WP EXCLUSIVE | old/unedited | #1 in freetheboy, traumacore, boyscrytoo, and cynicism | Genre(s): realistic, psychological, new adult fiction.
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Eighteen-year-old Tyler Petrit is tired. He's tired of his drug-addicted father always blaming him f...
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Some days are better than others.
Instead of crushing sadness or anxiety, I'm relatively energetic. I can get up and take a shower. I can walk to school and focus on my work. Some days, my laughter is genuine.
I have control.
The longer I spend with my hunger, the less it sticks around, and it's becoming easier to skip meals. If I just wait a few more minutes, the sharp pains will disappear. Before I know it, it's been an hour past breakfast time and I don't feel it anymore.
The sun is out, shimmering against the window. I wait for the scale to ring and stare down at the number.
165.0.
I blink incredulously. I step off and on again, just in case I'm being played.
165.0.
Seven and a half pounds. I lost seven and a half pounds in a month.
But it's only the beginning.
Candace shoves a plate of sausages at me. The napkin under them is stained with grease. I bite my tongue and swallow back a gag. I'm not even going to tell her about my loss. I can already hear her: You're not trying hard enough, and I'm not about to let her ruin my mood. I don't know why she's trying to keep me fat when she's the one who told me I needed to lose weight in the first place. Besides, if I stop for breakfast, I'll be late for school.
Self-destruction has never felt so good.
"Wow, you really put effort into looking alive today," Gio drawls, leaning against my locker.
"I feel it," I say, and I'm actually smiling. There isn't any food weighing me down. I can fly if I want to.
"That's pretty cool, man. I've got acid, you want some? On the house."
"Hell yeah." I tuck it in my pocket for later and he leaves to try to pawn off his stash to more people.
Alaska is absolutely radiant. Her skin glows and her eyes reflect the galaxies. When she talks, petals float from her lips. "You're in a good mood. What's up, Ty?"
"I'm down almost eight pounds!" I say, practically singing. She squeals when I sweep her into my arms. I carry her all the way to English class.
I can't stop smiling, even though I know it's for the sickest of reasons. I love the numbness in my stomach. I didn't make the hunger go away with food, but with willpower.
I am strong.
I'd have liked to have had it before Valentine's Day, but all there is, is now.
Focus on The Now. I just have to not fuck up Now.
Mr. Clark belongs in a snotty, upper class school in England, rather than a messy, middle class one in Illinois.
He's practically in a fit that only a few people have read Uncle Tom's Cabin and isn't getting the memo that none of us read very much (especially classics, the focus of this entire unit), unless we're forced to.
