46. Skin and Bones
SKIN AND BONES
Oceans [Jacob Lee]
I step out of the tub and unplug the bath, letting the water rush down the drain. As I dry, I hiss out a breath at the shudders of pain around my groin. The burning heat is a constant reminder that I am hurting. I’m alive, and I hope it means I’m also fighting to survive.
I dress in the clothes I wore today, and when I step out, I pause when Conner hands me pants and a shirt. “Dress in these.”
“Why?”
“So you can throw your clothes in the washing machine,” he answers.
“Oh… okay.”
I close my bedroom door after lingering far too long on Conner’s bare chest. His muscles constrict as he sits on the lounge. A shallow breath releases, and I close the door, cutting off the intense contact.
I remove my clothes and shrug on his shirt. It’s bigger, and Conner isn’t that bulky.
It shows how skinny I am, doesn’t it? I rarely look at myself in the mirror, but as I look at myself in his shirt, my arms are twigs compared to the armholes. His shirt drapes down, more of a nightgown than a T-shirt.
His sweatpants are worse, so I have to tie the strings at the front so they won’t fall to my knees.
My lips tremble at the mere thought that I’m nothing like I thought I looked.
All this time, I assumed I looked normal—healthy enough.
But seeing this… the look of my arms, legs, and my entire body.
I feel so sick and disturbed. The undeniable, toxic, and disturbing thoughts about how I look fill my head.
I’m so hollow. Nothing more than skin wrapped around fragile, broken bones.
This is what Conner has seen this entire time. I should have seen the signs when he wrapped his hands around my wrists at Mrs Crawford’s place. The way he kept pushing food on me. How easy it was for Andy to pull me towards him.
I crouch, placing my hands over my mouth, desperate to push it all back in.
Keep it in, Noya. There’s time to change. To get better. I want to look at myself as someone to love.
This might be me now, but I don’t want to be this for the rest of my life. This is merely a cause of my upbringing—the lack of proper care and food to provide me since I was a child.
But. This. Doesn’t. Have. To. Be. Me.
I now know because of this shirt. This piece of cotton drapes around me as if I wrapped myself with the tall, thick curtains that used to hang in my bedroom. This piece of fabric makes me realise my body after years of denial.
After years of staring at bruises, not skin.
I’ve been hiding. I was hiding everything about myself, concealing myself in long jumpers and pants, afraid to reveal myself to the world.
To show anyone who I am.
I swallow the bile, stand, pinch the string tied to the pants and yank until Conner’s pants drop to my ankles. I step out, reach for the handle, and open the door. He turns to look at me. Those hazel eyes widen, and the blush flushes his cheeks. I shyly look away as I sit next to him.
I run my hands over flesh—my flesh, my skin. The skin I’ve not been accustomed to for years. It feels good.
“Uh… where are my sweats?” he asks.
“I didn’t want to wear them,” I answer, smiling.
“Oh… was something wrong with them?”
“No.” I shake my head. “But I felt comfortable without them.”
He smiles, his eyes softening a shade while he places his arm over my shoulders. I lean into him, getting more comfortable.
We watch more of this Marvel Universe. There are a lot of movies. I doubt we will get through them today and tomorrow. However, it is part of Conner that I understand. And watching something he loves while we eat the rest of the cold pizza makes me love the movies, too.
I tuck my legs up, leaning against Conner. His fingers drag across my flesh. Not once does he look at me with disgust or disturbance. What we have is more than skin and bones.