Dark Reactions

Cornelia with anorexia. Why? I don't know. I wanted to make it an actual story, but now it's just a oneshot.

Warning: There is depression and an eating disorder in this story. May be triggering.

The sections that are all italicized (except for this one) are memories (and in the first part, it's a monster in her dream talking). The ones that are normal are present day.

And now, onward! I hope you like it! Despite the angsty-ness…

…

Running. Running. Running. The monster is chasing her through the darkness; she can hear its footsteps thumping behind her as quickly as her heartbeat. The air is cold and weighs her down as she tries to escape. But it is no use. The monster is faster than her. Faster. Smarter. Prettier. Skinnier. Always, always, always better. It isn't an opinion, it's a fact. A simple fact that she has come to live with.

You will never be good enough.

The monster coos in her ear. She gasps, frightened at the chilling breath on her back. She stumbles and falls, tripping over her own feet. The skin is scraped off as her arms catch her fall. Blood is flowing, but she can't feel it.

Suddenly the monster is upon her. It sits down and begins to count her ribs. She squirms, but she can't escape the beast's iron grip.

There's more. There should be more. I can't see all of them!

She cringes at the monster's anger. She is so small and frail to stranger's eyes. At first glance, she would never be able to survive this kind of torture. But inside she is weathered and worn. This has become her normal. A daily occurrence.

And then the monster screams. She cries out, holding out her bloody arms as some sort of offering. The monster ponders this, but continues.

It's not enough.

It will never be enough.

You have failed.

…

She is shaken awake by a nurse. The plump one who wears too much blue eye shadow. Her breathing is heavy and sweat is dripping down the back of her neck, but she can't remember why.

"You were having a nightmare, dear," the nurse says quietly, fluffing her pillows and straightening the bed covers. It's as if she's reading her mind. She wishes the cosmetic-impaired nurse could answer all of her questions. The white-washed walls attack her eyes and swirl light in strange colors. The heart monitor beeps in the background and the IV drips slowly

Intravenous. They have her on that nasty, toxic mess. "Nutrients." Ha. Ha. Ha. Tubes in her nose. Tubes in her arms. Machines wheezing every second to keep her pathetic self alive. Why? Why do they have to do that? She's fine. F-I-N-E. Perfectly fine.

Beep. Drip. Fluff. Wheeze.

Through the chorus of onomatopoeias, she remembers.

…

It is a year before. An entire year before, when this all began.

Her parents are yelling. Fighting. Screaming. It makes her ears ring. Her head pounds with the volume. Sometimes she locks herself in the bathroom and leans her head against the cool tile, fingers plugging her ears, trying to find some peace and quiet. It never comes. Never ever.

Lillian wants to know why Mommy and Daddy are yelling so much. She doesn't know the answer, so she tries to avoid it. She gives the little girl presents and entertains her through the screams. When it becomes too much, she takes Lillian for ice cream. Ice cream makes her forget everything.

She wishes ice cream would fix her. Would make her forget. But now food seems more like the enemy than an ally. So she just watches Lillian as she scarves down a vanilla cone with rainbow sprinkles.

"Want a lick?" she asks sweetly (for once, as they're usually at each other's throats).

She shakes her head, "I'm fine."

"Why not?"

"It's yours."

"But I wanna share! Please Cornelia?"

Maybe sharing makes her feel like they're closer. She sighs and eats a small bite, a piece with the fewest sprinkles possible. The concoction melts in her mouth. It tastes better than anything has in days. She hasn't allowed herself to have ice cream for weeks. No, it's just been water and carrot sticks and crackers. Nothing creative, nothing full and fat and sugary and boasting. Plain. Simple. Empty.

But the ice cream tastes so good… She breaks down and orders another one for herself. She eats it all, and feels so full afterward she might burst.

When they get home, she goes into the bathroom and throws up. She doesn't really think about it. It is just a simple reaction. How else will she get rid of it?

All she knows is that while it was happening, it made the yelling go away. It made all of the pain and hurt go away, if only for a moment. And that is a gift, a skill, all in itself.

…

She has trouble sleeping. The noises of the hospital keep her awake, and when she does fall asleep, she is haunted by dreams. Nightmares. Monsters and demons and memories. She shouldn't be so terrified of beasts; she used to fight them daily. But these are of a different breed. She can't fight these with her magic. It is all in her head.

In her head. And yet so real at the same time.

The nurse reports to the doctor about her problems. How she is awake at all hours, mute, clawing at the covers. He comes in and examines her, just staring. Staring with hard, cold, hateful eyes.

"You girls make me sick. Why can't you just eat something? There's someone out there who actually needs this bed!"

Then he recommends sleeping pills and walks away. The nurse glares at the back of his head. Then she turns back to her, eyes sympathetic and full of pity.

"Don't worry, honey. He didn't mean that."

But he did. They all mean it.

…

At school they laugh. Everyone knows she is slipping. That her parents are fighting. That she is fat. Ugly. Horrible.

"Hey Blondie! I can hear your house halfway across town! What's going on in there?"

They're going to get a divorce. It's all your fault.

"Are you okay? You're looking a little…er… sick."

Fat ass.

"What happened to Miss. Fashion? You never just wear sweatshirts and jeans."

Ugly. Lazy.

No matter what they say or how many times her friends try to cheer her up, it's always the same. The words twist inside her head, stinging her with poison. She sinks lower and lower, the abyss ever widening.

Please, please, please, she wants to beg, stop adding salt to the wound.

…

Her family visits. Her friends visit. Someone is always coming in or out of her little room. Her little prison. Their smiling faces make her sick, but she puts on a show to be polite. The conversations bounce back and forth so many times it makes her throat dry just thinking about it.

Her mother

"We'll get through this, sweetie, I promise."

Her father

"So… um… feeling any better?"

Her sister

"I made you a card! See, it has me and you and Napoleon! We're all eating ice cream together! Well, not you. I knew you wouldn't want any…"

Will

"We miss you."

Irma

"I never thought you'd let something as stupid as food get to you, Corny."

Taranee

"Do they take care of you okay?"

Hay Lin

"These hospital outfits are so boring, don't you think? I should design you a new one!"

But no matter what they say, she eventually stops listening. It takes too much effort to pay attention. There's so much going on inside her mind…Focus makes her tired. The drugs make it easier to sleep. With sedated thoughts, the nightmares drift away. The hunger and sadness and pain all drift away until there is nothing left.

…

They talk while she is in a haze. While all she can think of are calories and exercise and lies, they talk. They talk and talk. Talk, talk, talk.

Her mother

"Are you dieting, sweetie? I was always dieting when I was your age! To be young again…"

Her father

"So… um… need a ride to school?"

Her sister

"Lets go get some ice cream! Please?"

Will

"Are you okay?"

Irma

"Are you gonna eat those fries, Corny? Cause I will… if you don't want 'em, I mean…"

Taranee

"Are you taking care of yourself? You look a little… pale."

Hay Lin

"What happened to your style? Want me to design you a new outfit?"

They talk and talk until she wants to hurt them. They talk and talk, until she finally screams at them to shut up and leave her alone.

…

Elyon visits. She knows they must see her as hopeless, because Elyon never visits. There's too much to do as the prissy dissy Queen of Meridian. No time for visiting the freaks in the psycho ward.

"Hi Cornelia."

Hi Elyon.

"I miss you."

I don't. Sorry. I've got more to worry about than you.

"The girls told me that you're sick. That you have an… eating disorder."

Sick? I'm not sick. Why would you think that?

"You look sick."

Thanks. Try looking in a mirror.

"Are you mad at me?"

Not really. Then again, I'm mad at everyone these days. So probably.

"If it's about Caleb, I thought we talked about it. You said it was okay."

Yeah, well sometimes I lie. Because I'm so considerate.

"He wanted to visit, too, but we thought it might be weird."

That would be an understatement. Why does he even care? He loves you, not me… and since when are you two a 'we?!'

"Are you going to talk to me at all?!" Elyon stares at her with worry and sadness in her eyes.

And then she realizes that she wasn't speaking. She was answering Elyon in her head the whole time. And she didn't even know.

Hmm… But she could've sworn her mouth was moving… Oh well. It must be the drugs. Because it's always something else.

…

"Is it okay if I date Caleb?"

She finds it funny. The Queen of Meridian is addressing her like a parent. Like she's asking permission to go to the movies. Ha. Ha.

"Because you guys used to date and everything, and I don't want you to be upset."

No. Of course she wouldn't be upset. She only loved him. And he only broke up with her because he hated who she was.

No. No problem at all.

"I just really like him, you know? And he likes me too."

That's good. So he hates her now. Obviously. Everyone does.

"Sure, Elyon. It's fine."

The Queen squeals like a little girl, "Thanks so much, Cornelia! I'm so happy! By the way, have you been working out? You're really… skinny."

She's glad Elyon is happy. As for the body comment, she can only reply coldly, "No, I'm not."

But no one knows it's what she really believes. That she really says "No, I'm not skinny. I'm this and this and this and this." The list goes on. All negative. Pessimistic.

And no one knows.

…

Her hair begins to fall out. It brings more emotion from her than anything has in a while.

She sits in bed and screams as the golden locks fall from her scalp. The nurse just picks them up and puts them in a plastic bag, saving them like a stupid souvenir. She gives her a hat to wear, but she refuses. If she is going to go bald, she may as well show it.

Her mother cries through her rages. Her friends try to comfort her.

"Calm down, Cornelia. It'll all be okay--"

"Calm down?! My fucking hair is falling out and you want me to calm down?!"

It almost makes them happy that she's worked up. Because only Cornelia, the old, vain, Cornelia, would care so much about her hair.

She screams during the day and sobs at night until all her hair is gone. Her head is smooth and bare, just like all of the old men down the hall. She takes scissors and cuts the fur off of all the stuffed animals she has been given as "get well presents." She then shreds them with her bare hands, throwing the stuffing around the room. She uses the scissors to trace a heart in her left wrist, smearing the beads of blood on her bald head.

After that, she is never given anything sharp. They threaten to tie her down, but she promises it won't happen again. And it won't.

She's already battling enough monsters inside her head. She already doesn't want to eat. She supposedly has this idiotic thing they call "anorexia." "Anorexia" and "depression" and an "anxiety disorder." She doesn't need to add self-mutilation to the list.

…

She is a little girl. She sits on her mother's bed with a hairbrush and sings a little song. As her mother brushes her little golden threads, she laughs, "You have such beautiful hair."

She visits many hair stylists. The best in town. They wash and treat her locks, forming them to perfection. As they examine her roots and ends and lovely color, they say, "You have such beautiful hair."

She meets many people. Being popular means always being in the spotlight. But they all say the same thing at least once. Some with happiness, some with jealousy, "You have such beautiful hair."

She sits with Caleb under the stars. Even though they're separated, from different worlds, they'll find a way to make it work. She knows they will. As his hand rests on her head, he whispers, "You have such beautiful hair."

She grows up. The world is broken. She is broken. And she no longer cares much about taking care of the mop on her head. And the words change.

"Your hair. It's so… so…"

It doesn't matter if they finish or not. She already knows how ugly her hair is. She's always known. It's been disgusting every since she was a little girl. Why must they add insult to injury?

…

One day she wakes up feeling empty. Empty, hollow. Weaker. Like someone came along and cut out all of her insides. It's so strange. How can anything be missing?

Then the girls visit. Sad. Frowning. They are always so upbeat. Why this?

"Kandrakar decided to take away your powers for a while. Until you… get better."

She recognizes this empty hole once more. So that is what's wrong. It feels like someone ripped out half of her heart. That's why she feels weaker… maybe her healing ability was trying to keep her around longer.

No more magic? No more controlling the earth? No more flowers?

It was the one thing that was always there. Amongst the chaos and uncertainty, she could always count on her powers to be there for her.

Not anymore. It strikes a chord within her… a painful one…

Oh well. She brushes it off quickly. She never liked moving stupid rocks, anyway.

…

"When was the last time you ate, Cornelia?"

The days and weeks have blurred together into one big, messy, lump. All of it is a struggle. She sets goals for herself. Just make it through a few more hours. The day is almost over. Almost. Then the week's almost over, and that's just another step forward to the end of the month and the end of the year and the end of this.

The only thing that makes it go faster is exercising. Skipping meals. Doing something productive. And productive is not transforming to fight silly little monsters.

Changing into her Guardian form used to bring joy. Now it just annoys her. Growing taller, stronger, "prettier." What's the point? She'll still be ugly and worthless either way.

Even transformed, she feels too weak to fight. Her powers won't do what she wants. They can grow flowers and split the ground in two. They can heal wounds. But they can't heal her. They can't put all of the chaos in her head to sleep. That makes them useless.

Eventually, when she stops getting out of bed (when anyone can see, anyway), the girls stop bringing her along. Her little green teardrop is released. It floats around her room, looking for her, lost. Soon it gives up and flies back to the Heart.

It makes her happy to see that little drop. Because no matter how horrible she is, it still wants to find her. It almost cares. Like a little person. A tiny, little, green person.

But then it stops coming. It stops looking for her.

She tells herself she doesn't care, because no one else does anymore.

While drawing Xs on her skin with a marker (wishing, ever wishing), she replies:

"I don't remember."

…

Caleb visits. She must be close to dead now. Why else would Caleb come? He hates her. Hates this form, anyway. Her human self. He only loved her Guardian form. But now he probably hates that side of her, too. That side doesn't exist anymore. Can you hate nothingness?

He doesn't say anything for a minute. He just stares at her. At her bald head and stick arms and pale face. At the healing heart on her wrist. At the tubes up her nose and the machines beeping next to her bed. She must look more like a cancer patient than a girl given the wrong diagnoses.

"What's wrong with you?"

Her eyes narrow. No one has ever asked this question before. They always tell her what's wrong. They never ask.

"Nothing."

He looks surprised. Elyon probably told him she wouldn't talk. But she's talking to him. Why?

"I don't understand what this sickness is they say you have… but it looks bad."

"I'm not sick."

"Then why do you look so ill?"

"Because they put me in here."

He shakes his head, "But this is a hospital. A place for sick people."

"Well, not me."

She crosses her arms. It feels strange to cross her arms while laying down. She hasn't sat up in a while. It's not like she needs to eat or anything. They pump the stupid intravenous in her like there's no tomorrow.

"You know, I still care about you."

She laughs. Short, quick, bitter. Full of pain.

"Yeah, sure."

"I do. Why can't you take care of yourself? I don't… like seeing you like this."

"No one cares about me."

"I just said I did!"

"You're lying. You love Elyon."

"So? Does that mean I can't… Is that why you're doing this?"

"No! This has nothing to do with you!" she screams, "All of you are so selfish! This has nothing to do with any of you! I'm fine!"

The heart monitor goes wild. A nurse comes running at the sound of the screams. She threatens her with a sedative if she doesn't calm down. Caleb is asked to leave. He can't stay. Her heart is unstable. If she is too excited, she could die.

So of course he walks away. She watches him go, almost regretful. He tried. He tried to do something. And she just pushed him away. What an idiot.

It's too bad he didn't say anything about her hair. Maybe then she really would've died…

…

She dreamed about him before they met. When they finally did, it was magic. She loved him with all her heart. But then he told her to go away. He didn't love her anymore.

No. He loved Elyon.

Elyon. She already had everything else. She was a queen! Did she really need the perfect boyfriend, too?

She tried not to think about it. She tried not to hate them for hurting her so much. It wasn't their fault. She just shouldn't be so jealous. She should feel nothing for them. Nothing.

But now the Guardians have to go to some stupid party. Elyon and Caleb are holding hands. Laughing. Kissing. She stays by the table filled with food, absentmindedly stuffing her face. It's something to think about besides her pain.

When she has a moment alone, she throws it all up. And like magic (ha ha), she feels better. Doing it makes her feel better. But afterwards, they are still there. Holding hands. Laughing. Kissing. Always there. And the pain is back again.

And people wonder how she can stick her fingers down her throat over and over again.

…

The beeping is loud. Very loud. It wakes her up.

It's early morning. She's tired even though she slept all night and for a long time yesterday. The room feels so cold. She shivers under her blankets. Did someone turn the air conditioning on?

She wants to yell to the nurse to ask for more covers, but her mouth won't move. Instead she stares out the window. There is a little bird sitting in a tree. Birds have wings. Birds can fly.

She used to have wings. But she could never fly.

She thinks that if she could only do one more thing in this world, she would want to fly. To grow wings big enough to carry her and soar.

But that's impossible. Humans don't fly. That's all she is now. Human. Not one ounce of magic left.

It should make her feel sad, but she can't remember how. She doesn't remember how to do anything.

She looks out the window for the bird, but it flew away.

Tired again. The air flowing in and out of her lungs is shallow and sharp. It stings her insides and makes her see the world in blotches of color.

A nap, she decides. So tired. A nap will be nice.

The beeping is silent. So silent. It puts her to sleep.

…

She sees everyone she ever lost. Everyone she is leaving behind.

But then they disappear.

…

It's such a nice day out. The wind is blowing as she sits in a tree, smiling down at all the people. All of the little people dressed in black. They're sitting outside in chairs and crying. A man is standing in front of a dead body, speaking to all of the people.

Why are they so sad? She isn't sad. There's nothing to be sad about! And she certainly isn't dressed appropriately, either. She looks down at herself in confusion. She is barefoot with a long, white dress. It's very pretty and floats when she walks. There is a wreath of pink flowers in her long, blonde hair. Will the people still let her watch them even if she doesn't fit in?

But no one seems to notice her. How rude. Well, they must be very sad, then.

She hops down from her tree and walks up the aisle to the dead thing everyone is so sad over. It's a bald girl. A very tall, bald girl. She looks sick. Her eyes are shrunken in and her face is pale. She is so skinny that all of her bones are visible. The face almost looks a little like her own, but it can't be. She looks nothing like that.

Maybe she had cancer, she thinks to herself quietly. That poor girl.

She turns away from the dead girl to look at the crowd. They are all sad. In front there are three people who look a lot like her, so they must be her family. There are also four girls. Maybe her friends? Another girl with straw-blond hair in braids, and a boy is with her. He has funny green things on his face.

This makes her laugh. She laughs very loud, but no one notices her. They all look right through her. These people really need to cheer up.

She turns back to Dead Girl. It looks so… ugly. Her face twists in disgust. Maybe she was pretty once, but now she's just too skinny to be beautiful. Smiling to herself, she takes the flower wreath and places it onto the bald head of Dead Girl. There. Much better.

She turns away and begins to walk back down the aisle. Flowers grow behind her with every step she takes. The girl with the braids looks surprised, staring at Dead Girl. Maybe she can see the flowers. Braids Girl then looks at the ground. Can she see the flowers from her feet, too? She smiles at Braids Girl and waves. The girl waves back with tears in her eyes.

Finally. Someone notices her!

"Elyon? What are you doing?" Green Face Boy asks.

Her name is Elyon? That's a nice name. It's pretty. She likes pretty things.

"Nothing… I just… nothing."

The Elyon girl turns away then, rubbing her eyes. But she doesn't look so sad anymore. Good. She likes making people feel better.

But there are so many sad people here. She can't make them all happy. Besides, whatever they are doing, it is very boring. Mourning over Dead Girl? If Dead Girl was alive, she is sure that Dead Girl would tell them all to go home. Because crying over her corpse is booring!

She giggles and walks away from them all, happiness flowing through her. The flowers continue growing down the aisle as she moves. Then she stops. She stops and turns her head to the sky, the wind blowing her golden hair free behind her.

With one last laugh, she spreads her wings. And she flies.

At least there was a semi-happy ending, huh? I hope you liked it!