Saturday 23 October pt 2

I was forced to eat dinner that night. I only ate the salad, most of it this time. I was disgusted in myself. And I didn't even get a chance to go to the bathroom after dinner. Soda had wanted me to hang around with him in the lounge room. Every time I told him I was going to our room or to the bathroom he would come up with a distraction to keep me in the room a little longer.

"Soda, I wanna go to bed," I told him, getting up from the couch. It was about oneAM and I just wasn't in the mood to hang around with him anymore. I felt horrible about eating, it had been on my mind all night.

I headed into our bedroom. I could hear Soda behind me, rushing to turn off the TV and the lights and follow me into the bedroom. Soda collapsed onto the bed while I got changed. He always slept in whatever he wore that day. I don't know how he could sleep in jeans but I never questioned it. He did some funny stuff sometimes.

I turned off the light and laid down on the bed. It felt like hours that I laid there. I kept checking the time, every three or four minutes. By one-thirty, Soda was asleep. Darry had gone to sleep about midnight, so I didn't have to worry about him.

I slowly rolled out of bed and walked across the room to the door. I went out into the hallway and shut the door behind me. I had to make sure everything was as it would be if I was still asleep. I walked down the hallway to the bathroom and went inside, making sure to be extra quiet when I shut the door since that door squeaked sometimes. What was I even doing in the bathroom? I was going to weigh myself. I turned on the light and the scales instantly caught my eyes. I didn't want anyone to catch me weighing myself. Like I said before, they might throw out the scales if they saw me.

I was a little nervous about stepping onto the scales since I didn't have a chance to go to the bathroom after I ate. I paced up and down the tiny room: exercise and I was trying to decide what to do. Should I vomit? Should I just weigh myself? Should I go back to bed? Should I confess what I've been doing?

I thought about that last one. I felt a little guilty about lying but it had to be done. I had to keep doing this until I got to my goal weight, 79 pounds.

And I did it. Without thinking I stepped onto the scales, staring straight down at the numbers swirling around until they stopped. 93. 93! For the millionth time that day, tears stung at my eyes. I stepped off the scales and leaned against the sink. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat but before I knew it I was on the ground crying. Curled up in a ball on the cold tiles and crying. Softly, as softly as I could so no one else heard me.

It can't be right. It can't be right. I've put on weight! No!

I realized what I was doing so I pulled myself together and stood up again, wiping away the tears. I took a deep breath as I stepped back on to the scales. 93. Fuck!

"Pony?" the door swung open and there stood Soda. I gasped, looking up at him. He was surprised too, staring at me standing on the scales, "Pony what're you doing? It's almost twoAM!" I shrugged and he rubbed his head.

"I-"

"Just come back to bed," he grabbed my arm, turned off the light and pulled me down the hallway back to bed.

Sunday 24 October

I woke up late the next morning, about 11:30AM. I noticed right away the cold spot next to me where Soda no longer was. Good, I didn't feel like going through his questioning about last night. He didn't ask anything last night after he found me but I bet he was telling Darry about it right now.

I got out of bed and went straight for the bathroom. That number was still etched into my brain. And it just couldn't be right.

As I walked down the hall I noticed it was unusually quiet.

"Soda? Darry?" I called out, peeking out of the end of the hallway into the lounge room. No one. I walked into the bathroom and shut the door quietly behind me. Just in case they were still in the house and were just waiting for me to go into the bathroom. But the first thing I noticed when I walked into the bathroom was the empty spot. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Darry? Soda" I called out again. No answer. I even tried again, yelling louder this time. And again there was no answer. Perfect. I'd get rid of that stupid number in no time.