Perfection- Chapter Three

*Chapter Three*

The next morning was a sleepy Thursday. I felt guilty still about eating lunch and dinner yesterday. It made me feel huge-- nine-month-pregnant huge. I skipped out on breakfast again, but after yesterday’s near-disaster on the bike, I took a shot on the school bus.
As always, it was loud and smelled like a diesel station. I searched the row of heads until I found the brunette. When I did, I tapped her on the head.
Izobel darted her eyes up and smiled. She was always useful for a spare seat and a voice to talk to, whenever you managed to say something.
“Hey, Iz,” I interrupted as she stopped for a breath, during an epic recount of How Much I Hate Math Homework. “Did you say something about your cousin?”
She nodded, looking slightly apprehensive.
“Isn’t she really skinny?”
Her eyes widened with tales. “Ohmygod, yes. She eats maybe one plate a day... and she throws it all up right after! Like this one time...”
Izobel’s voice dwindled away in my mind. I had a new plan.

• • •

“I am starving,” I boasted at lunch.
“I know,” Gabby said, look a bit pensive.
I could tell she still remembered yesterday--and so did I. Today, feeling very good about myself, I picked a cheeseburger, with ketchup, mustard and pickles, not to mention cross-cut fries on the side.
Izobel had saved seats at the same table in the corner of the lunch room. As soon as we sat down I dug into my lunch, taking huge bites of the tender burger. It was the onset of my previous anorexic age. I was stopping that. I was no longer going to completely starve myself.
Gabby watched me warily the whole time. She had the day before in mind, but so did I, and I dipped my cross-cuts in a sweet, ketchupy mud.
Eventually there was nothing for Gabby to hawk-eye on my tray, and she had her own food to deal with. She devoured the half of her lunch still left quickly, washing it down with water.
The bell rang, and we had ten minutes to get to class. Plenty of time, I thought to myself. I picked up my books from the table and patted my pocket for my brown eyeliner pencil.
Leaving behind Gabby and Izobel, I ran off to the girl’s bathroom and locked myself into a stall. I dropped my books on to the floor as quietly as possible, except for the eyeliner pencil.
I took the unsharpened end, which was warm from my hands. I leaned over the toilet, I tapped the very back of my tongue tentatively with the pencil. I could feel the warm bile rushing up the back of my throat. I took out the pencil and spat my lunch in the toilet. The five-minute bell, bane of my existence, rang out through the halls. I scooped up my books and took a quick sip from the water fountain, feeling good and skinny, as I ran to my next class.
For the next two classes, I felt very confident in myself. But when I sat with Izobel on the bus, all that energy drained in a single sentence.
“Hey,” she started, getting my attention. “Where were you after lunch?”
I paused. If I told her the truth, she would sic Gabby onto me. To be honest, I was a bit afraid of that.
On the other hand, I would feel horrible lying to her. Izobel could definitely talk the wind from a hurricane, and had about the sense of humor as a first-grader, but she had a sort of rare innocence that made her flaws disappear.
In the split-second I had, I blurted out, “I needed to return a book.”
“A book?” Izobel said. She was not falling for this; I never was a big reader. “What book, exactly?”
Thinking on my feet, I replied, “a book for an English project.”
She nodded with understanding, and I smiled back half-heartedly. My stomach twisted in guilt.
Don’t feel bad, I soothingly told myself. It’s for the greater good.
A different thought fleetingly crossed my mind: If lying to people is the way to get there, it can’t be much greater.

• • •

At six that night, Mom beckoned me to dinner with a light meal of pasta with garlic butter. I slid down the stair rail, which made her cringe.
She rubbed her temples. “Siovhan, I cook and clean for you all day. Can you please help me in the slightest by not streaking mud from your boots on the banister?”
I groaned and sat at the table. “Olivia--”
“Siovhan!” She said, sternly.
“Mom,” I corrected, defeatedly, “the banister is my last shot of rebellion in this house. One day, when I’m nineteen and in college, you’ll miss cleaning the shoe grime from there.”
Mom laughed. Sadie finally thought to join us, running down the stairs and using the handrail to balance herself on the way down. My lip quivered with what I knew would happen next.
“SIOVHAN!” She screeched, her hands covered in shoe-grit. I burst out in giggles.
Mom rolled her eyes, smiling. “Wash your hands, Sadie, and come join us for dinner.”
Dad woke from his nap on the sofa (“I really deserve a minute of sleeping, considering I provide for everything around here!”) and sat at the dinner table.
I smiled. We were never the tall family, or the family with pretty teeth, but the one thing was we all got along well.

• • •

The trip to the restroom became a habit for me after lunch, so on Saturday at noon I was met with a problem.
I had skipped breakfast as usual and had made up for it with some leftover chicken soup made the night before. But now I had no place to get rid of the weight in my stomach.
I didn’t want to be unhealthy. But I knew nobody was going to support my dieting. I was crossed between being healthy and being heard.
Pushing back my chair, I headed to the bathroom and grabbed my toothbrush. It’s okay, Mom and Dad aren’t home, I thought, trying to reassure myself. I tapped my throat with the hard, plastic back, feeling the broth travel up my throat. I dropped the brush on the counter so it wouldn’t get dirty and I vomited in the toilet. Nobody seemed to hear, so I vomited over and over and over.
I pressed my throat a final time and threw up yellow acid.
    Closing the bathroom door, I headed downstairs into the laundry room.
I tiptoed down the steps. I silently cursed when I noticed Sadie standing in the hallway, frozen and startled. I cursed under my breath. What if she had heard me? 
Finally, I had the courage to say, “What’s up, Sadie?”
“A spider was on the wall,” she said, in a small, fearful voice.
“Where’d it go?” I replied, laughing.
She shrugged, to which I gave her a hug. “Sadie, the spider won’t hurt you, okay? It’s just a bug.”
“A creepy one,” she muttered.
I released her and set off down the hallway. I pushed the door open and climbed onto the machine, heaving my laptop from the plywood shelves. But no matter what keys I pressed or websites I selected, the only thing on my mind was my empty stomach. It growled in my ears, and rattled my thoughts.
I jumped down from the washing machine and ran to the refrigerator. I whipped out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, forcing it down my throat. 
It wasn’t enough. I grabbed a slice of frozen pizza, jamming it into my mouth.
I was starving still-- I cradled a container of chocolate ice cream, and dug my spoon inside, carving away at it. I could feel the icy cold ringing my mouth, but I was desperate.
Finally, I put my spoon on the counter. The ice cream bucket, which was half-full nearly a second ago, was empty, except for the few marks on the inside.
A wave of guilt hit me. I ate a half of a tub of ice cream. What had gotten into me? Stupid, fat, ugly slob.
I ran back upstairs, nearly in tears, and slammed closed the bathroom door. I pushed my jelly-covered finger to the back of my tongue, and pressed on my throat. Food that had been so appealing thirty minutes ago bubbled out, into the toilet. Waves of my breath came up, and my eyes watered.
I collapsed backwards onto the floor, an emotional wreck. What was I getting myself into? I was in a cycle of never-ending torture. Nothing I did would please myself now. I screamed, not caring if Sadie heard, banging my fists on the tile. I felt like I was five again, but I could care less.
My pounding lead to a small clatter at the edge of my foot. I stopped my wailing to see what it was; a razor blade Dad had left out this morning. I grabbed it, and slashed it sideways across my calf. I cried out in pain, as blood beaded from the cut. I threw the razor into the sink, silently swearing to myself that I would never do that ever again.