‹ Prequel: Ana
Sequel: Relearning Laura ›
The "You're Not Fat" Campaign
Purgatory
Rick finishes eating.
I "finish eating".
There is smushed-up ravioli on my plate. I have hidden some of it beneath a half-eaten piece of oil-soaked bread. The only thing that I have eaten entirely is my salad. But I have still eaten too much. Four ravioli (130 calories) Two hunks of bread (280) with olive oil (120). Water (zero). Mixed salad, no dressing (33). 563 calories total.
563 calories. 563. 563. 563. What are you doing? You've totally overshot your meal plan. 563? You're puking, you fatass. You're purging until you vomit stomach acid, and then you'll vomit again for good measure. How dare you betray me like this. How dare you! I am shaking. Rick doesn't notice. He hands Aldo the money and stands up.
"Let's go, Laurie. My house?" he asks. I stand too, and shove my hands into my coat pocket.
"Actually I have to watch Meg and Chloe for like an hour. But then we can," I lie smoothly. I'm not sure where that came from. The only thing I am sure of is that I have to get home so I can purge, and I have to get home soon. If I don't get home soon it'll be too late.
"Oh. Really?" Rick looks confused. I nod. I should feel bad for lying to him, but I don't.
"Yeah. Mom just texted me. Dad's at a meeting and she has a thing, I don't even know. Meg and Chloe don't like being home alone when it's dark. I'll call you when Mom gets back."
Rick takes me home. I wave as he drives away, then charge into my empty house. Up the stairs. Into the bathroom. I collapse onto the black-and-white tiled floor and pull my hair back with a headband. I raise my hand to my mouth, take a deep breath. I hate this.
But you have to do it.
I screw my eyes shut and stand up, shaking. I do not want to throw up. I hate throwing up.
What are you doing? What the hell do you think you're doing?
I am sobbing.
You're fat and I am helping you and you are ungrateful. You are disgusting. Everyone hates you.
You don't deserve to be alive. The only way to make this better is to get down in front of that toilet and throw up. Then you will be pretty. I am making you perfect. Just do as I say and you will be perfect.
I kneel back down, my body heaving with sobs. Ana is right. I am fat. Worthless. Disgusting. She is making me better.
I stick my fingers down my throat. It hurts. It always hurts. I gag, and resist the urge to remove my fingers from the back of my throat. Instead I keep them there, and feel my dinner begin to regurgitate. First the green and red of lettuce and cucumber and tomato. Then the pasty white of ravioli. Then the pale brownish-white of bread and oil. Stomach acid carves through my throat and it hurts and I cry and cry. I have vomit all over my hand, my arm, the toilet, my face. It is horrible. But my stomach is empty.
Welcome to Purgatory, bitch. You're paying for your sins.
I "finish eating".
There is smushed-up ravioli on my plate. I have hidden some of it beneath a half-eaten piece of oil-soaked bread. The only thing that I have eaten entirely is my salad. But I have still eaten too much. Four ravioli (130 calories) Two hunks of bread (280) with olive oil (120). Water (zero). Mixed salad, no dressing (33). 563 calories total.
563 calories. 563. 563. 563. What are you doing? You've totally overshot your meal plan. 563? You're puking, you fatass. You're purging until you vomit stomach acid, and then you'll vomit again for good measure. How dare you betray me like this. How dare you! I am shaking. Rick doesn't notice. He hands Aldo the money and stands up.
"Let's go, Laurie. My house?" he asks. I stand too, and shove my hands into my coat pocket.
"Actually I have to watch Meg and Chloe for like an hour. But then we can," I lie smoothly. I'm not sure where that came from. The only thing I am sure of is that I have to get home so I can purge, and I have to get home soon. If I don't get home soon it'll be too late.
"Oh. Really?" Rick looks confused. I nod. I should feel bad for lying to him, but I don't.
"Yeah. Mom just texted me. Dad's at a meeting and she has a thing, I don't even know. Meg and Chloe don't like being home alone when it's dark. I'll call you when Mom gets back."
Rick takes me home. I wave as he drives away, then charge into my empty house. Up the stairs. Into the bathroom. I collapse onto the black-and-white tiled floor and pull my hair back with a headband. I raise my hand to my mouth, take a deep breath. I hate this.
But you have to do it.
I screw my eyes shut and stand up, shaking. I do not want to throw up. I hate throwing up.
What are you doing? What the hell do you think you're doing?
I am sobbing.
You're fat and I am helping you and you are ungrateful. You are disgusting. Everyone hates you.
You don't deserve to be alive. The only way to make this better is to get down in front of that toilet and throw up. Then you will be pretty. I am making you perfect. Just do as I say and you will be perfect.
I kneel back down, my body heaving with sobs. Ana is right. I am fat. Worthless. Disgusting. She is making me better.
I stick my fingers down my throat. It hurts. It always hurts. I gag, and resist the urge to remove my fingers from the back of my throat. Instead I keep them there, and feel my dinner begin to regurgitate. First the green and red of lettuce and cucumber and tomato. Then the pasty white of ravioli. Then the pale brownish-white of bread and oil. Stomach acid carves through my throat and it hurts and I cry and cry. I have vomit all over my hand, my arm, the toilet, my face. It is horrible. But my stomach is empty.
Welcome to Purgatory, bitch. You're paying for your sins.
♠ ♠ ♠
Guys, please don't be silent readers! Tell me what you think. I feel like no one's reading this and that makes me quite sad. Give me opinions and suggestions and all that lovely stuff. <3 Thank you for reading, you're all beautiful.