Distortion

She steps in the scale again.
The dial swivels and settles on a number.
It reads the same. Again.
She just stares at it, incredulous, sickened.
It'd been days. No solid foods. Just water. And running.
And still, that infuriatingly colossal number screamed at her, deafening.
Why?
All she wanted was to be like them. The girls at school. In the magazines. The ones she saw on the posters. The mannequins in the windows.
She just wanted to be smaller. Just a few more pounds. It couldn't take this long. It shouldn't.
She'd do it. She had to. Every look in the mirror brought more self loathing and darkness. Ever glance at her imperfect body brought more hate, making her shrink away from it. She was disgusting. Obese. Huge. Bouncing and wiggling with every movement. Unsightly legs, bulky hips, arms, stomach, and face making her look inflated.
Sick.
Her stomach turned. She bent over the basin and heaved.
This would help. This would quicken the process.
The wiped her mouth and leaned closer to her reflection, gingerly supporting herself on weak arms, angry eyes scanning over the unwanted curves of her body.
She wouldn't see the fragile girl starting back at her with dead eyes set in tired bruises. She didn't notice the sharp angles of her ribs, hips, and cheekbones. She looked past the pale skin tugging against delicate joints in her fingers and elbows. Her shaky hands ran through her limp hair, pulling it forward to conceal her face.
Her vision clouded.
She couldn't see it.