The refrigerator hummed. Too loudly. At least someone was happy. Lauren grabbed the remote and put the volume up. Emma Watson's (Hermione's) voice filled the room. She was teaching Tom Felton--a.k.a. Draco Malfoy--a well-deserved lesson. A few years ago this scene would have made Lauren hoot with glee and punch the air, but she wasn't like that any more. She practically had the darn movie memorized, but the parents had insisted that she watch it, "for fun." No, because it's safe. Non-triggering. Just like everything else in the house. Diet Coke--gone. Laptop--gone. Bathroom scales--gone. Her iPod--gone. (She didn't understand the reasoning behind that--perhaps they thought Evanescence was too angsty for her fragile nerves?) Movies with actors she actually liked--gone. "Bad influences," they said. Lauren had to laugh at that one. She didn't want to look like Lindsay Lohan. She didn't care even if every stinkin' Hollywood Golden Girl weighed 85 pounds--all together. The hurt was inside. Whatever it was.
At least they hadn't taken away her Icebreakers. Everything else in the house was full-fat and high-cal. They didn't even buy skim milk anymore. Thankfully, Chloe and James weren't here to cook for her (some brilliant idea of her therapist's), so she was free to consume her no-cal mints and do sit-ups in front of the big screen--even if Harry Potter was a kids' movie.
Technically, she wasn't supposed to be doing sit-ups, or exercising at all. Her aunt was supposed to be watching her--as if she were a baby, and not 17--but she was conked out in the other room. Exhausted, just like the 'rents. Which was why they were gone for a weekend.
Sudden tears stung her eyes, having nothing to do with the adolescents onscreen. She hated this. This stupid oppression, in her chest, in her mind, in her soul. Ironically, the lighter her body became, the heavier the misery inside grew. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She hated herself. For not being strong enough. For never being good enough. Failure.
"Arggghhhh!" She put the volume up to the max. Maybe she could somehow drown out that voice. She'd tried almost everything else to get ride of it. She was supposed to be smarter than this, like her parents had reproachfully told her. She was gifted, after all. What was wrong with her? She hated to bring down their image of her, to murder their perfect little ballerina honor student. Lauren knew that that girl was dead, and now she--it--was slowly eating away at the rest of her. Like a parasite.
She couldn't stand it any more. It hadn't worked. The whisperings were still there. She hit the power button and let the room go dark. "Darn you." Firmly. No, that wasn't good enough. "D--N YOU!" Not loud enough to wake her aunt, but high and tremulous and--she hated to admit it--scared. Who--or what--was she even talking to? Then the tears began in earnest.