A withering flower

What can you say about a girl who so suddenly ruined her life? That she had once been able to laugh so joyfully? That she loved coconut cake and vanilla ice cream? That she loved poetry as much as her boyfriend? Except that her love for him had led to an even stronger feeling for something else...

It was dark, a late winter afternoon, one of those you most enjoy spending at home under a blanket with a cup of hot cocoa. It all started with that cold, snowy evening...

She sat wrapped in a blanket, clutching what had once been a tissue in her hand, tears slowly rolling down her round face. She struggled to hold the phone and with even greater difficulty pronounced single words.

"I can't be with you. Someone once said that we should help the weak." Those words, spoken a moment ago, inflicted an incomparable pain. She felt herself shrinking, all the energy she had within her draining away along with any will to live. She knew it was cheap talk; he wanted to leave with class, but did it help? He thought she could buy it! He wanted to leave her because he'd finally gotten what he'd dreamed of for almost six months—the love of another girl. She let him go because what else was she supposed to do? She just wanted to save face, even though she cried and it hurt so much. She told him that if this was what he wanted, she would understand and wish him the best. She played games, lied like she'd never done before in her life, perhaps because she didn't want to burn any bridges? Deep down, she believed he would come back, even though she wanted to hate him with all her heart.

The moment she threw the phone across the room, she appeared. She stood opposite the armchair, her thin, pale face twisted as if in a smile. Her hair was thinning, a dull color; it was scary to look at her, but there was something about her that was so compelling... "

Hello." "She whispered almost inaudibly in her hoarse voice.

"Who are you?"

"I've come to help you. With me, you won't be so lonely anymore, I promise you that."

She stepped closer and placed her bony fingers on the shoulders of the young, healthy girl.

Days of pain and suffering began. How many tears had she shed? How many nights had she lost sleep? Many, many... too many wounds at once, too much time to think.

A new friend came to the rescue; she knew how to use this suffering and her tightening stomach.

It didn't take long for weight loss to become her obsession, a remedy for her wounded heart. Another kilogram less brought her so much joy. All she could think about was how wonderful it would be to fit into a blouse a size smaller, when her buttocks were no longer so round.

The third day without food, the fourth... a week-long cleansing fast. She said she would lose some weight, and it disappeared so quickly... no food, just mineral water. Later, when she looked back on those terrible moments, she said that during that terrible period, she had fed on the pain she carried in her heart.

It was obvious that completely cutting out food for an extended period wouldn't do any good...

It was evening, or a late winter afternoon, when she felt truly ill, her heart pounding in her chest like crazy, and the world around her was spinning as if she were on a speeding carousel.

"You're getting more and more beautiful, my dear friend, getting thinner and thinner. Thanks to me, you got through this difficult period." Bony arms wrapped around her waist, a familiar, weak, hoarse voice whispering in her ear.

"Go away!" A silent cry...

She rose from the armchair and slowly moved to the kitchen. Standing by the refrigerator, her legs as soft as cotton wool, she fought one of the hardest battles of her life. She stared at the ham, cucumbers, and other foods that had recently become her enemy, the calories she tried to escape.

This time, she couldn't control herself; she reached out a frail hand for a tomato and a small roll, and ate, crying like a small, helpless child.

"Stupid! If you must eat, then something that's not so caloric! Are you craving a roll?! " A familiar, hoarse voice made her feel even worse.

Despite her inner contradictions, she realized she couldn't live without food; she wanted to be slim, but she definitely didn't want to die. She decided to eat one meal a day, dinner. The rapid weight loss stopped, or perhaps it should be said, it simply slowed down. Calorie counting began; she knew the energy value and fat content of every little thing she put in her mouth. How much did she eat per day? No more than five hundred calories was a high bar, one she rarely reached. Rice with yogurt, rice with apples, a bit of cooked meat, sometimes fat-free yogurt, a carrot or an apple.

"Maybe I went a bit overboard when I forbade you from eating, you're right, honey," she told her protégé. "If you have to eat, you also have to exercise, burn off what might be unnecessary."

And the obsessive exercises began, thousands of crunches, squats, and bends.

What did she see when she looked in the mirror? One day a slim girl who now wore a blouse three sizes smaller, and the next day a plump woman with a huge butt and a round face. What was the truth? A emaciated, bony figure with skin as white as snow, almost transparent, her eyes expressionless, staring at something unattainable...

But the human body has a way of rebelling, of demanding what it needs, and hers needed a lot...

When she began to leave more and more of her hair on her brush, her body made a last-ditch attempt to absorb as many calories as possible... she began to eat, unable to control herself, devouring everything within reach, then running to the bathroom and regurgitating it. At first, all she had to do was touch her finger to her throat and puke. The later it got, the harder it became to induce a gag reflex; she'd shove almost her entire hand in, cutting it at the knuckles. It was a nightmare; her face was parched to the bone; even a thick layer of cream wouldn't help.

What did she feel then? She hated herself for all of it, and in fact, she still does, because she can't help herself in any way. She wants to fight, even though she knows full well she's already lost. Her friend, whom she called Ana, won't let her out of her "protective" embrace. How long can her overloaded heart endure? One thing is certain: coconut cake will never taste the same again...