Tracings in the Mirror
as she groggily pounded her alarm clock silent, y/n stared at her bedroom ceiling, unable to move.
no amount of willpower would make her whale thighs budge,
her head was filled with lead, too heavy for her brittle neck to carry.
She groaned as she heaved herself out of bed, the same groan she had begun her day with for the past few months.
In the typical routine, her feet encountered the frigid floor, feeling like blocks of ice pierced by its even colder surface. Gradually, she hastened her steps towards the bathroom, and in a moment of clarity, the realization struck: today marked the weekly ritual of stepping onto the scale. Fridays were reserved for this disordered act, where the anticipation of success fueled a dopamine rush through her veins., the dopamine rush of another pound shed. Every pound mattered. Each and every pound. Each and every ounce of every pound that clung to her saggy body and hung from her chin and packed onto her hips.
She had done this for the past few months, but not because of a fad diet or some bullies at school. No, she convinced herself this was for some noble cause. It was almost half a year ago that her boyfriend, Peter Parker, had confessed to her that he was Spider-Man. They had only gotten closer since then, he had taken her to the Avenger’s campus, introduced her to his squad, and taken her swinging on his webs almost every night. But meeting these people, meeting her real boyfriend, the boy she had fallen in love with, even spending one minute in all the glory made her realize something instantly: she wasn’t good enough. Peter deserved better. He deserved to feel real attraction to the girl he woke up next to, and to feel proud of having loved her. Y/n had convinced herself that this was why she was doing it, not because of something inherently wrong with her brain, but because of something wrong with her body. All this pressure to be something better, to finally fit in with Peter’s crowd.
I’ll never be good enough to deserve him. He deserves better than me. Why is he still with me. What does he see in me. How does he smile every time he looks at this lump of fat? Why would anyone want me?
It was like charity for him to be with her, but his entire job as spiderman (saving the city) was charity. Y/n didn’t want to get lumped in as his job, she wanted to be special for him. Peter was humble, but y/n knew he was basically a celebrity. At such a young age, he works with some of the greatest superheroes in the world, and is one of them. She never wanted to leave her charming, humorous, cute, kind, oh so charming so kind so amazing so special so perfect boyfriend. She was doing this for him. Even if she was hellbent on him never finding out.
As the scale creaked with her weight, the numbers flashed on the screen. An even heavier weight dropped her chest lower to the ground, and y/n struggled to walk as she dragged herself to get ready for school. So many pounds, and not a single one lost since the previous week. Breakfast was out of the question, as she would simply chug a black coffee. Her parents never noticed, seeing as she already had so much meat on her bones.
Biking to school, she felt her watercolor eyes clinging on tightly to her tears, desperate to not let them fall. Every attempt to divert her mind from the scale proved futile, the numbers still flashing in her mind.
Peter had insisted on swinging her to school every morning, but she wouldn’t let him, she couldn’t bear the feeling of his arm barely being able to wrap around her waist. When they were in the air, he could feel all of y/n’s weight, a thought that made her wish she could just take scissors to her stomach and carve out all the fat herself. One knife, one swift motion. It was all too triggering for her.
Walking to her first class, y/n looked forward to seeing Peter, seeing his beautiful smile. On the way, she took a quick detour to the bathroom, feeling the need to check herself out.
“just some final touch ups” y/n told herself. “I’ll make it to class on time”
Upon reaching the bathroom, she bee-lined to a mirror, taken aback as always by her several double-chins. Her hands slowly traced her collarbones, moving her shoulders to make the collarbone deeper and more visible. Examining her jawline, she delicately lifted a finger to trace it as well.
A few moments later, y/n glanced around her to see that no one else was in the bathroom. Doing a sweep of the stalls for good measure, she was certain no one would see her. Y/n lifted her shirt in front of the mirror, just enough to see her stomach, and her watercolor eyes returned. They saw the bulge of her stomach pushing against her jeans, threatening to pop off the buttons. They saw the fluorescent lighting reveal her belly rolls, and her hands squeezing them with hatred. Y/n wanted to rip them off and squeezed them harder until she saw the whites in her nails.
The school bell rang in the background, suddenly panicking her. If she ran, she could probably be at her desk within the minute. She could have run. But instead, she took one more glance into the mirror, a glance that finally broke her. Oceans of tears streamed down her face, and she used her hands to muffle her sobs. Blurrily locking herself in a stall, she collapsed to the filthy floor, violently shaking at the sign of her own ugliness. And she shook. And she sobbed. And she squeezed her eyes shut. And her hands could no longer hide the sound of her misery.
About a half hour later, she was exhausted from all the crying, and unlocked herself from the bathroom stall. Standing in front of the mirror again, she wiped away her tears and washed her face, then drying it with cheap paper towels. She wished she could take a nap, but her mother would surely notice if her school called in that she was absent. If she was only marked tardy, she could lie that her bike broke down or something.
Now out of her little episode, she realized that the world had continued spinning whilst she was busy crying. First period was almost over, the halls were empty, and her phone had five new texts from Peter.
“Good morning ❤️”
“Hey, where are you?”
“Class is starting, are you going to call in sick?”
“You want me to swing by your house and bring you some soup?”
“Are you okay?”
No.
Y/n wasn’t okay. But she wasn’t convinced she ever could be.
Y/n had come to terms with that, now speed-walking to her first period English class. Speed-walking burns calories. Especially if you take the longer route to the classroom.
And every calorie counts when you’re a girl in a whale’s body.