He Loves Me, I Love Ballet

Chapter 11

When I woke up, Rian was sitting a few feet away from me. I smelt food..... That smell of fresh hot food. It was making me gag.

"Rian, get the food out, it smells terrible."

"No. It's for you. Eat it."

"No! I.... I'm.... A vegetarian."

"It's pasta with marinara. Vegetarians can eat pasta." He pushed the white box towards me. The smell coming from that white styrofoam takeout box was repulsive.

"I still can't eat it. I'm allergic to tomatoes."

"No you're not."

"Don't tell me what I am!"

"I will tell you what you are. You're anorexic."

I rolled my eyes. "I can't be anorexic. If I were anorexic, I'd be skinny."

"You are! Look,"

He pulls me up and walked me over to the mirror.

"Your bones stick out. You've got no fat at all on you. I can see all of your muscles when you move.... You're like a living, breathing skeleton, but scarier because you hardly look alive. You're skinny, and not in a good way. You used to be gorgeous, Maria. Look what this disease has taken from you - you went from being so gorgeous, and healthy, and alive.... Now you're just empty."

All I saw in the mirror was a fat girl, ugly and chubby, but I nodded and looked behind me to where Rian stood.

"You're right.' I replied. "How could I be so stupid and insecure? I've ruined myself, haven't I? My body is ugly now."

He looked at me with relief. "But your soul isn't."

I cracked a smile. "That was cheesy. But I can get better, right? Right now that food.... My whole body is repulsed. It's too much. I don't know if I can eat again, like I used to."

He smiled with obvious love in his eyes. Gullible fool.

"Yes, you can get better. I'll help you."

He kept talking about how we'd start slow, I only had to eat a little it of the pasta, he'd help me, blah blah blah. As I forced down the food I surreptitiously looked at the calorie info on the box and thought of how I'd burn it off. God, the stuff was disgusting. It made me feel so heavy and weighed down, like a sack of potatoes. Ew, ew, ew. I told Rian it was hard but it felt good to have something in my stomach. In a way it did, I guess. Physically. But I was mentally slitting my wrists for eating so much.

When Rian drove me home, there was of course the whole scene with my parents, the promises and apologies and smiles and tears. It was exhausting. All four of us went up to my room. It was nearly impossible for me not to show how upset and angry I felt as they threw out my rubber pants, my calorie diary, my weights, my scale, everything. But I put on a grateful smile in my head and did slow calf lifts while they weren't watching to get a head start on the calorie burning. As soon as Rian left, with a crinkly-eyed smile and a kind hug for me (annoying), I told my parents I was tired and needed to sleep. They left me alone. I did every quiet exercise I could think of for the next two hours, and then freshened up, walked downstairs and said I was thirsty. My mom got me an entire gallon of water when I asked for it. I'd hoard it in my room. I love water.

This 'disease', they call it. How it's killing me. How it's bad for me. Blah blah blah.

All I see about the way I am is what it is. How great it is.

How it feels to swallow down that rising growl of hunger with the cool, soft water. How the liquid slides down your throat and trickles into your stomach, and that's satisfying beyond belief. How a quarter of an apple is the biggest meal you've had and it fills you, satiates you, and keeps you going.

How it hurts.

... How it's worth it.

Yes, it's worth it. And I love it