A/N – I don't know where this story's going, if it's a one-shot, or if maybe it could be continue. But a story focusing on bulimia and anorexia is something that I've been wanting to write for a long time, so I just started this. I've been reading lot's of stories dealing with bulimia, but they're always focused on Summer, so I made this one about Marissa. Not to mention, if you know me, I always write about Summer. So I felt like being different. This isn't as good as I'd like it to be, but I hope you guys like it. Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated.
She sunk onto her knees before her body could collapse anyway. The weight of her body was becoming too much to be held up on her legs, she knew that, that was why she was doing this now. She ignored the cold porcelain scraping against her skin as she slid across the tiles.
She sat, knees curled beneath her, elbow resting on the toilet seat while she tried to control her body, shaking with terror. She'd lost control that day. She's been going so well before…and then, then it all ended. She ate, she had to eat, she started eating and she couldn't stop.
She disgusted herself. Every time she put something in her mouth, every time she felt her stomach growl with hunger, she felt like screaming. She wasn't supposed to be hungry! She was supposed to be perfect, and perfect wasn't hungry!
There was only one way to make herself truly perfect.
She leant her head over the toilet seat, pulling back her long hair, wasting no time to shove two fingers down her throat. She felt herself gag, she felt her stomach heave slightly and she instantly pulled them back out. She felt her chest heave up and down, her breathing slow and laboured. Why couldn't she do it? Why couldn't she fucking do it? Was she scared? What was there to be scared of?
Fat! Fat, that's what she should have been scared of. Fat, covering her entire body, until it wasn't even her, until it had taken over her, lost herself.
Without hesitation, she shoved her fingers back down her throat, until she felt the contents of her full stomach travelling up her throat. She pulled her hand out of her mouth and waited as the food of the day tumbled from her mouth in the form of partly digested muck.
She could do better then that. She could do better then partly digested. She could get the food out before it even had a chance to settle into her stomach.
She shoved her fingers back into her mouth and remained as her body convulsed while vomit slid from her mouth, until her throat was stretched and tight and her eyes were watering. She threw up until there was nothing left, her mouth was empty and all that remained was the bitter aftertaste, reminding her exactly what she had done to herself.
She knew exactly what she had done. She had cleansed her body, and she was slowly
becoming perfect.
No breakfast.
A litre of water for morning tea.
For lunch she could branch out, chewing on an apple before washing it down with another litre of water.
Basically, her whole diet now consisted of water. But then again, there were her binges. The ones she couldn't control. It was like she blacked out almost; and when she woke up, her stomach felt full, she felt content, an unfamiliar, terrifying feeling to her. She wasn't supposed to feel full, she wasn't supposed to feel content. She was supposed to feel empty, empty until it no longer hurt, empty until the piercing pain became simply numb, and there was no longer anything wrong with doing it.
Binges could be controlled easily.
With a lock of her hair falling into her watering eyes, she wiped the corner of her mouth, and rested her elbow on the edge of the toilet rim, before reaching up to flush it. She watched as her latest binge swirled in the dirty water before finally disappearing in a churning whirlpool, disappearing, forgotten, no more traces of her dirty habit left. She was empty once again, how it was supposed to be.
She was doing it. Finally, slowly, painfully, but her hard work was beginning to show.
She stood, naked in front of her full-length mirror, casting her crystal blue, scrutinizing eyes over her body. She took careful note of her visible collarbone, her stomach so flat that it would almost possible to see her ribs, protruding through the thin layer of skin still remaining.
She was happy with herself for a full minute.
Then she caught sight of it. The imperfect flaws that still clung to her body. The way the fat on her upper arms moved – almost jiggled – when she moved. The way her face was still round and full, the way her cheeks were still visible. There was too much fat on her face, she thought, frowning as she moved closer to examine her face. She raised her finger gingerly to touch her cheek – and recoiled immediately and the pudginess.
That'd take about 3 sessions to get rid of.
It was all playing a game. That's all it was. A little game she played with herself, with her mind. She was disappearing, diminishing, slowly. Before their eyes, before her own eyes, she was wasting away, she was slipping through death's fingers, held back only by her own need for perfection.
Her starvation for perfection was greater then her starvation for food.
She was a human magic trick. She was a disappearing act.
God, why was nothing coming up? It had been another binge day, another bad day, and as she sat in front of the toilet, repeatedly cramming her fingers down her throat, nothing was coming up.
Fuck, no, there's gotta be something, she thought desperately. Her full stomach reminded her nauseatingly of all the food that must be there, slowly digesting. The thought made her sick, the thought of it, moving around in there, digesting. She needed to get it out of her, before it became fully digested and travelled over her body, spreading to her thighs, her hips, her stomach.
In desperation, she grabbed her toothbrush, and without a second thought, shoved it so far down her throat that she let out a strangled yelp in pain, throwing the thin object to the side as she bent over the toilet, ignoring the tears that sprung to her bright blue eyes. She retched, and waited for her binge to fall from her mouth. Instead, she spat up blood.
She looked at it in desperation. No. No, not blood. Blood wasn't good. She didn't need blood. She needed food.
Once more, she thrust her fist wholly into her mouth, pulling it out just as the bile made it's way up her throat. It hit the inside of the toilet bowel, but she wasn't content, she wasn't empty. Her throat burnt, and she still felt full. She glanced into the toilet bowel, and saw she had only vomited bile. Acid bile.
She collapsed onto the cold, tile floors in a convulsing heap, waiting for her tears to stop. They didn't stop. She curled herself into a ball, tucking her head into her knees and wrapping her arms around her tiny, frail body.
Marissa Cooper was a human disappearing trick. And she was disappearing before her own eyes.
A/N – I'm kind of nervous. That's my first kind of thing I've written like that. How was it? Reviews are nice; thanks.