft smile. Suddenly, a rebellious feeling invades my stomach and I clutch at it with my fingers, feeling the remaining soap on my fingers slip and slide across the concave front of my stomach and leaning my head against the shower door. The door falls open as I shove with a weak gasp at the handle. I stumble out, stepping over the edge of the bathtub as I make my exit through the curtain of steam that precedes me. I lean against the wall, the cool air soothing my now steaming skin, and I press my forehead to the steam-dampened wall paper. I roll around so my back is pressed against the wall, clutching my stomach as my body heaves, the non-existent contents of my stomach trying to make their way up. I laugh bitterly at it. My empty stomach seems to sense this and I am wracked three more times, falling to my knees on the marble floor. I kneel down, feeling the bones in my knees press into the freezing marble that was giving my bare flesh goose-bumps. My palms are flat against the floor and my hollow stomach makes its anger known again as I shake against the floor. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath as my stomach ceases its tumbling, standing to my feet and ignoring the pain in my now docile stomach. I suddenly realize I’m sitting in the middle of the bathroom without clothes on and the shower going full blast, the streaming water bouncing against the interior of the shower and misting in a fine spray across the floor outside of it. Stupid organs.
.
The girl in the mirror grins back at me as I spin in a circle, feeling content with my outfit. I throw my hair into a sloppy bun, leaving a few short strands down to frame the sides of my face, casting shadows on my already prominent cheekbones. I trace them with my fingers, pressing my fingers against the hard bones. My index finger slips from my left cheek, running across my jaw and falling down my throat to be caught in the dip of my collar bone. My eyes are drawn down as well, tracing the protruding bones and I find my hands copying them and moving to run across the bottom of the bones that complete the frame of my face, outlining them delicately. I pull myself out of my reverie upon noticing the clock, spinning and heading once more to my closet to get a pair of shoes.
.
I race out the door of my apartment pausing to lock it on my way to work, the key hard against the bones of my fingers. I’m racing down the stairs next, and soon I’m in my car. I strap in and pull out onto the road, tapping my foot as The Killers exit my radio and fill my car and my heart begins to slow its frantic beat. My stomach starts up again, and I make a mental note to thank God later that I’m at a stoplight. It’s one of those long ones that seems to last just about forever, and the entire time, I’m pressing my forehead against the cool, pebbly skin of the steering wheel, eye-lids clamped together tightly as I gag. The light turns and I sit up, my stomach finally settling as though in recognition of the fact that I need to drive. I keep going down the street, driving past all the fast food restaurants that do more to make me physically sick than my gagging earlier, but the mental stomachache it gives me is somehow worse than either.
.
I pull into my parking space, thankful to be off the road, away from the people shoving food down their throats in their cars and away from those ghastly fast food signs that line the roads like neon trees. I get out of the car and shut the door behind me, locking it as I sling my bag over my shoulder and stride inside of the tall, cement, prison-like building that was the home of my much less drab job, feeling the sudden urge to march like a prisoner being led to his execution. Just because it’s much less drab doesn’t mean I enjoy it.
.
The elevator ride seems to take forever, and I absentmindedly start rubbing my collar bone again, loving the feeling of the hard bone hovering just beneath my skin. Somehow I manage to endure the horrible music that is shoved through the tinny elevator speakers, that kind of music that seems like it was made just to drive people insane. The doors slide open with a soft ‘ding’ and soon my feet are leading me down the hallway to my office. I keep my eyes on my toes, although still remembering to answer as I pass through the gauntlet of inquisitions the beautiful people that are my subordinates in title only are throwing at me.
.
I’m safe inside my office, but the peace doesn’t last long as Tanya knocks on the marginally opaque glass door, opening it and letting herself in a millisecond later. She comes and sits on my desk, and I enviously watch her thin body carelessly and yet so gracefully sit down on my desk. Her bones are so beautiful. I bet her organs listen to her. She opens her mouth chattering away at me, in the way that friends do, completely oblivious to the fact she’s sitting on some of my important papers. I finally catch her attention long enough to get her to move, freeing the photographs and paperwork sitting beneath her. Then she’s talking again, her words racing and bubbling, knocking together and tangling up and my ears blend them and mute them until all I hear is a high-pitched sort of drone. Blackness starts to creep in on the edges of my vision, and I sigh pulling a piece of gum out of my pocket, chewing it disgustedly until the spots are gone. Stupid organs.
.
I’m in the bathroom, staring at my face in the mirror. I had to escape Tanya, and her perfect, lithe, body and all those beautiful bones. I had to escape the knowledge that her organs liked her and that she, in turn, did not have to abuse them. I stare at my face in the mirror, the bones that I loved so much this morning now seeming big and fat and clunky, seeming like they are holding on to too much fat. I hate it. Stupid Tanya. My stomach gurgles. Stupid organs.
.
I’m leaving now, locking up my office on the way out, eyes on my toes as I pass all those beautiful people, all those beautiful bones, and all of their good-byes. I’m standing in front of the elevator when it happens, staring at the crimson carpet. Tanya comes up, looking like a women on a mission and yet a girl with a secret at the same time. She leans over towards my ear, glancing around as though she doesn’t want anyone to see her, and whispers eight words I will never forget.
.
“You’re so thin, Jackie. You make me jealous.” We both enter the elevator, sitting in a comfortable silence as we make our way down, the only sound the muted noises of slightly tinny music. And with her words still ringing in my ears, I’ve never heard anything more beautiful.
.
~~~
.
~~~
.
The women leave the building still in silence, walking out to their cars. As they part, Tanya smiles to herself, feeling happy for complimenting Jackie, happy for making her feel good about herself. She is blissfully unaware of the fact that those eight words are going to slowly destroy Jackie later. After she eats for the first time in days.