- Joined
- Jul 28, 2009
- Messages
- 23
- Age
- 28
- Location
- Joyriding the TARDIS.
- Website
- www.brittahnayy.livejournal.com
A/N: This is a Oneshot, and will remain so. I wrote it for English class. All you really need to know to get it is that Amy = girl turning anorexic because of stress, Alex = her boyfriend who often has nightmares that cause him to injure himself in his sleep. 
Anything in " "s is the 'dictator' inside Amy's head. Basically she's not very well in the head.
~~
Amy stared at her hands, her thin, wrinkled hands. Maybe the lines she saw were the ones meant to be there- that spread up and form your fingerprints and give you an identity. It wasn't as if Amy didn't know who she was- if anything was true, it was that she was sure of herself. She knew who she was. A sad, pathetic girl under the rule of an inner dictator.
She kept track of everything. Calories, spoonfuls..
But these hands changed faster than even she could keep track of. Once they were only calloused, but now they were softer, her nails shorter and chipped. One night she had bitten them until they had reddened and stung, and Alex had to wrap them up in bandages until they grew back.
She couldn't help it. She bit them when she was feeling anxious, and lately she was always anxious. She'd sit by his bed, staring, making sure that every twitch wasn't a spasm.
“He has a bad nightmare one night, just one night Amy, and you smother him.”
Chances were he wasn't getting any sleep at all. When he had enough time to fall into a dreamless slumber, he'd always wake up knowing she was there. It was possible that her presence...didn't comfort him anymore.
Amy knew he loved her. In any case, that was all she had left to believe in, so she had to think that.
"What happened to you Amy? What happened to your freedom? Now all you do is worry. Your skin is paler than it’s ever been. You're not pretty anymore. Well, you never were pretty. But you were alright to look at. Now you're paper-white and half starved, and the rough, jutting edges of your bones have replaced all your curves. You're not thin. Thin is pretty."
Stop thinking that way. Yes, she was starved, but mostly on the inside. Now she had school, now she had a boyfriend. Suddenly she had to live up to expectations she had never faced when living with her father. He had never cared about her appearance. He was blunt with words and a rough critic, but his words had never hurt her.
The girls at school used words that hurt. Insults like knives that stabbed at her heart and made doubt seep through the cracks in her confidence. But words weren't meant to hurt.
"My words hurt. You feel it, don't you? Down to your toes- it spreads fast, your blood is thinning and your heart is weak. You're weak. But when you thrust your fingers down your throat, you get a little power back. Power over yourself, over the instincts of your weak, starving body. Get the poison out of you and let your teeth rot in the acid that washes over them. You're strong for now, with a purpose, but if you give that up, you'll have nothing.”
“Don’t stop now.”
She was 5’7 - 83 pounds.
“83, 82, 81, 80, then you’re perfect.”
Who’s counting?
“I am.”
If the dictator was counting, then she couldn't stop. She'd be punished- she'd suffer worse than she did at the sight of food. Hunger - a raw, animalistic hunger that she'd come to recognize. She no longer thought 'I want to eat' - it was now a need. She was starving the moment she glanced upon a piece of gum- something that wouldn't even fill her empty, breaking down body.
“See, it’s evil.”
83, 82, 81, 80, then I’ll be perfect.
“Who’s counting?”
I am.
Anything in " "s is the 'dictator' inside Amy's head. Basically she's not very well in the head.
~~
Amy stared at her hands, her thin, wrinkled hands. Maybe the lines she saw were the ones meant to be there- that spread up and form your fingerprints and give you an identity. It wasn't as if Amy didn't know who she was- if anything was true, it was that she was sure of herself. She knew who she was. A sad, pathetic girl under the rule of an inner dictator.
She kept track of everything. Calories, spoonfuls..
But these hands changed faster than even she could keep track of. Once they were only calloused, but now they were softer, her nails shorter and chipped. One night she had bitten them until they had reddened and stung, and Alex had to wrap them up in bandages until they grew back.
She couldn't help it. She bit them when she was feeling anxious, and lately she was always anxious. She'd sit by his bed, staring, making sure that every twitch wasn't a spasm.
“He has a bad nightmare one night, just one night Amy, and you smother him.”
Chances were he wasn't getting any sleep at all. When he had enough time to fall into a dreamless slumber, he'd always wake up knowing she was there. It was possible that her presence...didn't comfort him anymore.
Amy knew he loved her. In any case, that was all she had left to believe in, so she had to think that.
"What happened to you Amy? What happened to your freedom? Now all you do is worry. Your skin is paler than it’s ever been. You're not pretty anymore. Well, you never were pretty. But you were alright to look at. Now you're paper-white and half starved, and the rough, jutting edges of your bones have replaced all your curves. You're not thin. Thin is pretty."
Stop thinking that way. Yes, she was starved, but mostly on the inside. Now she had school, now she had a boyfriend. Suddenly she had to live up to expectations she had never faced when living with her father. He had never cared about her appearance. He was blunt with words and a rough critic, but his words had never hurt her.
The girls at school used words that hurt. Insults like knives that stabbed at her heart and made doubt seep through the cracks in her confidence. But words weren't meant to hurt.
"My words hurt. You feel it, don't you? Down to your toes- it spreads fast, your blood is thinning and your heart is weak. You're weak. But when you thrust your fingers down your throat, you get a little power back. Power over yourself, over the instincts of your weak, starving body. Get the poison out of you and let your teeth rot in the acid that washes over them. You're strong for now, with a purpose, but if you give that up, you'll have nothing.”
“Don’t stop now.”
She was 5’7 - 83 pounds.
“83, 82, 81, 80, then you’re perfect.”
Who’s counting?
“I am.”
If the dictator was counting, then she couldn't stop. She'd be punished- she'd suffer worse than she did at the sight of food. Hunger - a raw, animalistic hunger that she'd come to recognize. She no longer thought 'I want to eat' - it was now a need. She was starving the moment she glanced upon a piece of gum- something that wouldn't even fill her empty, breaking down body.
“See, it’s evil.”
83, 82, 81, 80, then I’ll be perfect.
“Who’s counting?”
I am.