May 1, 2001
I guess it's just a kind of catharsis.
~Bianca
hunger
part one
this is au; the topic upsets me greatly.
As soon as she was done throwing up her breakfast turned lunch turned dinner, for she had eaten nothing of the sort after that first mysterious sin, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and fumbled for the silver latch.
The swirling of the water was the exact opposite spin as they had in Australia; it was funny, watching the contents of her stomach, as well as a large chunk of the lining, sucked into a cyclone. She heard someone calling her name, but they were outside the walls of the bathroom, and she was inside, and somehow, that made them so very far away.
It wasn't that she couldn't stop.
It wasn't that she didn't want to stop.
[her face in the mirror]
It wasn't that she couldn't stop.
It wasn't that she didn't want to stop.
[impact. broken. help me.]
"Relena," said her mother, gently stroking her cheeks, "have you been crying?" She pulled away, rubbing her face, righting the makeup.
"No," she lied. It was the first of many lies. She looked at the raw trunk of her mother's neck, the pinkness of it, as if she wore a human-colored turtleneck beneath her fashionably low-cut gown. Her mother's skin was rare fabric she could peel away. "I've just been feeling a bit light-headed."
"Then sit down," said the older woman, leading Relena to the sofa. The sounds of silverware jousting and people making amiable conversation from inside the ballroom were muffled by the oak doors. "We can't have our guest of honor fainting. It wouldn't be proper."
"Of course not," said Relena. After a moment, they stood and walked to the doors, their heels clicking in synchronization. It was the woman's cadence, the female foxtrot that all women know and all women's feet grow to hate.
She saw her reflection in the glass shielding shelves of expensive books. They seemed stifled. They seemed as if they would have liked to breathe.
Relena filled her lungs shallowly, her corset cutting crossing marks into her back. "Happy Birthday," said her mother, kissing her chastely on the cheek.
"Thank you, Mother," said Relena.
If you've ever truly had an obsession, then you know.
You know how it fills your waking hours like the ocean crowding into a small rowboat through a pinhole, and you, poor you, without a lifejacket, without knowing how to swim.
Everything becomes sister to it.
I fell in love with a boy.
He was beautiful, with rich, dark skin, and thick, ripe calves that I could have sank my teeth into and never let go.
I could have had him hard-boiled, deep-fried, stir-fried, fresh like lettuce from a victory garden, old like preserved cherries, stale like French toast, rotten like black butter. I could have eaten him whole, or taken him apart piece by piece.
The lust was for his body, and his body was something I could not have, not in the way I desired.
End Part One
feedback whenever.
Bianca
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