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Blonde Ambition.

calamansourjah

I was in a vicious cycle.

I’d weaned myself off of making myself throw up any morsel that passed my lips, but I had replaced it with not eating at all. Well, except for the food I’d buy at 3am after getting drunk enough to sedate the part of my brain that was in control. Ah, control, my devastatingly strong partner in crime.

It dawned on me I should probably try and have a bite of something before I went out halfway through doing my makeup. The only problem being I didn’t have anything in the flat. That had become a recurring problem too.

I finished my makeup, grabbed the bottle of cheap vodka I’d bought earlier that day and left for my friends house. Thoughts of food were pushed to the periphery of my mind, instead they were focused on acting ‘better’ and putting my friends minds at ease that I was okay.

I tugged at the sleeves on my dress, as I walked through the club to the bar. Granted I was back in the superficial swing of things, but scars don’t heal over night and I was as self-conscious as I’d ever been that someone would see my ugly thoughts carved into my skin.

I bought a couple shots of tequila to loosen up the tense feeling in my shoulders; the club was hot and I cursed that I was wearing long sleeves I couldn’t comfortably pull up. The dress was a little slacker than it had been and was adding to the discomfort as excess material tickled my thighs and wrists.

As I turned to walk back to my friends on the dance floor, I spotted him. He was pitched in the walkway I’d have to take to return to where I’d come from. It’d been a while since I’d seen him in person, and it was almost nice to know he wasn’t a phantom I’d made up. Nope, he was real; there he stood, in a crowd of his friends, with her. Happy.

My stomach flipped, as I noticed his arm slung loosely on her waist, her tiny fucking waist. I fiddled with the hem of my dress, the self-conscious feeling I had doubling. How could I come out in this dress? I felt about 3 sizes too big for this outfit now. I sucked my stomach in instinctively, tracing my protruding hip bone lightly. There was no denying she was skinnier than me, more petite, cuter. I wasn’t cute. I was a monster in comparison. I’d never felt larger, yet so small, in my life. I felt half the person I’d arrived as, and that was still only a portion of who I’d been before my last episode.

She flipped her blonde hair over her narrow shoulder and I ran my hand through my own messy brunette hair, feeling disappointment at its length.

I was frozen in the spot I stood, staring at the boy who ruined my life and his new obsession. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, even though seeing them together made me want to crumble into ash and blow away. I didn’t even attempt to avert my gaze as their faces grew closer, I guess this was just another form of self harm; one that wouldn’t make my friends worry and my mother cry. I clenched my fist around the bunching material of my dress, just as a shoulder bumped mine and I was jolted out of my mental flogging.

I shuffled through the crowd, avoiding the walkway as best as possible. I hear an unfamiliar voice say my name, and as I move my head to where I think the sound came from, I realise he’s looking at me over her shoulder. His eyes dart around and for a moment it looks like he’s going to make a move toward me. The urge to disappear has never hit me quite as hard as I force myself deeper into the dance floor.

I couldn’t find my friends and the buzz of my night had disappeared too now. I decided to leave to head home and stop off to pick up my first and last meal of today? Tomorrow? Who knew anymore?

I stopped off at the McDonalds on my way home and ordered everything off the menu I liked the look of. £15 worth, a decent meal, I thought to myself as I tapped my card mindlessly.

I trudged home carrying the brown paper bag carelessly, replaying the vague interaction from the club over in my tequila-fogged head. Every time I replayed it the more aggravated I got. At him, at myself, at every part of me that still cared.

I threw my purse down onto my bed in frustration, pulling off my dress and shoes and shoving on a nightshirt. I chucked myself onto the bed exhausted by another day and clicked my phone screen on to check the time.

I had a message. It was from him.

Where are you? I’m looking for you. I need to tell you something.

My stomach flipped for the second time that night, the remnants of tequila burned the back of my throat and my eyes pricked with tears. I looked at the pathetic bag of McDonalds taunting me. I wasn’t hungry anymore.

I felt the physical presence of a dark pit in my stomach the size of a crater and all it wanted to do was swallow me whole and bury me. And once again, I kind of wanted it to.

I took a large swig of water from a bottle behind my bed and blinked away tears threatening to fall. I lay down on my depressingly small metal-framed bed, defeated by the evening, and rolled over towards the wall. I flicked my light off and tried desperately to get him out of my head.

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