Infection

When she was a short, scrawny twelve year old, the first thing that happened was the food diary. It seemed innocent at first, but it turned to obsession as she obediently recorded every single bite she took each day, and if she worked it off. It kept the wedges between her and her best friend, Becca, off her mind. They had been unthinkably close for six years until now, their seventh year of friendship.

Becca was distant and unhappy constantly and it cast a blanket over their friendship. She knew Becca’s family was going through a divorce, a rather messy one at that, but she was still innocent and couldn’t comprehend the idea of a broken family.

One day, as she was washing the dishes, elbow-deep in soapy water, she ran a sponge over the silver blade of a wicked sharp knife, watching as the light glinted off it in a sinister smile. What would it be like if I slid it into the palm of my hand and peeled the skin back? She wondered, her thoughts straying somewhere far from sanity. What would be underneath?

Carefully, she forced the sharpened edge to the inside of her hand and stood there as time passed, fear and curiosity tangling inside her, until she finally rinsed the clean knife and put it away.

Forget it, she told herself savagely. You’re too weak and scared to even attempt it.