Page 134 of Broken Saint
There was a time I felt very different about this image.
But now, when I stare at the girl standing there in her underwear with her ribs and hip bones protruding more than they should, I just feel sorry for her.
“You’re not the only one who’s struggled,” I say, mustering up as much courage as I can before passing him my cell.
Deep lines appear across his brow as he stares at the almost unrecognizable girl.
“Ella…who’s?—”
“It’s me, Colt.”
“N-no. That’s not—” He moves the screen closer, getting a better look. “Shit,” he hisses as recognition hits him.
Moving closer, I hop up on the stool again and take the cell from him.
“I can’t remember when it first started, really. I think I was twelve. Maybe thirteen. I’d always been bigger than the other girls. I’d noticed it more and more after starting middle school. But then I became the focus of a group of girls and things really took a turn.
“They’d call me fat and ugly, all the standard stuff. But it just added to my own warped opinion of myself, and…” I scroll through the images on my cell, letting him briefly focus on each one, letting them explain for me.
“I hid it for a long time. But eventually, Mom noticed I wasn’t eating properly. She tried talking to me about it, but obviously, I wasn’t really up for that. I thought I’d placated her because she stopped questioning me. I wasn’t aware that she’d turned her attention to watching.
“I came home from school one day and found her in my bedroom with my stash of hidden food.
“I was terrified she’d shout at me,” I confess, remembering it as if it was yesterday. “But she didn’t. Instead, she pulled me into her arms and promised me that together, we’d figure it all out, that she’d get me all the help I needed.
“She was incredible, so supportive. Honestly, I’m not sure I could have gotten through recovery without her.”
When I glance back up at Colt, all the blood has drained from his face as he stares at the image I’ve stopped on.
It’s awful.
My skin is gray, practically hanging from my bones. My eyes are dark, my cheekbones pronounced.
“She homeschooled me for a bit. Held my hand through everything. She’s the reason I beat it.”
“No,” he rasps. “She might have been there, but you fought this, Ella. You are the reason you beat it.”
I smile at him, loving the way he can turn something so awful into some kind of triumph.
“MKU was a fresh start for me. The ringleader of the little group of bitches who’d had a hand in my downward spiral had moved across the country, and I was in recovery and healthy. But everywhere I turned there were memories. The middle school, which almost broke me, the hospital where I had appointments, the park I used to walk through with my therapist.
“I needed the new start so badly. And when I got there, I allowed myself to be the girl I should have been if it weren’t for that stupid disease.”
He studies me, his eyes wide with awe and adoration.
“It could have broken me, Colt. And I could have allowed it to ruin my future. Hell, there had been days in my recent past where it could have swallowed me whole.
“Am I happy with how I look now?” I say, gesturing to my curvy body. “Honestly, no, not really.”
“Ella, you?—”
I hold my hand up, stopping him from saying the words I know are about to spill free.
“I hated myself when I was in Texas. Chad made me feel ugly. But worse than that, I thought I was ugly.”
His jaw ticks with irritation, but he keeps his mouth shut.
“I don’t need to tell you this, though. You know. You saw how I felt about my body Monday night.”