The Lies in the Mirror
A tear falls on her protruding stomach. She observes her rolls of fat jiggling and shaking with each wave of sobs. Staring at herself in the mirror, she grabs the mound of fat underneath her ribs and squeezes, leaving white marks on her already pale skin. She wipes the tears from her eyes and stares at the marks that are now a ghostly reminder of the fingers drawing her shape in the reflective glass. Her tears trace her chubby outline.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He sees her coming and immediately looks down at his scuffed blue converse. Keeping his eyes on his shoes, he watches her out of the corner of his eye. She walks right past him without missing a beat, her head turned down and her red hair creating a curtain around her face. Even though any interactions with her are considered toxic he’s still a little hurt that she didn’t acknowledge him at all. He can still remember a different time. A time when her hair was kept in a ponytail. A time when friends surrounded her instead of whispers. A time when he stood rooted in this exact spot, terrified to talk to her, but for a completely different reason.

She feels their eyes glued to her. Glued to the lump underneath her shirt, her tree-trunk legs. They move away from her as she walks by. Former friends divert their eye contact, disgusted by the lump of fat she has become. She sees him standing near a bench, his focus on his shoes. As she walks by, she can feel his eyes on her neck. She keeps her head down and keeps walking.
It didn’t always used to be like this. The same girls who can’t even look at her used to be desperate for her attention. They complimented her slight figure, admired her auburn hair, and pulled her aside, giggling that he had a crush on her. The flush on her cheeks now is so similar to the one she had that day as she glanced at him, thrilled when he smiled in her direction. Then, a summer passed. She came back to school, her baggy clothing sheltering her from the outside world. A world with friends who hate you, a stomach that won’t shrink. A world where the boy who used to like you can no longer look you in the eye.
The memories are too much for her. She turns her head, so he won’t see her eyes rapidly filling. She walks briskly towards the school. People part quickly for her, being careful to not touch her, in case her sadness is contagious.

He saw. He saw the tears in her eyes before she turned, and before he knows what he’s doing, he runs after her, calling her name. She stops, but doesn’t trust herself enough to rotate, because the sound of a person calling her name is such an unfamiliar noise. He grabs her shoulder, but then quickly drops his hand, the feel of her body disgusting under his fingers.

She turns and looks at him with emerald eyes that seem almost too big for their shallow eye sockets. He hesitates, embarrassed by his revulsion. Then, wordlessly, he grabs her hand, and leads her across the street and into his small silver car.
She sits in the passenger seat, the seatbelt pressing her body into the leather of the car as she stares at the world passing outside her window. She sees a group of girls in the grade below her standing on the sidewalk. They’re wearing multi-colored crop tops, their flat stomachs peeking out from under their shirts. Jealousy rises like bile in her throat.
The car putters and comes to a stop. She hears him take the keys out of the car, but doesn’t move. He goes around and opens the door for her. Warily, she unbuckles and exits the car. He looks her over carefully—as if the car ride could have damaged her more than she already is—and then turns and starts walking to the large grey building in front of them. She follows, but each step she takes makes her feel like she’s moving through quicksand. She stops to catch her breath. Even though his back is turned, he seems to know when she pauses, and slows down his pace in order to stay with her.
After what seems like an eternity, they reach the automatic doors. Sensing their presence, the doors slide open, and then once they’re safely inside, they shut. She takes a deep breath, the smell of chemicals running through her lungs. He goes up to the front desk and starts talking to the receptionist, a tall brunette, wearing cherry red lipstick that matches her heels. He occasionally gestures towards her, and she feels the stare of the receptionist. She pointedly looks away and instead glances around the white tiled room. There’s a large sign above a black wooden door, Anorexia and Bulimia Unit.
She sits down at a table in the corner, and stares at a vase full of blue hydrangeas. One sits healthy in the vase, but the other lays dead and broken on the cherrywood table. She rests her head on her wrist and stares at it. The dead flowers petals are the same color as her skin. Suddenly, unable to look at the flowers anymore, she turns around and realizes she is in a waiting area. Girls her age sit in green plastic chairs, large sweatshirts burying their wispy bodies in a mountain of material. They slouch in their chairs and suck in their stomachs in an eerily familiar way. She’s quiet, observing these stick figures, noting it’s the same way people observe her.
He calls her name, and gestures towards the black wooden door to his right. She walks through the crowd of skeletons to meet him. He takes her bony hand, and together they enter what is going to change the rest of her life.