Une Fleure Fanée

FINALE

I was thinking of doing a Q/A, so ask your questions about the book below! (If you are reading in, like, 2025, still answer. I will still probably update the Q/A.)

     "Lilly, what day is it?" Mom whispers, ruffling the sheets.

     "Nationals," I grumble, feeling excited but way too tired to wake up.

     "We have a bit of a warped schedule so breakfast is in half an hour," Mom announces and I shoot up.

     Breaking the rule. Breaking the ritual. I feel sick to my stomach. I'm going to lose my Nationals solo because I ate. Just throw it up in the bathroom, Lilliana. But I'm going to feel so guilty afterward. More guilty than I already feel.

     I slowly sit up and I see the ALDC clothes laying on the floor next to me. A white sweatshirt with the red ALDC dancer on the sleeves and the front and black leggings. I smile a bit. I do love competitions. Even if it means I have to eat. If I lose, Mom is going to take the blame.

     I get a bunch of pings on my phone from Pressley. She's so excited. I can feel her energy through her texts. I try to keep up, but it requires way too much concentration, so I keep our text chain open while I stand up.

     I start rummaging through my backpacks for my medicine. Today is just Fluvoxamine and my iron pill, as well as a Venlafaxine. I eventually find my pill organizer, along with my medicine to refill it.

     I take my medicine and I sit on the bed with my pill bottles. Mom watches closely so I don't screw up. I open my Notes on my phone. I take out two Fluoxetine and put them in the Sunday and Wednesday slot, seven Fluvoxamine for every day of the week, three Citalopram for Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and seven iron pills for every day of the week.

     "Good job," Mom congratulates and I smile to myself.

     You're still a failure, Lilliana. Your Mom is never proud of you. Putting together your medicine in a weak attempt to stop this isn't enough. I close the pill organizer, put it back, and now it's breakfast.

     "I'm going to look bloated, you know," I argue, trying to get out of eating my food.

     "Lilly, it's only a smoothie," Mom tells me, handing me a lukewarm cup.

     "What type? What type of milk? Or yogurt?" I question, trying to figure out what Mom put in.

     "It's mango, and I used normal yogurt and milk," Mom answers, handing me a straw.

     "Did you use any sugar?" I ask, putting the straw in the cup, stirring it.

     "Just take a sip," Mom coaxes and I, reluctantly, take a sip.

     It's sweet. It sets off a button in my mind. Don't eat it. It has so much hidden sugar in it, Lilliana. It's going to kill you. Alright, don't be dramatic. It may make me look bloated and gain weight, but it won't kill me.

     I slowly take another sip and it gets worse as I sip more. More watery. I frown. I hate this so much. Thank God we have extra time. We need to be in the lobby by seven, and it's five-forty five. I need to finish this smoothie by six.

     It's a small cup, but it's still tortuous. Mom is on her phone, still watching me. Eventually, after a lot of physical pain, I finish the smoothie, setting it down dramatically in front of me. Now time for the bloating to begin.

     "Alright, start a feed. I replaced them last night. Then get ready. A simple ponytail," Mom instructs and I nod.

     I almost connect a feed before I realize I have to at least change my shirt before I start my feed. I grab my clothes and my backpack and go to the bathroom to change. Thank God it's a sweatshirt. My stomach is hidden.