“Aren’t you going to eat?” Amelia looked at her mother, surprised at the sudden sound.
“Um, I’m not very hungry tonight.”
In truth, Amelia was never hungry, not tonight, not any night. There was a dull, hollow, vaguely aching pit where the food should have been. But the pain had long since subsided. After the first week of not eating, Amelia felt… numb. Hollow. But she felt whole, like nothing could hurt her now.
When she gingerly lifted her milky hand and placed it on her stomach, she knew she had lost weight. She could trail her hand up her torso and feel her ribs, the pitiful small bones of her hips jutting out like the awkward shapes they were.
She had been doing this for as long she she could remember. It was a sick and twisted thing to do, but she loved it. She loved the limp weakness the hunger left in her bones, and she delighted at the thought of feeling a bony, sickly spine. Why? She didn’t know. But some part of it was addicting.
When she didn’t eat, it was like a void was created, and a void was filled at the same time. She felt like her body would go limp and cave in. Maybe it should.