Ah, the feeling of warmth. Not only the sensation but the feeling. Whenever I wake up, all I feel is tired. I don't feel cold, I don't feel weak, I don't feel dizzy, my stomach isn't in pain. I feel normal. Why do I like it so much?
When I stand up, however, everything changes. I black out, my stomach drops, a wave of chills run through me and linger on my body, and I can barely grip the dresser because I'm so weak.
"Competition day!" Pressley cheers.
"How are you already so awake?" I mutter, regaining my vision, looking in the direction of her voice.
Because I'm excited!" she cheers, and I get a stomach cramp.
"Mhmm, so am I," I grunt, whimpering in pain.
"Do you have Advil or anything?" Pressley asks, noticing my pain.
"I do, but it doesn't work," I mutter, my stomach cramp finally stopping.
"I'm sorry," Pressley apologizes, finishing off her crown braid.
"It's not your fault," I answer, going to my suitcase.
I grab a long-sleeved black shirt, black leggings, and of course, my team jacket! Brady deserved this jacket instead of you, Lilliana. You aren't good enough of a dancer. When it goes on my body, everything but the jacket is just hanging off my body.
I find my medicine in my suitcase. If I don't take them, Pressley is going to get suspicious. All the pills are in a Ziploc bag. I go to the bathroom and grab a cup of water. I place the pills on my tongue and reluctantly swallow. Yuck.
I feel so sick. I'm too lazy to put my hair in a bun, but I have to brush it. I guess I'll keep it down. Mom can do my bun while we're preparing for the group dance. Of course, many blonde hair clumps fall out. I'm surprised nobody has called me, "Baldy," yet.
After some very light makeup, so I don't look dead and brushing my teeth, I decide to cover up my cuts. I groan. Pressley might be able to help. I grab my humongous foundation bottle and my setting spray and powder.
"Can you help me cover my cuts?" I ask timidly.
Pressley sighs, and then reluctantly replies, "Fine."
I take off my team jacket and roll up my sleeves. Pressley looks at my arms in pure shock and horror, but I just hand her foundation bottle, taking a couple of pumps of foundation for myself.
"It's just on your arms, right?" Pressley clarifies, and I nod.
"Lilly, I just want you to know," Pressley begins, grabbing my hands, "When and if you choose to recover, even if I live in New Jersey and you live in North Carolina, I'll be there for you."
She doesn't mean it, Lilliana. Nobody will be there for you. You are alone. No, I'm not alone! Everybody on this team is struggling and fighting, and they haven't given up as I have. Maybe I shouldn't give up either.
I continue dabbing on the foundation. Pressley pulls up The Good Place while we keep adding on the foundation until every cut is covered. Finally, after a long ten minutes, a mist of setting spray goes on my body. Done.
I roll down my sleeves and I put back on my team jacket. Cuts covered. Now it's time to repack. I put my sweatsuit in the suitcase, but I leave my hair supplies and makeup supplies in the suitcase.
"It's seven o'clock, we have to go," Pressley groans, and I get another stomach cramp.
"Ow!" I shout, doubling over in pain.
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Une Fleure Fanée
Fanfiction***MATURE WARNING*** "The hunger is good. You had too many calories already. You're already fat." "They'll love you even more when you're skinny. You'll be their perfect little angel when you're nice and pretty." "Lilly, I heard you puking up the c...
