Trench Coat Hallucination Four
The alarm clock goes off, far too early. And it�s only Wednesday. Damn. I propel myself up, and make my way out of the room, through the labyrinth of forgotten clothes and books. It�s hard to find the light switch in the dark, with my eyes mostly closed, but I find the plastic knob and flick it to on.
The tile is hard. I squint at the mirror; my ribs are visible, the upper ones looking vaguely reminiscent of the female reproductive system drawings in the health textbook. I pee quickly, watching the clock, then get on the scale. The cold blue letters lie to me. I know I can�t weigh that much � that was yesterday afternoon�s weight, and since then I�ve eaten five carrots. Impossible.
I turn the handle in the shower; wait for the water to heat and step in, pulling the shower curtain around me. The water is almost warm. I rub at my eyes. Dark eyelashes discard themselves on my fingers as mascara smears across my cheeks. I shampoo slowly, massaging through thin hair. Glance through the shower curtain to the clock. 6:05 � time to get out. I wrap the towel around me, shake the wet out of my hair. Then I step back on the scale. 97.5. Perfection. Almost.
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She wakes quickly to the raucous roar of the alarm clock � 5:50 a.m. Forcing herself out of the bed, she totters to the bathroom, stumbling over books on her way and blinking blearily all the while. The girl fumbles with the light switch, and then hideously bright light falls down on her like the light of God on Judgment Day.
The bathroom floor is cold beneath her bony feet. She strips off her over-sized t-shirt and the panties she got on sale from American Eagle. A finger outlines the ribs slowly. She raises the toilet seat lid and sits, feeling the result of yesterday�s water-loading rush out of her. She nudges the button on the scale with her toe. Its blue letters flutter weakly then glow strong; she is amazed it still works. It zeroes, and she steps on.
98.0.
She curses it, curses herself, and steps off. The rush of shower water fills the silence. Sleep sloughs off with dead skin and yesterday�s hair products. She sputters and wipes the water from her eyelids.
The girl revels in the warm, and then towels off, shuddering in a wave of cold air. She steps back on the scale. 97.5
She smiles.