Chapter Text
"Zoey, can I speak with you a minute?" Celine asked her one day, interrupting her training.
Somehow, when she stopped her training, she ran winded. It was as if she had forced her body to exit autopilot. The air burned in her lungs, and her legs trembled from weakness. However, she still forced herself to smile.
"Of course." She responded. After all, she had no reason to think that Celine could be looking for something bad. Quite the contrary.
Surely, Celine was only going to give her a couple of indications, as she always did, to correct her posture or improve in the training. After weeks of training without rest and without sleep, Celine had finally allowed them to start taking out the honmoon weapons.
Practicing with the weapons that the honmoon provided them made things much more interesting. Finally, they felt what their experience would be like in the day-to-day. They were seeing how they would fight in real life.
The only problem, of course, is that the Honmoon's shin-kal seemed to weigh double what the knives from before weighed.
Celine moved her away a bit from the girls, separating her from their side. When she made sure that neither Rumi nor Mira were going to hear them, she knelt a bit to be at Zoey's height, touching her shoulder.
Celine felt a shiver that decomposed her face a bit. She seemed to be skin and bones. How could she even do the exercises without fainting? The fabric of Zoey's training shirt hid nothing; under Celine's palm, the girl's collarbone felt sharp, fragile, like the wing of a small bird that could break with the slightest squeeze.
Celine could only think that it was because the Honmoon was protecting her.
"What is it that is happening? Did I do something wrong?" she asked with innocence.
Celine sighed. She was not good at touching those topics, much less dealing with complicated things, so she was not sure how to start. She swallowed saliva, looking for the complete words so that the girl wouldn't hate her.
"No, Zoey. You haven't done anything wrong in your execution," said Celine, softening her voice. "Your technique is impeccable; you have improved quite a lot. You are doing it completely fine. I cannot have anything but praise for you currently."
Zoey blinked, confused by the praise that did not match the grave expression of her boss.
"Then... What is the problem?"
"The problem is... That I am seeing what you are doing, Zoey." Celine looked her directly in the eyes, hoping to notice what she was trying to explain and her concern. "I see you. And I don't refer to your dance steps. I see how your hands tremble when holding the shin-kal. You think nobody notices it, but I can see the shadow of your eyes. Something is happening to you, and I would like you to have confidence in me to tell me."
Zoey's expression changed. The mask she had formed cracked slightly before transforming into a frown, completely defensive. She straightened up, tensing the nonexistent muscles of her back.
"I'm fine," said Zoey, with a cutting tone that bordered on disrespect. "I'm just tired. The training with the weapons is new, and I am adapting. It is normal that it costs me to adapt to the weight, but I am going to improve, I promise."
"The weight of the weapons remains the same." Celine insisted, trying to seem understanding, although she herself thought that it was not true. "I know you think it is okay, but... It is not. I have seen it; I have seen more people than you can imagine in your same situation."
Zoey was not sure how to feel regarding her idol speaking in that way with her. In a certain way, it made her a little nervous. It was as if she were scanning her. It was as if she already knew what was happening with her. As if she knew every one of the details of her life and was exploiting them in her favor.
Did she know that she had promised herself not to lie to her idol? Did she know how much she loved her?
Or did she know that she was so focused on not being the cause that Mira and Rumi could not have success in the group? Did she know all her past? Had she read the medical reports?
Had Celine spoken with her parents? No, that was impossible. Her parents barely had time for themselves. They had asked her for her mentor's number, but she had forgotten it. It had been so long since she answered their messages or sought to call them...
For an instant, she wanted to yield. To tell Celine exactly what it was that she was doing and saying. But she couldn't. She couldn't; she was incapable of doing it. She was incapable of seeing herself that vulnerable.
"I don't..."
"Zoey." She interrupted her. "I know the pressure. I know the voices in the head that tell you that it is never enough. But we need to help you. You cannot fight against external demons if you are losing the battle against the internal ones."
Zoey took a step back, as if Celine's words were a physical attack. She felt a wave of hot irritation go up her neck.
Why didn't they leave her in peace? Why did everyone have to analyze her with a microscope?
"With all respect, Celine," snapped Zoey, diverting her gaze toward the ground. "I am perfectly fine. I don't know what you are imagining, but it is nothing like that. I need to rehearse. If I am the one, let me prove it. I don't have time for... for this."
Without waiting for a formal farewell, Zoey did a quick and mechanical bow and turned around, returning to the group before Celine could stop her.
Celine's intention was only to help. Even without knowing her for anything more than a couple of weeks, Celine had already grown fond of those girls. The only thing she sought... The only thing she wanted was for them to be okay.
But it seemed that her comments, her attempt at a chat, had had a completely opposite effect. Zoey had raised her defenses, becoming more paranoid and closed off about what she did.
Somehow she started to feel Celine's eyes nailed on her nape at every movement she made, even when she was not present. She felt the worried gaze of Rumi and Mira in every break.
That only led her to distance herself more. If she didn't want them to discover her, if she didn't want them to worry about her and see all her imperfections, she had to stop making them notice her, make them stop seeing whatever it was that they were seeing in her, and only notice the positive things. What really mattered.
She adored Mira, Rumi... Of course she wanted to spend time with them, to coexist. But it was better that they didn't notice her. It was better to reject their outings. After all, going out only meant that there were more opportunities to end up eating something that was outside her strict diet.
She knew it wouldn't last long. They would realize that she was distancing herself. Not talking to them, rejecting them... It hurt her in a way that Zoey could not explain. But it was the only way she had to demonstrate to them that she would not be a hindrance.
That she would become worthy enough in time.
Even if her anxiety skyrocketed every day. Even if she trembled and felt disgust every time they brought a little food near her. That jumble that formed in her stomach when she felt the heaviness of the food falling inside her. Or, in general, of anything.
She didn't know at what moment she started to vomit, even after drinking a little water. At what moment did she feel that even that was what was hurting her? What was ruining her perfect and desired image?
The paranoia was taking over her.
The comments on the internet could be cruel. Quite. She knew that people would start to speculate when it was announced that Huntr/x's activities would be postponed for a couple of weeks.
Bobby was aware of that. The poor man already carried enough guilt when he found out that it was the hurtful comments that ended up causing Zoey's relapse.
He had not been hired yet as manager of Huntr/x when things had gotten bad. He knew that there was another person in charge of the handling of public relations for Huntr/x. But Celine, somehow, had managed to fire him and bring him. A fact for which he was grateful and could not fail her.
As manager, Celine had informed him of the situation. And the importance that that topic was never touched. Bobby knew that Zoey was aware that he knew everything, but they had never touched the topic; they had never spoken of it—that necessity did not exist.
Not until that moment.
Therefore, he had to force the girls to leave their cell phones aside. He understood the desire not to stop working, but the comments were going to be madness, and until everything stabilized and things got a little better.
With Rumi, that was not to be worried about; after all, more than forcing her to leave them, Bobby had to constantly remind her to use them. She was never on the internet, and it didn't interest her much either.
Mira was a separate case. The girl had more taste for social networks, but only for her social networks. She liked to send her campaign photos and greet her most faithful fans.
But Zoey... Zoey was the complete opposite. Zoey uploaded even the last gram of her life to the internet. Zoey answered all the messages that her fingers allowed her. Zoey got into the conversations of the fans to scare them and bothered her followers all the time.
It was an obligation that Zoey not touch the cell phone or the internet. At least, not without supervision.
Even so, Bobby realized that the wave of comments was a little implacable. He was not sure how he had not realized it before. It seemed that Zoey's weight was one of the usual topics of the fandom.
"Have you seen this? God, someone has to tell her the truth to her face. She is losing too much weight."
"Just look at this presentation. I can see all her bones. I feel uncomfortable seeing it. Someone has to force her to eat."
"Haven't we learned not to talk about other people's bodies? Zoey is healthy now. The remarks about her body are going to lead to her really developing problems."
"First they said she was overweight. Now they talked about her being too thin. You fans are never pleased with anything."
"Yes. But she was overweight. I don't like chubby girls. I prefer her a thousand times like she is now."
"Can't you see that now she is thinning too much? By God, it looks like I am seeing her in her debut era, and that was FIVE YEARS AGO. EDs are not something that we should praise."
"I am sure that it is Rumi who is absorbing the life out of her. She seems like a demon since she got those horrible tattoos."
"Yes she is returning to her debut era; maybe it is because that was her healthy era, and everyone who bothered us on the internet for saying that she was fat owes us an apology."
"Can't you see her Instagram and realize that the photos she has uploaded lately are strange?"
Bobby looked away from his cell phone. He was reporting and sending to the legal team all the comments he found on Twitter, but... There were too many. Too many.
He would have to give himself a small break before continuing. As much as he desired it, checking the comments on the internet was not the only one of his obligations. Especially when the girls had refused to give themselves a break with everything that was happening.
Zoey knew that the presentation of that day was important. It was the first time that they were going to go out to the public since... Well, since Rumi and Mira had discovered everything.
A couple of days had passed. Maybe more. If she was honest, Zoey didn't want to think about how many days had passed.
Rumi and Mira had taken care of her all the time. They were there all the time. They tried to ensure that one was by her side at any moment. They had prepared light meals, going at her pace, little by little.
Anything was a small advance. Zoey knew it. Only that that didn't make her feel much better.
On that day, it was the first time that she was alone for more than fifteen minutes. That night they had no option. Rumi and Mira had to go through makeup, and they had to leave her alone in the dressing room for a time. And she herself had to wait for the wardrobe girls.
"You can do a live." Said Rumi, before leaving, returning her cell phone to her. "Actually, you must do it. The production company is asking for it. But I trust that you are not going to read any comment, right?"
Zoey's eyes hesitated for a second before nodding slightly.
"Trust me." She responded to her without noticing that her hands trembled slightly.
When Rumi closed the door, the silence of the dressing room was felt suddenly. Zoey closed her eyes, feeling the cold of the metal of her cell phone, before releasing a sigh, opening tik tok for a second and starting the broadcast.
"Hello everyone!" she greeted with enthusiasm, putting on her best smile. "We are about to go out on stage, but I didn't want to leave you without... Without telling you that I am very excited to see you today. I hope you support us!"
Hearing the knocks on the door, Zoey turned to see the door and again to her cell phone.
"Well, it appears that my wardrobe for today has arrived. I have to go. See you!"
She hung up the broadcast. The wardrobe girls had arrived.
"Sorry for the delay, Zoey," said the head of wardrobe, a short and nervous woman. "There was a problem with Mira's zipper, but we are already here. Come on, up, we have five minutes."
Zoey knew that she didn't have to do it. What she had to do was leave the cell phone aside and let the wardrobe girls work in peace, but...
The temptation was a physical itch behind her eyes. She needed... She needed to read the comments. Even if it is a little.
"I keep saying that Zoey looks too thin. Just look at her collarbones. It is horrible."
"Meh. I prefer a thousand times that her ribs show a little to how she was before. Her stomach protruded from her costume."
"It is funny that they try to eliminate the comments of the obvious. Saying that Zoey looked like a bun against Rumi's muscles was shameful. I prefer that she have a body more like Mira's."
"I agree. Her face now looks better. Sharp cheekbones are much better than a double chin."
Zoey's world stopped. The air conditioning of the dressing room seemed to drop ten degrees at once. Her hands started to tremble so hard that she couldn't keep reading; she didn't understand anything. She stood up mechanically. The girls took off her robe and started to pull up the official suit for the presentation. It was a spectacular set, designed weeks ago, when her measurements were different.
The head of wardrobe pulled up the zipper of the back and stopped, releasing a frustrated sigh.
"Oh, no."
Zoey froze, the panic shooting up in her chest.
"What? What is happening?" she asked, with a strangled voice.
"No, no... Nothing." The head of wardrobe hurried to say. "Just... I need a couple of things. I am going to go for them. Wait a moment."
Zoey started to hyperventilate while she watched her leave. If she needed to leave, it was because she needed things to fix her wardrobe. And if she needed to fix her wardrobe, it was because...
Zoey ran to the nearest bathroom. She closed the door, with her hands trembling so much that she could barely turn the knob. She turned slowly towards the full-length mirror. She was afraid to look. She was terrified to confirm what the head of wardrobe had not dared to say, what the comments insinuated, and what her own mind shouted at her.
She opened her eyes.
The reality was that the presentation suit, a piece of shiny and tight fabric designed to embrace curves, hung from her body surprisingly. There were visible gaps at the waist. The neckline was loose. Her arms were thin sticks, pale and fragile.
But that was not what Zoey saw.
In the mirror, Zoey's mind distorted the image in real time, like a filter she could not turn off. Where the fabric made bags due to the lack of flesh, Zoey saw rolls. She saw how the suit, in her hallucination, dug into her waist, cutting the circulation, making the nonexistent fat overflow over the edges. She looked at her arms and saw them huge, flaccid, and trembling with every movement.
"No..." she moaned, bringing her hands to her face.
She touched her cheeks. The comments said that her cheekbones looked better, but she felt an obscene roundness under her fingers.
"Lie!" she sobbed, hitting the air with frustration. "It is a lie! I am still the same! I am still a pig."
She grabbed the fabric of the suit at the waist. In reality, she was stretching the loose fabric, moving it centimeters away from her skeletal body. But that was not what her brain understood.
"That is why she left..." she murmured between tears. "The lady went to look for extra fabric. She went to look for how to widen it because I don't fit. I don't fit in the wardrobe."
Zoey let herself fall to the floor of the bathroom, shrinking into a ball, with the suit wrinkling around her tiny figure. She started to cry with strength, scratching her own arms, trying to rip off that ghost fat that she felt stuck to the bones.
"I can't go out... I can't go out like this..." she repeated again and again, drowning in her own panic, convinced that she was a swollen monster about to explode in front of the cameras.
In the distance, Zoey started to hear a familiar voice.
"Zoey? Are you around there? Zoey?"
She didn't want to answer. She didn't want Rumi to see her. She didn't want her to be...
"Zoey, come out of there!"
Mira pulled her, taking her out of the bathroom and breaking the hallucination with her. However, the tears did not stop falling from her eyes. They didn't make her stop trembling.
"Zoey, what is it that you were doing?" asked Mira, verifying every part of her. "Are you okay?"
Zoey let herself fall, shattered, into Mira's arms.
Zoey had not said a single word the whole way back to the penthouse. She didn't know what to say, although she supposed that it was not necessary.
In any case, the concert had already been canceled. There was no longer anything she had to worry about. Was it not so?
She had already caused enough disaster by falling shattered into the arms of her girlfriends. It had already been enough with almost fainting from the fear and the dread that what she saw in the mirror had caused her.
Was there something that Zoey could do well? She was not sure. She kept failing the fans; she kept being the cause that Huntr/x did not reach the next level.
"Zoey, stop thinking about nonsense." It was surprising, but Rumi seemed to be able to read her mind. Maybe it was because she was lying on her legs. "We have already spoken with the record label. They support you. This is not like in the past. There is no one who wants you out of the group. They are going to wait all the time that is necessary. You don't have to worry."
Zoey only sighed. She was the cause why they always had to wait.
"I'm sorry." She murmured, but her voice did not raise the tone of her voice too high. It seemed that she didn't have the strength to do that.
"You have nothing to apologize for." Mira assured her, who had her legs resting on her. "No one blames you for anything."
A couple of seconds passed before Mira spoke again.
"What is it that you would like to have for dinner?" she asked her, trying to alleviate the atmosphere.
But to Zoey it felt like a stone in the stomach. The memories of what she had seen in the mirror were still present. She still looked too overweight.
"I don't want to have anything for dinner." She responded. Still without being able to lift her gaze. "I would like to go to bed when we arrive, if it doesn't bother you."
Neither Rumi nor Mira was sure of that, but they told her absolutely nothing. After all, it was quite late.
The silence in the room was as heavy as the guilt that crushed Zoey's chest. Beside her, the soft and constant rhythm of Rumi and Mira's breathing should have been a help so that she could sleep, but that was not the case on that night.
Zoey kept her eyes open in the darkness, looking at the ceiling without really seeing it. Her body was exhausted, drained by the panic of the dressing room and the crying of the trip back, but her mind was turned on, vibrating with electric and painful anxiety.
It was not hunger. Or at least, it was not the type of hunger that is felt in the stomach. It was a black and huge void in the center of her chest, an abyss that threatened to swallow her whole if she didn't throw something at it to calm the beast. She felt an itch under the skin, a desperate need to do something, to feel something that was not fear and self-loathing.
She waited. She counted every exhalation of Mira. She waited for Rumi to release that small sigh that indicated that she had entered deep sleep. Only then is Zoey out of the sheets. Her barefoot feet made no noise on the carpet while she left the room, closing the door with millimetric delicacy.
The penthouse was in gloom, only illuminated by the lights of the city that filtered through the large windows. Zoey walked toward the kitchen as if she were in a trance, guided by that invisible and taut thread that connected her anxiety with the fridge.
Upon opening the door of the refrigerator, the white and clinical light hit her in the face, exposing her. But she didn't care. Her hands started to move before her brain could register what she was choosing.
She grabbed a container with cold pasta leftovers. A package of cheese. A bar of chocolate that someone had left forgotten in the side door. A tub of ice cream.
She didn't bother to look for a plate. She didn't turn on the kitchen light.
She let herself fall to the floor, hiding behind the large marble island, as if that physical barrier could hide her from reality, or from the fans, from her girlfriends, from whoever.
And then, it started.
She opened the pasta container and put her fingers in the pot, taking a handful to her mouth. She didn't heat it. She didn't even notice if the sauce was good. She chewed twice and swallowed, feeling the solid blow of the food going down her esophagus. Immediately, she went for the cheese. Then, the ice cream, mixing flavors that shouldn't go together.
She ate with violence. There was no pleasure; there was no tasting. It was a mechanical and brutal act. Swallow, swallow, swallow. She tried to fill the void, cover the screams of her mind with calories, and drown the anxiety under a mountain of food.
Her hands trembled while she tore the wrapper off the chocolate. She put two large squares in her mouth at once, almost choking. The tears started to flow again, hot and silent, sliding down her cheeks and dripping onto the silver paper of the chocolate that she held in her lap.
I already ruined everything, a poisonous voice repeated in her head, synchronized with every bite. They canceled the concert because of you. You failed them. You are going to get fat anyway, so what does it matter? Eat it all. Be the pig that everyone says you are.
She felt dirty. She felt broken.
I am weak. I am so weak...
Zoey sobbed, feeling how her stomach started to hurt due to the sudden expansion but being incapable of stopping the hand that looked for more.
When the frenzy stopped, the silence returned to the kitchen, but soon it became unbearable. Zoey stayed motionless, sitting on the cold tiles, with her hands stained with chocolate and grease resting on her knees.
The physical sensation was immediate. Her abdomen, which minutes before was empty and hollow, now felt painfully distended, hard as a rock, pressing against the waistband of her pajama pants. She felt the food crowded in her throat, as if it didn't have permission to enter her stomach.
And then, the guilt hit her with more force than any physical pain.
Mira and Rumi trusted me..., she thought. They went to sleep believing that I was improving. Believing that we could overcome this together. And I... failed them again. I am a fraud.
The panic started to climb up her back. In her distorted mind, she could feel how her body started to absorb every calorie in that same instant, transforming the pasta and the sweet into layers of permanent fat that adhered to her hips and thighs.
"No, no, no..." she whispered, standing up with difficulty. She felt heavy, clumsy, as if she had gained ten kilos in ten minutes.
With a quick and trembling movement, as if she were cleaning the scene of a crime, she picked up the wrappers. She buried the paper of the chocolate in the bottom of the trash can so that no one would see it. She washed the spoon frantically, drying it and returning it to the drawer. She passed a damp cloth over the marble island to erase any crumb or sticky stain.
No one would know anything. If there were no proofs, it had not happened.
But her body knew that it had happened.
She walked toward the hallway bathroom, the one that was furthest from the main room, dragging her feet. She closed the door and threw the latch with a click that resonated like a shot in the silence of the night.
She turned on the light and faced the mirror.
What she saw made her gasp with horror. She saw a deformed creature. Her mind screamed at her that her face was inflated like a balloon, that her double chin had returned, and that her stomach protruded kilometers outwards, grotesque and huge.
"I..." she hissed to herself, grabbing the skin of her abdomen with violence. "Look what you did. All the effort to the trash. Everything's ruined because you can't keep your mouth closed."
She knew that it was wrong. A small part of her, the logical part that still listened to Rumi, screamed at her not to do it. That that was not the way. That she only had to go to bed, and in the morning everything would have passed.
But the fear was stronger. The absolute terror to wake up the next day and see those numbers go up on the scale, the fear that the wardrobe wouldn't close on her for real, the fear of the comments...
"I have to get it out," she murmured, with her eyes full of tears of desperation. "I have to fix it. It is the only way."
She tied her hair back with a band that she had on her wrist, something to which she was already used. She knelt in front of the toilet, feeling the cold of the porcelain go through the fabric of her pants. The smell of pine cleaner turned her stomach, and for a second, the nausea was real.
But then, she stopped. Her hand, which was already heading toward her mouth, stayed suspended in the air, trembling violently. Again, the images of what would happen filled her completely. She could see again the disappointment and the pain in Mira's face. The look of fear of Rumi.
She couldn't do that to them.
Zoey recoiled, moving away from the toilet, and let herself fall seated on the edge of the bathtub. She buried her face between her hands, digging her nails into her scalp, trying to rip out those intrusive thoughts.
"Don't do it..." she whispered against her damp palms. "Please, don't do it. Not again."
But her stomach hurt. The sensation of swelling was unbearable.
Get it out. Fix it.
She got up again, driven by desperation, and took a step toward the toilet. For once they were not going to realize. It was only to correct her mistakes. Only relief mattered.
Toc, toc.
The sound was soft, but in the sepulchral silence of the bathroom, it sounded like thunder. Zoey froze in the act, with one knee already supported on the floor. Her heart went up to her throat, beating so strong that her ears hurt.
"Zoey..." Mira's voice arrived from the other side, muffled by the door. It sounded hasty from sleep but worried. "Are you okay? I heard you moving."
Zoey's panic mutated into terror. They had heard her.
She covered her mouth with both hands, holding her breath until her lungs burned. She couldn't answer. If she spoke, her broken voice would give her away. If she moved, the creaking of the floor would sell her out. She stayed petrified, feeling like a criminal cornered at the scene of the crime, with the evidence of the binge still weighing in her stomach.
There was a pause. Zoey prayed for Mira to think that she had been mistaken and go back to sleep.
Go away, go away, please, go away...
But then she heard another pair of steps, lighter. And she knew then that she was completely fucked.
"Zoey, darling..." It was Rumi, who seemed to be calmer... And who already suspected it all. "Open the door, please. We are here."
That broke something inside Zoey. There was no anger in Rumi's voice; there was no judgment. And that was worse. Rumi's kindness clashed violently against the hatred that Zoey felt for herself.
The tears started to run down her cheeks in silence, hot and fast. Zoey slid to the floor, sticking her back against the cold tiles under the sink, and hugged her knees. She bit her lower lip with force to not let out a sob, while her body shook with mute spasms of crying.
"Zoey, please... Open for us. We want to be with you."
Zoey looked at the knob of the door through her blurred tears. Her hand rose, heavy as lead, and her trembling fingers grazed the cold metal. She knew that if she turned the lock, there would be no turning back.
But the alternative was unbearable.
With a choked sob, she turned the latch, and the door opened slowly.
Mira was the first to move. Upon seeing Zoey shrunk on the floor, with her face reddened and her breath short, she didn't scream, not like the other time. She simply exhaled slowly and knelt in front of her, remaining at her same height.
Her eyes traveled over Zoey's face, looking for signs. She didn't smell vomit, but she saw the terror in her girlfriend's eyes. She saw the guilt. She knew what was about to happen.
"Zoey..." murmured Mira, with a voice so low that it was barely heard over the hum of the air extractor. "Is it what I think it is?"
Zoey couldn't verbalize it. Everything that was happening to her, she felt too big and dirty in her mouth. She simply nodded, closing her eyes tightly. Hoping to hear Mira scream and claim her for having failed again.
But the scolding never arrived.
In its place, she felt a damp and soft warmth on her face.
Rumi had approached the sink in silence, had wetted a small hand towel with warm water, and had knelt beside Mira. With delicacy, she started to clean the tears, the cold sweat, and the saliva from Zoey's chin. She didn't touch her stomach, nor her arms, nor any part that could make her feel invaded. Only her face.
"Thank you for opening the door for us," whispered Rumi, while she passed the towel over Zoey's forehead, moving aside the stuck strands of hair. "That was very brave."
Zoey trembled at the contact, releasing the air she had been holding. She felt unworthy of that care. She felt like a small girl who had broken a vase and, instead of being punished, was being consoled.
Mira leaned a little more, still without breaking Zoey's personal space.
"What do you need now?" asked Mira, with a practical tone, hoping that it wouldn't be heard too loud. "A tea for the stomach? Do you want us to sit here on the floor with you for a while? Or do you prefer to go to bed?"
The question floated in the air. Zoey felt the heaviness in her abdomen, that sensation of painful fullness that screamed at her that she had failed. Mira's logic was kind, but Zoey's logic was broken.
"I don't want to get fat," murmured Zoey, confessing her feelings in that moment. "That idea terrifies me; the idea of being a burden for Huntr/x terrifies me."
The confession came out rushed, raw, and painful. It was all the panic that had led her to the bathroom in the first place. She lifted her view, looking at Rumi and Mira with pleading eyes, as if they had the power to stop her body's metabolism.
"It hurts," she moaned, bringing a hand to her stomach. "I feel like... I feel like I am expanding right now. I don't want to be fat, please."
Rumi stopped the movement of the towel. Her golden eyes nailed onto Zoey's and, for a moment, seemed to shine too much. She took Zoey's hand, the one that was squeezing her own stomach with hatred, and held it between hers with firmness.
"Listen to me, Zoey," said Rumi, with a firm voice. "You are not going to get fat. You never have. Your body only demands something because of the hunger it is going through. You don't need to restrict yourself. It doesn't matter what the rest say; what matters is that you are healthy."
Rumi helped Zoey to stand up. And once she was raised, between her and Mira, they helped her to get to the living room.
Zoey felt fragile, as if her bones were made of crystal about to burst from the internal pressure of her stomach, but she let them take her. She had no strength to resist, nor arguments to say that she was fine. The evidence that she was not weighed painfully in her entrails.
They sat her on the sofa, sunk between cushions. Mira disappeared a moment and returned with the softest blanket they had, one of thick and gray wool. She wrapped Zoey with it, covering her body from the shoulders to the feet, hiding that silhouette that tormented her so much, and creating a cocoon where the outside world could not enter.
Rumi took charge of the lighting. She turned off the main lights, leaving only a floor lamp in the corner, whose amber light bathed the room in gloom, softening the contours and offering a peace that Zoey's tired eyes appreciated.
"I am going to make the tea," whispered Mira, depositing a quick kiss on Zoey's crown before heading to the kitchen.
The sound of the water heating up and the tinkling of the ceramic were the only background noises. Zoey stayed looking at the void, feeling how the pain in her abdomen throbbed with every beat of her heart.
Rumi sat on the floor, right in front of her, remaining at the height of her knees. She didn't try to hug her again, respecting the space that Zoey's physical discomfort demanded. In its place, she looked for her hands under the blanket. She found them cold, tense, with the knuckles white from the force with which she grabbed the fabric.
Rumi started to unhook Zoey's fingers from the blanket, one by one.
"Relax your hands, Zo," whispered Rumi.
She started to massage her palms with circular movements of her thumbs, applying a constant but soft pressure. She worked on the tension of the wrists, warming the cold skin with hers.
Mira returned with the steaming cup. The sweet and earthy smell of chamomile filled the air. She left it on the center table, within Zoey's reach, and sat on the sofa, beside her head, caressing her hair rhythmically.
No one spoke of the food. Rumi kept massaging her hands, concentrating on every tendon, until she felt that Zoey's breathing became a little less superficial. Then, she lifted her view, finding the watery eyes of her girlfriend.
"Zoey..." started Rumi, with a tone of voice that was half plea, half decree. "Please, let's take a break."
Zoey couldn't say no on this occasion.