Champagne Problems-(finnick odair)

starving for survival

FUCK IM SO SORRY! I FORGOT TO  PUT A TRIGGER WARNING

Okay I know that we've been over to this, but Desdemona has many mental health disorders, including eating disorders. 

If you're triggered by E.D's then please don't read this chapter (and unfortunately you probably wont find many chapters in this book that are readable) and dont be afraid to pm me. I know its hard and Im so proud of you<3

go eat something beautiful, you deserve it. 

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Desdemona, looking in the mirror, grimaces at her refection. Her sunken eyes dull, hardly standing out against her dark eyebags. She knows she doesn't look healthy; she doesn't feel healthy either. But still, she couldn't force herself to sit at a table and eat today. See, when you hate your appearance already, what's one more meal to skip? Her body wasn't delicate, but it was fragile. She didn't have soft curves or a perfect nose. The flat stomach everyone photoshopped onto her body wasn't real, it was just to hide from the fact that she doesn't look the way everyone wants her to look. She doesn't look the way she wants to look.

When dinner time came, Desdemona sat in her room. She sat and she stared at the body that wasn't worthy of nutrition. She sat and thought of all the things she could do to be pretty. She sat and pictured the body she might have one day, that is if she doesn't eat for another month. See, she sat and knew all of this was wrong. That it was destroying her. But she couldn't stop it. It could only overwhelm her, breaking her mind and molding it into something that is killing her. Her own mind is killing her.

Even when her stomach grumbled, pleading for food, Desdemona stayed in her room, starving herself further. Maybe 24 hours more, her mind whispers, echoing harmful thoughts into her subconsciousness. Instead of filling her body with food, she's filling her soul with degrading lies about herself, poisoning her mind with self-hatred. It went on for hours. Staring at the mirror, her self-image warped to continuously damage her sanity.

A knock on the door interrupts her thoughts, pulling her attention away from her reflection. Finnick enters the room, slipping through the doors hesitantly. Noticing the tears on her face almost immediately, he quickly sit down on the floor beside her bed. Desdemona closes her eyes, trying very very hard to pretend he isn't there. When she opens them again, he's still on the floor, his head leaning against the bedframe. He glances up at at her sympathetically.

"Hey," He whispers, twisting his rings nervously.

"Hey." She murmurs back, not looking at him completely. "What are you doing in here?"

Finnick grimaces and looks away. "Listen I can leave if you want, but you didn't come to dinner and I wanted to make sure that you're okay."

Desdemona finally looks at him, biting her lip in order to keep from crying. Slowly inhaling, she softly says "I'm fine." This lie used to hurt, but now its easier than breathing. She tells everyone, including herself, that she's fine so often she should believe its true.

Finnick shakes his head, seeing right though her mendacity. "Oh darling, you don't have to do that."

Desdemona falters for a moment. "Do what?"

"Pretend."

"Pretend?"

"Not for me. You don't have to tell me you're okay. Not if that means we both are a little bit broken." Finnick reaches his arm up to place his hand on top of her cold ones. Desdemona would very much like to ignore how nice his warm fingers feel against her chilled skin. But instead, she intertwines her fingers with his and slides down to the floor with him.