Darling & Foster

Two

The bathroom floor feels like ice to my feet. I turn and twist the lock on the door, then with a shaky breath, my eyes focus on a certain flat, stainless steel machine that I shouldn't be using. I tiptoe across the ground and every step sends chills up my legs and pulses through my entire body. My breathing becomes rugged and I look into the mirror, almost to prepare for whats to come. I look at every imperfect detail, and pull the collar of my uniform shirt, then unbutton a button and then put it back and huff. I can't seem to get the uniform quite right. The skirt is showing too little of my legs at the most awkward length and it seems like one side is longer than the other and I don't know how many buttons are too many buttons on the shirt and I don't want to ruin my make-up and cry before I have to go to this new school, but I simply must weigh myself. I don't care what my mother says, even if that is making me worse. I have to know.

I switch on the faucet and cup my hand, letting it fill with water. I pull my hand to my face and rub and rub all the ugly way. I peek through my fingers and see that no, it's still there. The things that I hate. The things that I pull myself apart because of. The reasons why I can't be normal stand before me all captured in that mirror. 

"Darla?" A small tap comes from the door. It's mom.

My voice shifts unstably, "I'm - I'm coming." 

My mom knocks harder and sounds nervous, "Are you weighing yourself?" 

"No," I keep my voice low and tap my feet oh so lightly toward the scale. 

"Darla, do I have to call Ms. Michelle?" She asks, but doesn't sound at all threatening. Ms. Michelle is just a therapist and they can't do anything about me. They can't help me. I almost laugh at the hope in her voice. Why won't she give up? I know I have. 

98.6 pounds. 

"Ah, shit." I can feel my eyes well up with something like tears and my mind get foggy. 

"Darla? Darla, I'm calling!" 

It's too late, I'm already gone, I've already blacked out.