Thin

Chapter Four - Pain

Chapter Four – Pain

With my stomach growling loudly, I paddle my way into the kitchen.  It was quarter past 6 in the morning and with all the lights off in the house, my bed was more inviting to me than ever. With the pounding headache that throbbed in my temple, school was going to more difficult than I have the energy for.

        Waking up at three o’clock in the morning, lying on the cold floor of the hallway, I dragged my hurting self to the couch in the living room. I hadn’t trusted myself to climb the stair to my warm bed, so I curled up with the bright red pillow that sat on the side of the couch and waited for sleep to come. Although it wasn’t the most comfortable decision, it certainly was the smartest. It was a good thing that Dad didn’t usually get home until after I go to school or that wouldn’t have been the easiest thing to explain.

         Opening the fridge, I take out the carton of milk and place it on the island behind me. I take a couple of steps over to the drawer that holds the silverware, and pull out an average sized spoon. Reaching my hand up, I grab a white bowl out of the cabinet.  Walking to the pantry to get out the Cheerios, I place that next to the bowl. Taking a few deep breathes; I close my eyes, willing myself not to be tempted with the food.

         I pour a small amount of Cheerios in the bowl, and then I pour enough milk onto it, so that it’s all wet. Sticking my spoon in it, I slowly swirl it around so that a few stray Cheerios stick to the side. Setting the bowl back down on the island, I grab the milk carton and place that in the fridge. Picking up the box of cereal, I put that back.

         I pick up the bowl once again and walk over to the sink with it in my hands. Careful not to get any in the actual sink, I pour the contains of my “breakfast” down the drain.  Purposely not cleaning the bowl, - the few stray Cheerios still on there- I place it in the corner of the sink. My dad won’t know I didn’t eat it. When I get home, he’ll yell at me for not cleaning it out but that’s all.

         If my dad was actually home for breakfast, I’d be 25 pounds fatter. He’d defiantly make me eat something, to “boost” my metabolism and make more “energized” for the new day. Whatever. I don’t need the food; I am a strong girl. Sure, my head hurts, my stomach is killing me and I’d rather curl under the covers and give up on life but I’m not eating. Strong,  Kyleigh.

        Ugh, that freakin’ headache is getting worse. Aspirin time for Ky. With my feet eerily making the only noise in the whole house, I make my way into the downstairs bathroom. Avoiding my reflection in the mirror by closing my eyes quite firmly, I pull on the right side of the mirror. Normally it would open fairly easily and you’d barely have to tug; but no, today it had to get stuck. I pull it again; unfortunately I end with the same results as the time before.

         “Ugh!” I grunt at the stupid thing.

        Tugging at it with all my strength, it opens with a loud bang as the side slams against the wall. Greedily taking the bottle of Aspirin, I pop open the safety cap. I don’t even bother getting a glass of water; I just pop three pills into my mouth and swallow. It feels weird going down, but at least it went down. All I have left to do is wait for it to kick in. I screw the bottle cap back on the bottle, and then I place it on the little shelf in the cabinet. I shut the door to it properly, thus it becoming a mirror once again.  I don’t catch my reflection in the surface on the mirror as I walk away from the sink and rush up the stairs to my room.

        Opening my closet door, I take a step back with a wrinkle on my forehead and my mouth in a twist. Like every other girl in the world, I stare at all the clothes in my closet yet I don’t know what to wear. I could wear jeans, or some sweats, or a pair of shorts…hm, maybe even a dress. I have absolutely no idea whatsoever on what I want to wear. Playing Enie Meanie Mo in my head, I chose my nice white Hollister dress. Pulling the sweaty tank top off over my head, I slip out of the old pair of comfy cotton shorts and my pair of cotton underwear. Switching out the sports bra I was currently wearing with the lacey push-up bra, I pull on a random pair of underwear that was in the drawer. I then slip into the dress with my feet.

         I bend down and grab the clothes from the floor and toss them into the open dirty hamper that sits in the corner of my room, near my doorframe. Opening my closet door fully, I can see my whole shoe collection in one glance. I pull the out flip flops with the navy strap on it, to match the ribbon on the dress.  I toss those on my bed, so that when I walk out the door I’ll remember them.

         As soon as I release them, there’s a shooting pain in my side.  It feels as if someone took a knife and cut off some of my body; that’s how much it hurts. I’ve never been in this much pain before in my whole entire life; not even when I fell from a tall tree and break my right hand and it shattered. Why does it hurt so much? As soon as that one finished, another one got worse. I crumbled over from the blow of it. When the next one hits, I silently rock myself back and forth in a fetus position. Tears soundlessly pour from my eyes, making my cheeks wet and my vision blurred. I had the odd urge to call out to Daddy and for him to kiss my side and make it all better. I just rock there for some minutes; rocking until the pain fades.

        I take a deep breath before slowly rising myself off of the cool wooden boards of the floor.  The world is still a bit blurry and it looks like everything is swaying to an invisible wind, but other than that I’m okay. I glance at the digital clock that sits on the desk; it reads 6:59 a.m. I still have almost an hour until I have to go to school, dear lord. I can go this.

         I have to.