Bitter Sweet

Not exactly a story, just like a exert I wrote. Enjoy.

Her fingers tasted like acid. She forgot to wash them. Still squatting on her knees, she leans over to the bathroom sink, turned the water on hot, pumped some hand soap into her palm and sticks it back under the running faucet. She has to hurry though, she doesn’t know how long it’ll take for food to completely settle in her saggy stomach or be digested completely.

She was a total newbie at this whole thing. Many would disagree or reluctantly agree. But screw them, she’d always thought. It’d never been anybody’s business but hers. The thought had crossed her mind more than she count and she had bent over the same toilet bowl more than once. But the courage was never mustered up (or maybe I should say cowardice?) enough to truly fulfill the act. And now here she was, accomplishing something she’s wondered about for years.

The pink she recognized from today’s strawberry milkshake she got at McDonalds. The rest must be what she was hoping for: the rest of her lunch, the granola cereal. She had to stick her first two fingers all the way down, as far as she could and just kept wiggling and wiggling until she hit the right spot. Her stomach lurched, still not really able to recognize this unknown force in its body and what that force is trying to do. But a couple more wiggles and the belly finally obliged. It poured over her fingers and the smell repulses her, almost egging her on again but more naturally. Tears roll down her already soiled face, whether from crying or the body reacting she can’t distinguish. Why should she be crying anyway? No one’s doing this to her, except her. It’s not the pressure given by the family; no one hits or abuses her. And she’d never sink to the neurotic level of doing it for those cruel critics she has to see every day. She wouldn’t ever do this to make them happy. She’s doing it for herself.

Her face was stained with a mix of water, soiled and salty; her nose ran and dripped with enormity and she shook violently from the inside out next to the toilet. The music still pounded in her ears; the music that was able to motivate her and distract her at the same time. She noticed that the skin on her first finger had become even more torn and she wondered why. The answer that came to her was so obvious she had to laugh quietly. The skin had started coming up just a couple days ago, the same length of days from her first time. Those were just one of the perks.

Her eyes were cloudy and red as she finally rose and looked in the mirror. The wash cloth she’d been using to wipe the filth from her fingers and nose during the process was ran under the hot water and scrubbed. She pressed it lightly to her face, trying to calm and clean at the same time. Her back hurt immensely for some odd reason and her throat and stomach felt alien. She piled on toothpaste onto her toothbrush and brushed as much as she could without making her gums bleed. She brushed her tongue too before she spit. She ringed out the washcloth again and put it to her face. Because of the make-up she was wearing and the fact that she actually kind of liked it, she avoided wiping her eyes. It wasn’t every day her make-up actually played up her eyes and made the brown sparkle.

She wasn’t this pathetic basket case with no self-esteem at all. In fact, some days she felt like she was on top of the world; and others helped. Even today, a friendly face smiled and was sincere in their compliment, making her feel proud. She only started a couple days ago, so the credit wasn’t totally spent. But she felt that this would be one less worry she could add to the small list. And maybe it could be one step closer to her being happy. She had never felt that happiness that came to others so easily. When you’re happy, better things could happen to you. She believed that. She believed she wanted to be happy for once in her life and she’d do whatever it takes to achieve that. It used to be like a taboo to her for these kinds of things. She thought of it as cheating and it wouldn’t feel as good when it was all accomplished. But now, it doesn’t even matter to her or poke her mind. In life, sometimes cheating is the fairest thing.

When everything was washed she took another look at herself. She wore the clothes that would look great if she were smaller, now it was gross; barely even okay to wear inside the house, let alone out. She threw the cloth in the garage with the rest of the dirty clothes and such and when she passed her sleeping mother she prayed to deities that she wouldn’t notice if she smelled or maybe she had heard her retching in the back. Nothing out of whack was noticed so she walked briskly back to the bathroom. The smell overwhelmed her. She had already flushed the pink evidence down, but the smell still lingered. It would pass eventually though so it wasn’t worried about. Her tossed jacket was found on the tiled floor which was picked up and zipped back on before she switched the lights off.    

 

Author's Note

Just give me your honest opinion. But with some constructive critisism.