In My Father's Shadow-Chapter Seven

When the battery in my mp3 player dies, I stop running, hunch over and place my hands on my knees. My breath comes out short and rapid and I remove my headphones leaning against the wall. I’ve definitely burned more that forty-two calories, and to be completely honest, I’m proud of myself. If I had just sat around for an hour, I wouldn’t get this much done. Not only are endorphins the most incredible high I’ve ever gotten, but I know that I’m getting one more pound closer to being skinny. I’m one pound closer to being perfect.1

In my rush of excitement, I jog up the stairs and grab the scale from under the couch. It must be a late night in the courtroom, or dad was talked into having a dinner with his co-workers that he’s planning to throw up the second he gets home. It doesn’t take long for me to get the scale in the bathroom and get all of my clothes off. By the time I’m naked, the scale is at zero and I step onto it. 110. I only dropped a pound during my run and five and a half hours of sleep. 2

I can’t do anything right, can I?3

I’m just going to be a balloon for the rest of my life. I may as well just get used to that fact now. But I can’t. I don’t want to be fat. I don’t want people to look at me and see all this flab hanging off of my body. My stomach growls and I dig my fingernails into it out of frustration. My mind screams at me to do something, anything to punish my body for its hunger.4

And that’s when I see the razorblade on the edge of the sink…5

I inch closer to the razorblade and see that it’s tinted red with blood. Why hadn’t I noticed it before? It’s just another thing that my dad is hiding from me. Is this what he does to keep himself from eating? Is this how he makes it so much more bearable to deal with the hunger pains and making himself throw up? How dare he? How DARE he?! How dare he hide this kind of thing from me when he knows that I need it more than he does? 6

With my teeth grinding away at my bottom lip nervously, I inch a shaking hand over toward the razor blade and just stare at it once it’s in my grasp, gazing at it like some foreign object that I’ve never seen before in the entire span of my life. I test the sharpness carefully with my fingertip and release a soft hiss as the blade punctures the skin. My arm jerks and the razor clinks onto the bathroom floor. I stare at the cut on my finger blankly for a few moments, watching as blood oozes out slowly of the small wound. 7

This is the kind of punishment that I’ve been looking for.8

Stooping down to pick up the razor, I flip the toilet lid down and hold the small metal object in my palm as though its mere presence is a miracle. Carefully, placing the blade against the flesh on my bare stomach and press down, lightly at first, trying to get used to the pain. My eyes close slowly and my head leans back as my courage builds up a little bit. Pressing down more firmly, the soft ripping nose of the razor going across my skin hits my ears and I hiss softly under my breath. 9

When I simply can’t stand the pain anymore, I stop setting the razor back down on the sink in the exact position it was in before. In the mirror, I watch the blood forming over the cut. It’s maybe an inch and a half long… but deep. Mild fascination buzzes through my mind and I tilt my head to the side curiously. 10

The front door closes and I swear softly under my breath, quickly grabbing a tissue and dab up the blood and pull on my clothes in record time. After stuffing the tissue into my pocket, I grab the scale and tip toe into my room, shoving my scale under my bed.11

“Gage?” The Hypocrite calls from downstairs.12

I heave a few deep breaths to calm myself down, I exit my room and toward the staircase, “Yeah?”13

He eyes me carefully for a few moments staying silent while he assesses the situation. “Did you turn the heater up?”14

“No.” I answer simply… my feet are cold to the point of being almost numb. My heart flutters in my chest, I hardly ever lied to my dad before, now, and it’s become a daily routine. Of course I turned up the heater. Our house is a fucking freezer. 15

The Hypocrite keeps up with his unsteady gaze for a few more seconds before he walks up the stairs and shuts himself into the bathroom. Silently, I press my ear against the door and listen to him gagging and retching almost silently. Almost. The sound is just loud enough for me to hear it through the door. 16

When the toilet flushes, I walk back into my room and lie down on my bed. The cut on my stomach stings and I pull up my shirts, gazing at it carefully. I press the pad of my pointer finger along the outside of it, stretching it and drawing more blood. After wiping the copper tasting liquid away, I try to analyze the wound a little more closely, but the bathroom door opens and immediately, I drop my clothes over my stomach. 17

Dad doesn’t notice he’s too busy jogging into his room to work off whatever food he couldn’t throw up. I don’t even bother walking outside of his room to listen to him count… instead; I figure I’ll do a little exercise of my own. 18

Laying down on my floor, I prop my legs up on my bed and cross my arms over my chest, pushing my upper body upward and sending it down, making sure that my back doesn’t touch the floor. It’s tough at first, but, just like when I started running, I push myself. I aim for one more sit up and pretty soon, the cramping in my lower back and stomach is just a minor irritation. After a few more minutes, I don’t even notice it. Counting softly under my breath, I keep pushing myself. Up and down, up and down, over and over and over again. As many times as I can possibly force myself.19

163…20

164…21

165…22

I’m almost to 200, I can’t give up now. If I can make it to 200, then I’ll be fine. If I can make it to 200, then I can try for 300 tomorrow. But my god, I’m so hungry. I wish I hadn’t eaten all of those Cheerios. Maybe I could eat an apple or something when I’m finished. 23

I’ve come to love negative calorie foods in the last month or so.24

My stomach is starting to burn and I’m still not at 200. I’ve got thirty more sit-ups and it’s really starting to hurt me now. I’m not sure if I can hit 200 right now. But I need to so badly. I need to work off every single ounce of fat that’s clinging to my body. It needs to be gone. I need to be skinny. I want to go to school in September and have everyone in total awe at my ability and self control to lose weight and look just like all of the pretty girls walking around the building. I want to be the target of their envy. And I can’t do that when I look like a beached whale. 25

It’s just not possible. 26

That 200th sit-up doesn’t come fast enough. When it finally does come, I lie flat on my back on the floor, arms sprawled out beside me, and legs still propped up on the bed. Dad is still in his room. I’m stuck somewhere between rage and envy toward him. How in the hell can he stand to do sit ups and crunches for so long? I can barely manage 200, and I’ll bet you anything that he can hit 1,000 without any problems. But I can’t talk to him about it. No, of course not, he would just yell at me for trying to lose weight. That’s what pisses me off. He shouldn’t be able to be the only skinny person in the house. Everyone deserves to be skinny and damnit all, if I want to lose weight, it shouldn’t be up to him whether or not I do. It’s my body and 27

I can do what I damn well please with it. 28

My stomach growls and I force myself onto my feet, groaning and rubbing the small of my back gingerly. By the time I step into the kitchen, I’m practically salivating… just picturing that apple in my mind makes my stomach start talking. The door opens and an apple is extracted, the skin picked off almost immediately and thrown into the trash. The skin of the apple might add calories that my body won’t burn off. As soon as I’ve got the skin off, I take a small bite from it and chew it slowly, savoring the taste. I have to swallow three or four times because I keep drooling all over the place. I take another bite, slightly bigger this time, and just keep chewing slowly. If I chew at this pace, then I get full faster and there are fewer calories to burn from the apple so my body can focus on the fat. 29

Half of the apple is gone and I’m still starving. What am I doing wrong? My next bite is bigger and my jaw gets a workout, I’m not used to chewing bites this big. It’s hard. It definitely takes a lot more effort to chew this bigger piece than it does the smaller ones. Maybe that’s where I went wrong. Maybe the tiny bites that I’ve been taking weren’t enough… the bites that I’m taking now are about the size of my middle finger nail. 30

That is huge.31

The Hypocrite is still barricaded in his room and just to spite him, I ignore my hunger pains and drop the remains of the apple in the trash can. This is war. I’d go downstairs and run some more… but I’m just too tired. My body is totally washed out. I’ve run for three hours and done 200 sit ups in the last day. Plus, the cut on my stomach hurts like hell and I don’t want to get sweat in it. 32

My mind chews over my situation slowly, and instead of trying to translate my thoughts, I pull on my socks and shoes and walk out of the house, closing the door quietly behind me. The air is cold, even through my three layers of clothing and I cross my arms over my chest to ease some of the discomfort. The hair on the back of my neck stands up with gooseflesh and a shiver races up my spine. The temperature has to be somewhere near that of the freaking Arctic Circle to be this cold. 33

I stick with a semi-slow pace; my legs are too fatigued to bother going any faster than that. It’s an easy pace though and I’m happy with it for the most part. It could be a little faster, but right now, I’m too focused on trying to keep my body warm. If I were to pick up the speed, I’d be warmer, but I just can’t. I’m too tired.34

My breathing is fast and desperate even though I’m moving slower than I ever have before in my life. I’m probably just getting dehydrated. I’ll drink some water when I get home and I’ll be fine. 35

School starts in less than a month. I need to figure out a way to lose more weight in less than a month without it being totally obvious to my dad. Even though it probably is already… or will be once he sees the fridge. He should be proud though. I’m removing us both from the temptation of completely pigging out and getting fatter. I’m removing us both from the temptation of getting lazy and just sitting around and watching TV all night. I’m saving us. If he doesn’t see that, then he needs some serious help. 36

There’s a bitter taste in the back of my mouth that I can’t get to go away and I decide right then and there that the only solution is to brush my teeth more. I’ll carry around whatever I have to. Gum, mints, hell, I’ll even take my toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste with me to school for after I eat lunch. But I can’t get rid of the taste. The apple covered it up slightly, but only for a little while and now it’s back stronger than ever. Maybe it’s the blood from the back of my throat, but scratching at it as hard as I could was the only way to get rid of the cereal. It was the only way. It wouldn’t come out if I had just stuck my finger down my throat like I had all those times before. I’ll just have to be careful and make sure that it doesn’t get infected. I’ll gurgle peroxide and wash my hands with antibacterial soap before I throw up to get rid of all the germs on my hands. It should be fine.