Short story | Eating disorder | Running

Running after emptiness

The Thing made me do it

It's Tuesday morning and I have Portuguese class after the morning march. I love my Portuguese teacher, Miss M., she’s brilliant. Her class is always inspiring and she does far more than teaching: she celebrates our language and its infinite resources.

I'm tired of the military rituals, so I sit down as soon as the class president gives us permission to. I feel kinda numb, though I like how empty my stomach is right now, so I focus on how proud I am of myself for not having breakfast before coming to school.

It’s true that, sometimes, I'm too tired to even stay up. Just yesterday, my Biology teacher sent me to the Lieutenant’s office because I slept through her entire class. I don’t feel guilty at all.

But I always try my best not to sleep during Miss M's class, because I don’t want to let her down. I can tell I’m her favorite student, and I intend to maintain my position, because, right now, I don't feel I'm anyone else's favorite. I could say she is my favorite teacher as well. Truth is, she is the only one I actually give a sh*t about.

The class starts punctually at eight, and I am the first student to grab my pen and write down the sentences Miss M. is dictating. I concentrate all my efforts into hearing, writing and not sleeping. But the more I write, the less I can feel the environment around me.

I keep writing.

“ADJECTIVES ARE…

Miss M’s voice starts to get muffled, but I can still hear her. So I focus on my pen and paper.

“ADJECTIVES ARE RESPONS…

My vision starts to blur, and it seems my ears are covered with sea shells. Only, instead of hearing the breaking waves, all I hear is silence.

I squeeze my eyes so I can see better, and just keep writing.

The emptiness in my stomach starts to spread; suddenly, is takes over my chest, as if to soften my heartbeat. I close my eyes, just for a moment, and let the emptiness get to my head. My mind is completely empty. It's a good sensation.

Complete and unbreakable silence surrounds every cell of my body. Like I'm captive in the void.

“Terra?”

I hear Miss M's voice coming from outside the void.

“Did she pass out?” This time, I can hear Carlos.

My shoulders, being shaken by someone, cause my face to rub against my notebook. I wish I could stay here…

I open my eyes to a very bright room, and see Miss M. standing next to me horizontally.

What?

I somehow manage to lift my torso up, and look down to my notebook. It says:

“ADJECTIVES ARE RESPONSIBL”, followed by a long, solitary line which stops at some point, giving way for the emptiness to take over my notebook page as well.

An appropriate response from a bunch of teenagers in a high school class would be to start laughing at the sleeping one, and as soon as I realize what is happening, I feel absolutely ready for that.

Five or six seconds go by in complete silence.

No one laughs.

“May you accompany me?” Miss M. says, using a tone I’m not able to read.

I know she’s gonna take me to the Lieutenant’s office, so I don’t even bother asking why.

She's walking beside me along the long, dark and empty school hallway, her shoes making a loud echo each time they meet the ground. Before we make it to the stairs that lead to the Office, she stops and turns aroud, starring at me with a blank expression.

“Let's go to the Library.” She says.

The fiction section, at the very back of the library, is filled with cliché novels and cheap ass stories. I hate most of these books. They're always a retelling of a basic plot. I remember reading this kind of literature when I was 10. And even then I did not love it.

Miss M. runs her fingers through one of the book shelves, and stops at a Percy Jackson book. She takes it off the shelf and puts on a table.

“Shall we sit?”

I nod and sit down slowly, my eyes locked on Percy Jackson's silhouette on the book cover.

“Have you read it?” She asks.

“Yes… didn't really like it. I prefer Rick Riordan's Kane Chronicles.”

“And why is that?”

“Better plot. And I think the characters are a lot more appealing. But honestly, I stopped reading this kind of books like… ages ago.”

She opens the book and reads a random line.

“What do you think about that line?”

“It's kinda dumb.”

She laughs.

“Indeed, it is kind of dumb. Can you tell me why you wouldn't write this book?”

“I think this author has something very cool going on, you know. He writes for young people. He knows who his readers are, so I think it's very smart of him to write this kind of book.” I'm feeling more awake at every word I say. “I wouldn't write this book because I want to write about more importante issues.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“Like… global warming. Or… or Politics. Or better: women rights.”

“Yes, that's what I like about you, Terra. You are opinionated. And very, very intelligent. I admire how ready you are to discuss anything, at any time, with anyone. Especially at your age. You are very aware of the world you live in, and I think it's beautiful that you want to write about that. But right now I'm concerned you are not as aware of what's happening within yourself.”

She is wrong. I can't discuss anything at any time. I have no answer for that. So, yeah… I might be totally unaware of what's going on inside my mind.

“You caught me off guard”, I mumble, attempting to make her laugh again.

She doesn't.

“I can only imagine how hard it must be for you, living away from your parents, having to do all by yourself and still managing to come to this particular school everyday.”

I can't see where she's heading with this. So I just look at her, letting the emptiness inside me arise again.

She continues:

“I understand you have a tight schedule, and it makes sense that you feel tired. But I am starting to suspect this is not the reason, or, at least, the only reason why you have been sleeping in class. I noticed you lost some weight, as well. Is there something you would like to talk to me about?”

My silence elicits a few more words from her.

“You can trust me.”

I could keep talking about Rick Riordan or about global issues if she wanted me to. But as soon as the conversation mentions The Thing, my words just vanish, leaving me all alone in the emptiness again.

“I… I’m just really tired. I’m sorry, Miss M. I promise I will never do this again.” I cut the matter off.

She stares at me with a sad smile on her lips.

“Okay. I won't insist on it. You don't have to open up. I get it. It's hard to talk to adults at your age.”

“Sorry… There's just not much to talk about.” I hold my impulse to check the size of my wrist.

“I’ll tell you what”, she takes a deep breath in, as if she were on the last lap of an 800m race, and says, with the energy she was saving for this very moment: “every Wednesday, I have lunch at home with my husband. We cook together. I would love for you to join us every week. I can take you during your lunch break, and bring you back for the afternoon classes.”

Still numb, I try to fight the void so I can get to the surface. I scream from the inside “Please, say yes!”, but my ears are once again covered by invisible shells. I can't hear a thing. I just want to go back to the void, entirely.

So I say:

“Thank you, Miss M. Really. I would love to go, but I can’t. I just… I have plans with my study group for Wednesdays.”

Her smile fades a little and I can tell she's struggling to keep it on her face.

“Just so you know, you are still one of my favorite students.”

I smile a little, to show her I care.

“I just… I don’t want you to waste your talent, or worse, your life, trying to reach something you don't actually want. You need to wake up.”

Her words hit the void's walls as if they were made of glass. I nod as I fight to keep tears from coming out of my eyes. My smile fades rapidly. I make no effort to keep wearing it.

“You may stay here until the end of the class.”

She walks away with steady, slow steps, and even when she leaves the library, I can hear the echo from her shoes screaming along the hallway.

My legs are tired and I can almost hear my right shoulder scream in pain.

“Just keep running.”

Nothing besides my body matters when I'm running. That's what I love about it. I can feel the sweat dripping down my face instead of tears. And instead of sobbing, I spend my breath taking consistent strides. I can't hear my thoughts because I am screaming at them: Keep going! I can't feel my emotions because my body is too drained.

I'll have to stop at some point, and I know that.

But I'll wait. I will only stop when I'm absolutely exhausted.

And when I finally do, nothing will matter at all.

Not even the loneliness inside my bedroom. Or the empty house that is waiting for me to arrive. Not the absence of someone to fight me; to tell me I don't have to do this. To make me rest. To wake me up. To take care of me. To yell at me or even to beat me. I won't feel anything because there will be nothing to feel.

I give what’s left of me in one last lap on the racetrack. I need to be completely empty. Of food, of energy, of feelings. I need to feel like I have nothing to lose in life. Because when I do have something to lose, I am afraid of living.

The last song in my playlist ends and so I stop running. Once again, I can hear the silence. My stomach hurts as it never did before, but I'm not hungry. I crave something other than food.

I crave for comfort.

I grab my phone, taking the earphones off, and think of the only person in the whole world that can provide me what I need.

“Hi mom.” I text her.

Our last interaction was a disaster. I scroll up to see what kind of a mess I made the day before.

“I need you…”

Nope. Not taking that road.

I press delete.

My roommate is watching Gravity Falls on TV. I can hear her, chewing her dinner. And the smell… It’s delicious. It makes me wanna throw up, anyway. I walk right past the living room, saying a lifeless “good night”, which she replies with “uh-huh”, and go to my bedroom.

I take one last breath of her dinner's aroma before closing the door behind me, expecting an empty room to greet me, but tonight… well…

I won't be alone tonight.

Because The thing is here, waiting for me.