crash&burn.

I'm alive again, in the world. I forgot the world some time ago, forgot it and left it behind and all the people in it.

But here I am. I'm doing something normal, fifteen years old and at a mall. M and C and The Friend are here, people dragged from the past.

I laugh and laugh and smile and I really am happy. But then there's the whine that cracks from M's lips: "I'm hungrrrrrrreeeee."

I feel the hunger, too. It's gnawing and spitting my insides out my mouth everytime I'm near a toilet.

But at the food court I am good, so good, and I drink Diet Coke. When M holds a cheese fry out to me, I shake my head and take the ice out of my drink and crunch my teeth down on it, even though I am so cold.

The soda filled me too much so I smile and say "I'll be right back.". In the mall bathroom I try to bring it up, but little black pools of goo and water is all that will come.

I feel transparent after coming out, like everyone can see through me and all I am is a walking pit of black goo in my belly connected to my mouth by stinging bile.

I cringe when I go through the racks of clothes, picking up this, picking up that. Setting everything down. "I'm too fat for everything in this store." The words didn't have permission to leave my mouth but they did.

"Arianna, you are skinny," M says, eyebrows raised, emphasis on skinny.

I try to flit away from her, I didn't mean to talk.

"I swear, you're thinner than me. Look, you're tiny," she tells me as I pass a mirror.

"No," is all I can say, and I keep walking. I blindly grab a dress so I can escape to the fitting room.

I put it on and it's too small, pinching my waist and squeezing. I look at the label. It's the smallest size they have, that's why.

When I come out everyones mouths smile and say I look great, but The Friend thinks it's too big.

For brief moments I shine through, but most of the time I was so happy this day.

After hours of walking we go back and I eat two cups of salad and 1/4 cup of broccoli and a tablespoon of light dressing. I fry burgers and make noodles for M, The Friend, and C.

At night, when everyone has crept away, M smiles at me. "You've changed so much. You seem much happier. Less self-destructive."
I nod. Yes, happier. Less self-destructive.

She traces a thick line on my ankle and her mouth blows out wordbubbles. "How old is this?"

"Old, old...Old." I say. It is old. Four months old. But the ones on the tops of my thighs are electric pink and deep purple and sometimes shiny black.

"Good," she says, beaming. "You don't do it anymore, right?"
I nod. "No."
Her smile is better than ever then, the best thing.

The next day, there's food and cakes and barbeque and chips. I eat 3/4 of a cucumber, a bit of tofu, half a bun. But I forget to drink and the next day I woke up dehydrated.

I'm in my bathing suit, boy shorts and a tank top, when C sees and points. "Cuts," he says. My shorts slipped up and they show themselves.

I stand up and pretend to have not heard him. But he'll tell C when they go to his apartment tonight.