“Open up~.”

I don’t know what had started it, but feeding me had become one of JB’s habits. Against my better will, he’d hold up his spoon – overflowing with rice – up to my lips, prodding gently with that overwhelming smirk of his. And, not wanting to upset him, I’d be given no choice but to open up, taking in the fattening products, each bite bringing excruciating guilt. It felt nearly like being slapped right in the face by a tidal wave.

And after each feeding, I’d rush to the restroom, desperate to drop to my knees and hunch over the porcelain toilet bowl. I couldn’t get fat. I couldn’t allow myself to be ugly again.

Not when I’d only just found pleasure with myself.

I’d only just achieved my pseudo fairy tale; I wouldn’t allow myself to screw it up just yet.

But I was stupid, of course I was. I knew I would mess up sometime soon, but I hadn’t thought that it would have been so soon since I’d started throwing up everything forced into my stomach. I hadn’t nearly been careful enough.

“What are you doing.”

It wasn’t a question, but more of a demand.

I’d been hunched over the toilet again, one hand clawing at my stomach and the other on the rim of the toilet to hold myself steady, when I heard that all too familiar voice start off from somewhere behind me. It was familiar, not because it was my Jaebum, but, worse, one of his friends.

Jung Daehyun.

He was the tanned offensive player on JB’s soccer team, quiet and soft spoken, unwilling to hold up a straight conversation unless it was absolutely necessary. I’d, at that point, only heard him speak once or twice, but somehow, the voice had managed to burn into my memories.

After all, he most often spoke directed to me.

He was Jaebum’s friend, and took it upon himself to care for my wellbeing so Jaebum wouldn’t have to worry so hard for a mess like me.

Before I’d choked up an answer, another round of bile rose to my throat, forcing me to curl over the bowl again in agony, whimpering as I felt acid scratch up against my throat. I’d never liked the taste of acid, even if it meant keeping myself in my slim fit.

As I choked up all of my lunch – and then some – Jung Daehyun squatted behind me, patting me on the back, a heavy sigh passing his thick lips. I could tell he wanted to say something else, but instead he kept quiet, pursing his lips and scrunching his face as the smell of acid rose to his nose. It was disgusting, but the smell had become all too familiar to me; by then, it had become some sort of a friend to me.

Only after I’d tossed up all there was left in my stomach, did my heaving stop, leaving me weak and sprawled awkwardly on the dirty restroom floor. I felt disgusting, but I also felt skinny. I felt nice; good.

“Does Jaebum know?”

I shook my head, shifting a little to grip desperately at the sleeve of his uniform. He couldn’t tell. Jaebum would hate me.

“Please don’t tell. Please don’t tell.”

I’d do anything. Please don’t tell.