This is a spin-off of several works I have completed or are currently underway.
This series of short stories will follow a few of my characters through the rehabilitation process until they have their moment of clarity.
Some issues dealt with in thi...
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trigger warning: purging
Alex was sitting on his bed when I walked into our room, his phone in hand.
"Let me guess," he said, without looking up. "You had the family therapy talk?"
Taking a seat on the edge of my bed, I pulled up Caden's contact. "Yeah." Pressing the call button, I pressed the phone to my ear.
"One sec, one sec," Caden said, as he answered. "I have to finish this sentence."
Leaning back against the headboard, we sat in silence as I listened to the clicking of his keyboard.
"Funny you called, I just got off the phone with mom," he said. "She just got Xavier the Zoom link for family therapy."
So when Dr. Rivera said everyone, she meant everyone.
"This is going to be a disaster," I said. "Make mom back out."
Caden was silent for a few moments, silent enough so that I could hear the whir of the mini-refrigerator that he kept next to his desk. "I'm the one that gathered the troops. So unlikely I'd have everyone cancel."
Fuck. Me. "You're joking. This is a fucking joke, right?"
"I know you don't want to hear this, so I'm going to speak as quickly as I can before you can hang up on me."
"Caden, please don't-"
"I'm not letting you die. And I know you can't see it, and that's okay. It's probably better. But you are dying. And it terrifies me, Jo-"
Hanging up the line, I launched my phone against the wall, listening to the satisfying crunch as it fell to the floor.
"Well," Alex said, as Ms. Wiley came rushing in. "That's unfortunate."
Ms. Wiley's lips pulled to a tight line as she saw the heaping pile of shattered iPhone on the ground. "Joel?"
"I need some air."
Pushing past her, I jogged down the stairs, pushing outside and I attempted to blink through the blurry vision.
My legs were carrying me somewhere that my brain hadn't caught up to yet. But it wasn't long before I was stopped by the backyard fence.
Slamming my hands down on the waist-high fence line, I let myself stop for a moment to think. To breathe.
As I glanced back over my shoulder, I realized that nobody had followed me out. Ms. Wiley was stood in the doorway, her eyes keeping careful watch. But I was alone.
Everything inside of me hurt. My head. My chest. My stomach. And while I avoided looking at myself in the mirror at all cost, I knew I must look like hell. Not to mention fat.
So fucking fat.
Aside from not shitting in three days, I also hadn't purged. And as proven time and time again, my metabolism goes to shit when I can't manipulate it.
