Skin & Bones

Josh shut the door behind himself, wiping a warm hand over his face. His tired eyes were sore, his frail arms feeling heavy. He held a black marker between his fingers, gripping it loosely before placing it on the counter. It rolled off; falling off the side and ending up somewhere near the toilet.

Josh stumbled over to the mirror, looking into his own sunken, blue orbs, which had long ago glazed over with tears. He clicked the metal ball that rested on his tongue against his teeth, making an obvious effort to keep his composure. His weak attempts were accompanied by a long sigh and the crack of his knuckles before he walked over to the bathtub to sit down.

He felt disgusting. He hated himself; he hated the people around him. Mostly, though, he hated how he made himself feel, the sensation of a finger sliding down his throat and vomit rising up to replace it. The cold tiles on his bruised knees. The stale taste on his teeth.

But something pushed him to do it anyways. And that something was doing exactly that, as turned on the shower and knelt beside the toilet bowl, his fingers twitching anxiously, his stomach doing sick flips. Tears welled in his eyes again, and spilled over to fall down his cheeks, but he made no note of them as he took his index and put it into his mouth, pushing it as far down as he could before he threw up into the toilet. And then he did it again, and once more. He spit a few times, breathing heavily.

Josh wiped his mouth and closed his eyes, closing the toilet lid and resting his forehead on it. He reached down, groping at the floor until he felt the marker he’d dropped earlier. He picked it up, his fingers shaking, and uncapped it.

“You’re fucking pushing me.” He wrote on the toilet lid in messy, scribbled handwriting, before letting his head fall onto the side of the tub, hoping he would fall asleep and wake up better.