Perfectly Thin, page 14
I grab my backpack and my phone off its charger, and head out to the kitchen.
Dad’s drinking his morning coffee, playing a game on his tablet. “You ready?” Dad asks without lifting his eyes off his game.
“Yeah. Give me a second, I need a bottle of water.” I walk over to the fridge, open it and grab the water.
“My God, Jane. How much weight have you lost?”
“Huh?” I turn to see Dad staring at me with his mouth open. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve lost a lot of weight. Seriously, look at your legs. They’re so skinny.”
I look down and see my chubby legs. They’re far from skinny. They look gross and fat. “Ah, yeah okay. Look, they jiggle.” I hit my thighs, making the fat wave back and forth.
“It’s impossible for you to have an ounce of fat on you, Jane. Impossible. You honestly have lost so much weight. Have you weighed yourself recently?”
“No, I have a schedule I want to keep to. I don’t want to become too obsessive over weighing myself.” I walk over to where Dad keeps his car keys, grab them, and toss them to him. Dad catches them easily. “Nice catch,” I say as I smile. Dad can’t seem to stop looking at me. I want to shy away so he won’t. “What?” I finally ask.
“Your mother has to take you to get new clothes. Those are way too big.”
“No, they’re not.” I look down at the tights, and lift the fallen shoulder of the long-sleeve t-shirt.
“She says as she adjusts the clothes that are too big on her. You need new clothes, Jane.”
“Well, no use in buying anything yet. I still have some weight I need to lose.”
“From where?” Dad asks, slightly raising his voice. “There’ll be nothing left of you.”
Dad’s obviously wearing his rose-colored glasses because I’m his daughter. If only he took them off and was truthful with me. He’d see exactly how obese I am. “I’m ready when you are, old man,” I mockingly tease.
“Old man? Old man!” he says as his voice breaks. “Old man!”
I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, you’re like sixty-something, right?”
He stands with his mouth gaping open, then stumbles back as he clutches at his chest. “My heart is breaking.” He fake cries.
Shaking my head, I walk away. “Well you’re not getting any younger, so you better hurry up before the last of your hair falls out.”
“First, it’s my age, now you’re attacking my thinning hair? I’m not sure I can deal with all this abuse from you, Jane.” He walks past me, and playfully nudges me with his shoulder. Then turns and pushes me toward the hallway wall. I catch myself before I make contact with the wall, and laugh.
“That wasn’t very nice.” Dad turns to mock-scowl at me. “Old man,” I mumble under my breath.
Dad narrows his eyes at me as I walk past him, laughing.
Dad locks the house, and gets to his car before I do. He unlocks it with the fob, gets in and waits for me to put my seatbelt on. “So...” he starts as he backs out of the driveway.
“So,” I say, not knowing where the conversation is going.
“Your birthday.” Ugh, yeah. My birthday. The air leaves my body leaving me deflated. “You’ll be eighteen soon.”
“Yep,” I reply, with no enthusiasm.
“Aren’t you happy you’ll be turning eighteen? Eighteen is a year closer to being a fully-fledged adult.”
“Really?” I look at Dad as he drives toward school. “When have I ever been just a kid?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve always felt like I’m older than I am. Because Daphne and Cleo are closer in age, I’ve always kinda felt like I was the odd one out, with the three of us. I kinda just did my own thing. I don’t feel like I’m closer to adulthood, Dad. It’s no big deal, it’s only my eighteenth, hey?”
“Only your eighteenth? Eighteen is such an important time of your life. You’ll be graduating high school, going off to college, and molding the life you want. Don’t you think that’s important?”
I haven’t even applied to any colleges, I’m not sure I want to go. I don’t even know if I can go with the grades I’ve been getting. I haven’t shown my parents my report card yet; they’ll see eventually. Anyway, I don’t even think I want to go, I mean, I’ll be the fattest person on campus, and I already get stares at school. Why would I put myself in a position where more people will look, and whisper things about me? “Yeah, I suppose,” I say, tuning out to what feels like a lecture.
“Life is beautiful, Jane. You just have to embrace it, and want it.”
Ha. What I want is to be thin enough that I blend in and don’t stand out everywhere I go. I can’t even go to the mall without people casting their gaze on me from top to bottom. “Okay,” I reply with a nod. It’s not okay, nothing’s okay, everything is screwed so badly. But Dad wouldn’t understand, no one would. Unless you’re fat, then maybe you’d get how I’m feeling. Even then, probably not.
Dad pulls up in front of the school, and I check the time on the dash of the car. Awesome, I’m actually early by nine minutes. I can go walk the track and get in some calorie burning. “Have a great day at school. Want me to pick you up?”
“Nah, it’s okay. I’ve got some homework, so I’ll probably use the library before I come home.” I just lied to Dad. And I lied so easily.
“Oh, well I can pick you up once you’ve finished.”
“I like walking, Dad. I’ll see you at home. Probably about four-thirty?”
“Okay, well, if you change your mind, text me.”
“Thanks, Dad. Love you,” I say as I close the door.
“Love you too.” Dad pulls away from the curb, and I head to the back of the school where the track is. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I see several texts from Emma and Presley asking where I am.
Just got to school, but I’m walking the track. I’ll be a few moments. I send a group text to both of them.
Emma sends a thumbs-up emoji, and Presley replies with, K.
I start walking the track, but notice how slowly I’m actually walking. This speed isn’t going to make up enough calories for me missing my walk to school. What if I add some rocks into my bag? I wonder if a heavier backpack means I’ll burn more calories? In theory, it should work. I look around for something heavy to carry in my bag to add weight, and I find a pile of rocks. Walking over to them, I lift a few trying to judge how heavy they are without any form of scales. Maybe they weigh half a pound each. Better than nothing, I guess. I stick four in my bag, and lift it to place it on my back.
“Man,” I say. “That’s heavy. Well, no pain, no gain.”
I notice how there are a few people out here, most sitting on the bleachers, or in the middle of the field. No one is paying attention to me, which makes me happy. I keep walking the track until I hear the bell sound for the start of the day. Those rocks must’ve done something, because I’m breaking a sweat.
It was a good idea. I think I’ll start adding weight to my bag every day. That way, I know I’ll burn more weight faster.
Weigh-in day. Ugh, I’m dreading it, absolutely fearful of what those scales are going to say to me. I pull the covers up closer and hug them to my body. I don’t want to get out of bed. I just don’t. I know those scales are the devil. They’re going to lie to me, and tell me how I haven’t lost any weight. Or worse, I’ve put more on.
I’ve been taking laxatives religiously. Actually, on some days, when I’m feeling particularly fat, I take an extra one. But I never take them in the morning on a school day. I remember what happened with Carson, and I don’t need that happening to me too. Not with my rotten luck.
It’s my birthday tomorrow, and I’m not looking forward to it. I don’t want anyone to fuss over me. I really don’t. I just want to do my own thing, sit in my room, and listen to music, or sleep.
The light is breaking through the curtains, and shining straight into my eyes, making it difficult for me to go back to sleep.
I’m tired though.
Really, really tired. If I could, I’d stay in bed all day.
Get up, Jane, you have to see how much weight you’ve gained.
My mind is consumed, every thought running through it is about my weight. I highly doubt I’ve lost anything. I think, if anything, I’ve put weight on. God, why does being a girl have to be so hard? Men have it easy. They don’t have to worry about their weight. They can eat whatever they want. Hell, they can even be fat and no one even notices.
“Just get your ass up, and check your weight,” I lecture myself.
I don’t want to, because I know it’ll be a shit result. I just know in my gut that I’ve put weight on.
I’m dragging this out, as much as I can.
Just get it over with.
Summoning all my courage, I prepare for utter and total disappointment. I fling the covers back, and lay in bed for a few more moments.
Taking a deep breath, I’m mentally preparing myself for the ridiculousness of a weigh in. Why do I punish myself like this? Who cares what the number is? I don’t.
Who am I kidding? Of course I care. I want fourteen pounds. I really, really want that number.
But reality and expectations don’t always align. Hell, I know I haven’t done enough. I’ve actually eaten more than my half a cup of food on many nights, and I know all that’s done is put on weight. Not to mention the stupid candy debacle with the Skittles.
Yum, Skittles. I swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth. I love Skittles so, so much.
Exhaling a large breath, and with a brave heart, I get my fat ass out of bed. Once I’ve taken care of morning business, I completely strip, down to my underwear, and I slide the scales out. Last weigh in was one hundred and sixty-four pounds. God, please don’t let me have put on too much weight.
Closing my eyes, I feel with my foot where the scales are.
My heart’s racing like crazy, and my skin is tingling with anticipation. But my stomach is cramping, and hurting. It knows I’ve put on weight.
“Please God, if you’re real, don’t let me have put on more than one pound. I’m not sure I’m ready for such disappointment.”
I let out another long breath, tilt my head down, and open my eyes.
What?
Is this some kind of sick joke?
Really?
I step off the scales, wait for them to turn off, then press my foot on it to make sure they’re working.
I step on them again, and wait for the number to stop flashing red.
“What the...” I look around the bathroom. Someone’s been messing with the scales. I throw my clothes on, and go in search of Mom. “Mom?” I call not finding her in her office, or in the kitchen. “Mom!” I call with more urgency.
I don’t hear her respond.
Where is she?
Who’d do something so cruel to me? Do they think it’s funny?
“Mom!”
“Out in the back,” I hear her calling from the door of my grandparents’ flat.
“Did you do something to the scales?” I ask as I approach the back door of our home.
Mom’s standing at the door, with her head tilted to the side, and her eyes wide open. “What?”
“Did you do something to the scales?”
“What are you talking about, Jane? And good morning to you too.”
“The scales, Mom. The scales!” I yell at her. “Did you do something to them?”
She closes her eyes, and rubs at her forehead. “I have no idea what’s going on here. What scales are you talking about?”
My jaw clenches, and my teeth rub together. “It’s not that hard, Mom. The scales we use to weigh ourselves. Did. You. Do. Something. To Them?”
“First of all, stop being an ass and talking to me like I’m the enemy. Second of all, I forgot about those damn things ages ago. And third, no I haven’t done anything to them. Is that all?” she snaps back at me.
“Ugh,” I grumble loudly as I walk away. “This is bullshit,” I yell even louder.
“Hey!” Mom calls me back.
Rolling my eyes, I return to her. “What?”
“Calm down, Jane. You’re acting like a...”
“What? A bitch?” I spit.
“You know I hate that word as much as you do, and I’ve never said that about anyone. But right now, your behavior is like a little two-year-old brat. You’re throwing a tantrum, and you’re all strung-out, and I have no idea what’s going on.”
I huff again, shaking my head, I look away from her. Crossing my arms in front of me, I refuse to look at Mom. “Don’t worry about it.”
Turning, I leave and head back to the bathroom. I try the scales again. The number is the same for a third time.
I decide to try once more. They’ve got to be broken. They just have to be.
The same number comes up for a fourth time. I’m so angry. We need new scales. I can’t use these again. They’re broken, obviously. Nobody loses sixteen pounds in fourteen days. That’s impossible.
I haven’t done enough to lose sixteen pounds. There was that day Dad took me to school, and I missed my morning walk. Then there was the candy I got in my mouth. And the Greek salad. All of those things add up to extra pounds on, not pounds off.
Those scales are lying. Why, why do this to me? Why play me like this? I want to pick them up and throw them, but I know I can’t. I’m so angry, I clench my hands into fists. My body is shaking, and my jaw is so tight, it feels like I’m drawing blood in my gums. My entire body is so tense, I feel like I’m on the edge of explosion.
Who’d do this?
Who? But more importantly, why? Why screw with me?
I want to cry, and I want to punch something too. This is too much. I can’t believe someone would be so cruel to me.
I push the stupid scales back under the bathroom cabinet, and sit on the edge of the bathtub, staring at them as they slightly poke out.
The only person I know who’d sabotage me like this is Cleo. But she’s gone back to college, so I know it can’t be her.
The only logical explanation is that the scales are broken.
There’s no other rational or plausible answer. The scales are broken, I’ve put on weight, and we need new scales.
I bring my hand up to my mouth in realization that I broke the scales. I must be too fat for them. Oh my God. My fat ass destroyed the scales. Have I really put on so much weight, that now I destroy everything I stand on?
Tears well in my eyes, making it hard for me to see. But I have to pull myself together because if Mom sees me like this she’s going to think something’s wrong. And something is wrong. I’m fat and I’m breaking things.
I swallow back the lump in my throat, and take several deep breaths, calming before I get ready for school and face the world.
How can people look at me and not be disgusted?
How can I look at myself?
My shoulders fall forward, and my head is hanging low with shame as I walk back into my bedroom to get ready for school. I don’t want to go. I’m tired, and angry, but most of all, I’m upset at myself.
I haven’t done enough to lose weight, obviously. And now the scales are broken, I won’t really know what I weigh. I’ve probably put on so much weight. Shit, that damn candy and the salad. Those culprits have made me stack back on everything I’ve lost.
I slide a t-shirt on, and the stupid thing slides off one of my shoulders.
“Great!” I say through a clenched jaw. “Another t-shirt ruined and stretched in the wash. How many more are like this?” I search for something which hasn’t been widened and been destroyed in the wash. I find something I haven’t worn since my freshman year, and pull it over my head.
“Are you kidding me?” I take the stupid t-shirt off and throw it with so much force across the room. It hits the back of my door, but because it’s thin material, it makes no noise at all as it lands on the plush, gray carpet.
“This day is already bullshit,” I say as frustration builds. “What dresses do I have?” I look through my wardrobe, and find a flowy, black, and purple dress. It has thin straps, and I wouldn’t normally wear it because it’s way too small on me. Mom bought it for me when I wasn’t such a ball of flab. “God, I hope you fit,” I say to the dress as I wiggle into it.
I look at myself in the mirror. “Huh?” Turning, I try to search around the room. “Wait.” My gaze goes back to my reflection, and I look kinda decent. I turn sideways, and nearly gag when I see my huge stomach protruding from the dress. “Nope, not without a cardigan.” I grab one of my cardigans, and put it on. Thankfully, it hides the bulges sticking out everywhere.
Really, there’s not one single thing appealing about me. Nothing. My hair is brown and lifeless. My skin has started to break out. My body is hideously fat and revolting. There’s nothing nice about me.
And now, all my clothes have stretched out, and I can’t wear them.
Fuck. My. Life.
“Hey, you’re looking really nice today, Jane,” Emma says when she sees me walking toward my locker.
“Don’t even start,” I say as I hold up my hand.
“What’s wrong?” She opens her locker, which is only a few away from mine, slides her bag in, but takes out her laptop.
“This.” I grab the bottom part of the dress, and hold it out.
“It’s nice. I haven’t seen you wear it before.”
“That’s because everything in my closet has been destroyed by our washing machine, or dryer. I don’t know,” I quickly add. “Anyway, I think I need to buy some clothes tomorrow. What time’s my party?”
“Oh, that’s what’s wrong. Destroyed clothes eaten by the washing machine. I always have missing socks.” Emma laughs. “You weren’t supposed to know about the party, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. I have no idea about it, at all.” I smile. “But I’m wondering what time we have to be back for it.”
“Your Mom has instructed us to keep you out until five.”
