Page 18 of Kill Me

It’s official. I’m absolutely fucked.

Chapter Fourteen

Quinn - Present Day

Imagine being addicted to the one single thing that keeps you alive. Addicted to it like it’s the air you need to breathe, and without the noise the addiction brings, your brain is the scariest place you’ve ever inhabited. Which is saying something considering the trauma you have survived in your relatively short life. Because life is relatively short in the grand scheme of things, twenty-eight years on this planet is nothing, really, is it? Every single day, aside from the ability to breathe, you need food. The one thing that keeps your body filled with the nutrients you need to sustain life is essentially one of the things that is killing you. It’s the first thing you think of the moment you open your eyes and the last thing you think of when you close them. It’s all-consuming.

I’ve loved food since I can remember. It’s been my one constant source of comfort throughout my life. Issues with Mum? Food solved them. Issues with Dad or Eric? Food solved it. Bullied at school for being fat? Food was the balm that soothed the wound. Squirreling away wrappers in my bedroom, bingeing sweets and chocolate in the middle of the night, all in a desperate attempt to feel—something. A food addiction—my mum calls it—something I should snap out of. Yet, doctors have since put names to the conditions and validated me. So why do I still question whether it’s all inside my mind? I mean, don’t get me wrong, sometimes I play the system. Building things up to get that surge of attention flooding through my veins. But just like it does with the food, the minute that attention stops, so does the acceptance I have within myself. It’s like food is my narcissistic ex-husband. Impossible to live with and impossible to get rid of.

From the moment a morsel of food hits my taste buds, my mouth waters. My brain is consumed by the silence I feel within that moment. The only thing that has ever rivalled that silence is self-harm. But some would say food is another, more accepted, form of self-harm, like tattoos, I suppose. An average woman is expected to consume two thousand calories a day in order to maintain her weight, but some days I will binge four times that without a second thought. It’s not always fatty, greasy food. It’s whatever is in reach. Fruits, vegetables, meals, takeaways if I can afford it, seconds of meals even though my stomach feels like it’s about to explode. Desserts are my weakness. No matter what I’ve eaten beforehand, my brain needs something sweet to curb the cravings. It’s almost like without it my entire body will implode. I couldn't even tell you when my body issues began, but if I had to hazard a guess, I can tell you who they began because of.

Chapter Fifteen

Quinn - Present Day

I know now that all I was doing that night was swapping one abusive person in my life for another, and I think that’s why now I have hesitations. Because, let’s face it, my judgment of character so far in my life has been shocking, and life hasn’t rewarded me for it. If anything, life has punished me. Religious people would say that God only gives you what you can handle, but what if you’re not a believer? Then what?

Bones and I have been texting all night. I was awake till stupid o’clock this morning, feeling giddy.

Bones: Good morning, Little Magpie. I hope you managed to get some sleep. Are you free this evening? We can pick up where we left off last night…

Me: Good morning, Bones. I slept, which is more than I can say for most nights, I suppose. It turns out talking can help when it’s with the right person. I think I might be able to do this evening. I have some things to do first, but I can let you know when I’m back.

Bones: Sounds good to me. I’ll wait to hear from you. Teddy is looking at me like he’s going to eat me for dinner if I don’t feed him right now.

Me: Ha ha ha! Feed the hound, asshole! As his pawyer, I demand you treat him with respect and feed him everything he wants.

Bones: When he’s old and fat and unable to be walked, I’m blaming you.

There’s that word. Fat. Is that what he thinks of me?

Me: There’s nothing wrong with being fat. It makes you harder to kidnap.

Bones: You better not be talking about your fucking self…

Me: Fat isn’t a bad word. I am the definition of fat.

Bones: Your definition of fat and my definition of fat are clearly two very different things. While there is nothing wrong with being fat, when I look at you I don’t see what you see. I just see beauty. In my opinion, it just gives a man more to appreciate.

Me: You’re a cheeseball. You’ve only ever seen me with my clothes on, so you couldn’t possibly comment.

Shit! Why did I say that? I go to delete the message, but the ticks turn blue. FUCK!

Dots bubble across the screen as he types, and I want to throw up.

Bones: …

Bones: This is going to be very unprofessional of me, and if anyone ever asks, I will plead the Fifth, but if I ever have the privilege of seeing you without your clothes on, you best believe commenting about it isn’t the only thing I’ll be doing.

Me: [insert embarrassed emoji] I bet you say that to all of your patients.

Me: Ok, on that note, I’m going to hide and die from embarrassment.

Bones: Little Magpie, you never have to be embarrassed with me.

I've become accustomed to saying what I need to say instead of what I want to say. Or some would say what I’ve been trained to say. Keeping the secrets in my house from the outside world has become a toxic poison that I’m searching for an antidote for. After meeting Harley yesterday, I wanted to spill my guts and tell him all of my darkest secrets. All of the times I have exaggerated or lied for attention. The times I have made people question their sanity or pushed people away because they got too close to discovering the truth of the real person that I am. All of a sudden, I’m drowning in a guilt I didn’t know I was capable of and questioning whether I should tell the full truth, finally discover the realities of my health, and the person I could potentially become. Or whether I should continue to be the liar I’m not even sure I really am, or if it’s just what the people around me have convinced me of. If I tell the truth now, he might decide I'm too much hassle, or if I should tell the truth at a later date, then he might think I'm nothing but a liar. And I don't know about you, but apart from predators, there's nothing worse in this world than a liar.

It's been a day, and I'm questioning whether my food addiction has been replaced with a him addiction, because since I've met him, nothing other than him has crossed my mind. The food noise is gone. Disappeared to fuck knows where. No incessant noises in my brain telling me to eat this and that I crave that. The monster's voices are gone, too. Maybe they're all one and the same? I don't know what's real anymore.