Une Fleure Fanée

Week 4 Part 2 (Monday)

     Since privates start at seven, I have an Ensure for breakfast. 220 calories. That's so much! That's like half of my calories. Simple, Lilliana. Just don't eat lunch. Just say you're not hungry. The urges are right. I need to save my calories.

     I'm with Brady, Sarah, and Hannah for my privates. I have lyrical, acro, jazz, jumps and turns, tap, and hip hop. We're lucky today. We have two privates with Ms. Abby, and four privates with Ms. Gianna.

     After private three, we have lunch. Mom has packed a simple ham and cheese sandwich. I have calculated it. Two slices of wheat bread are 138 calories. The two slices of cheese are 120 calories. And two slices of ham is 186 calories. In total, one ham and cheese and sandwich is 444 calories. And that's why I don't eat my lunch even though I'm really hungry.

     "Lilly, aren't you going to eat your sandwich?" Brady asks me, chowing down on his salad. So many calories.

     "Oh. Uh, I'm not hungry," I fib, stumbling through my answer, beginning to work through some math packet Mom has sent me with.

      Brady shrugs and finishes his salad. I saved my sandwich so that I wouldn't be suspicious. I don't know how I am going to dispose of this sandwich, but I can't eat it. Good girl, Lilliana. Good girl.

     In some sick way, the urges are comforting and made me feel like I was doing good. Maybe if I don't need lunch, I don't need dinner or breakfast either. You don't need food, Lilliana. You can survive without it.

     "Earth to Lilly," I hear, Brady, snapping his fingers in my face, making me instinctively blink and jump back.

     "I-I'm here. What's up?" I ask, readjusting to the social conversation that I'm being thrown into.

     "We have our other privates. Come on, I'll help you up," Brady volunteers as he gets up and pulls on my arms, forcing me up to my feet.

     After our privates are over, we are carpooling with Brady's mom. I'm quieter than usual. I'm so hungry. I'll have to get used to it. Beauty is pain, I guess. I wasn't always chatty, but I am very quiet. Brady and GiaNina seem to take notice.

     "Lilly, are you okay?" GiaNina askes me, rubbing my shoulder, attempting to bring me into the conversation.

     "Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just zoned out, sorry," I apologize, turning to pay attention to the conversation, interjecting occasionally.

     Brady gives me a, "We need to talk later," look and I nod slightly. Did he find out? I thought I was doing good at hiding this. You dumb bitch. Brady is going to tell everyone. You have to find a way out of this, Lilliana.

     I fidget a lot. It burns a couple extra calories. I'm so nervous. GiaNina proceeds ahead to her apartment as Brady tells her we need to talk about something dance-related. Oh my god, he figured it out.

     "Lilly, are you ok? You've been zoning out and been really quiet?" Brady asked me, sitting me down in the lobby, rubbing my shoulder to soothe me, for he can see that I'm nervous.

     I can't tell if he knows or not. This is so scary. I've only started starving myself for the past day or two, and I already messed up.

     "Yeah, I'm just stressed. Thanks for asking, Brady. I appreciate it," I answer quietly, smiling at the end, making sure not to give too much away in the process.

     "No problem, Lils. Do you want me to walk you to your apartment?" he asks me, getting up from his seat.

     "I think I'll be okay. But thanks," I reply, choosing to go up the stairs to burn extra calories.

     You're such a burden, Lilliana. Everybody's worrying about you because you are an annoying piece of shit. I think these urges are becoming more than urges. They're becoming like voices. But I'm not schizophrenic. They sound somewhat like me. And they are only provoked when there's food or there's something about dance or anything like that.

     Unlocking the door with my key, Mom's reading another one of those magazines on the couch, a reality television show blaring on the TV, making me nearly drop the keys.

     "Hey, Lilly. How was dance, sweetie? Did everything go okay?" she asks me, putting away the magazine and turning off the television.

     "Yeah, it was fine. Here is my schoolwork," I state, handing her my schoolwork, "I am just going to my room to chill."

     I move to my bedroom and throw the duffel bag next to the door. I quickly change out of my dancewear into some comfy sweats and look on social media. There are a lot of likes and follows, but a couple of negative comments about my height and weight put me in a bad mood. I quickly close Instagram and just watch some television until Mom calls me for dinner.

     So many calories. I had looked up some tips. Cut up your food. Chat a lot. Ask questions. Change topic. Move stuff around. The dinner in question: chicken and green beans. If I ate the entire plate, it would be approximately 366 calories. 335 for the chicken and 31 for the green beans. 220 for the Ensure plus 366 for the dinner is 586 calories. That's 86 calories too much. I can't get a perfect amount, but I can estimate. Half of the chicken will be about 168 calories.

     I decide to eat all of the green beans and half of the chicken. That is 199 calories for dinner. I don't do a lot of the talking, however. Mom chats about a lot of celebrities at first but then starts talking about dance and I kind of tuned it out. I don't want to talk about dance, not right now.

     Mom doesn't seem to think I ate too little. I get through another day of barely eating. I know that soon, I'm going to have to start cutting back on calories. At least the hunger is starting to go away. I calculate my calories. 411 calories. That's under 500 calories. You did good today, Lilliana.

     When Mom is asleep, I weigh myself. 79.5 pounds. Half a pound in one day! This is definitely working. Even though there's no light in the bathroom, I can see my fat body. My stomach's bulging. I can't see my ribs. My back has rolls of fat when I bend into a backend.

     No matter how much weight you lost today, you're still fat. I think this is going to become more than a diet. But no matter what the urges, no, now they are voices, tell me, I have to ease my way into it so it doesn't become obvious.

     I hide my sandwich under some other trash in the kitchen trash can before going back to sleep, still not satisfied. I need to lose more.

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