Chapter 5 - Pretend

Another whoosh of light sends me to a kitchen. In the middle of the kitchen is a girl. She has her school uniform on and a lunchbox open in front of her. But she isn’t packing it, just staring at it like it holds the secrets of the world.

A woman comes in, I assume the girl’s mother, and tells her she needs to eat breakfast. I manage to figure out that the girl’s name is Abby. Abby insists she isn’t hungry, but her mother won’t take no for an answer. I wonder what my life might have been like if I had a mother who cared about me.

Begrudgingly, Abby eats breakfast. I can practically hear her silently counting calories. After breakfast she goes to her room to ‘brush her teeth’. I follow her, it isn’t really by choice, this ghost thing is getting really annoying. And sad.

I quickly find that she has not come to her room to brush her teeth. Instead, she takes her toothbrush and puts it into her mouth, or rather the back of her throat. She silently throws up in her toilet for a few minutes before flushing the toilet, throwing cold water on her face, and walking out of the bathroom while sucking a mint.

I see now the pain behind her eyes, the way her posture makes her look smaller. The way she crosses her arms over her stomach and hides behind her oversized school jumper. I feel a twinge of something, though I’m not sure what. All these people I went to school with battle with their minds every day and I never noticed. I was too wrapped up in my own problems that I never even noticed. That’s a lie, I noticed that they were hiding something, but I never realised what. Then again, I don’t think anyone noticed the depressed mute person always sitting at the back of every class.

I watch as she packs her bag, and her full lunch box. I guess her mother packed it for her while she was silently purging upstairs. When her mum leaves the room she throws some of the food in the bin, leaving only an apple. She probably won’t even eat the apple. Looking back, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her eat.

Maybe one day she’ll realise that her ribs stick out so much she could count them. Maybe one day she’ll realise that her mother watches her with barley concealed concern. Maybe one day she’ll see that the clumps of hair on her hairbrush isn’t normal. But not today. Today, she’ll throw her food out when no one’s watching. Today she’ll look in the mirror and will only see her flaws. Today, her body dysmorphia will win. I can only hope it won’t win every day.

She leaves the house and walks as if she’s tentative of taking up any space at all. The dark circles under her eyes are even more pronounced in the sunlight, as is her pale skin. I know she won’t last much longer if she continues like this.