8.14 Part Four: Recital Night and Marlo

(Potential) Trigger Warning

Marlo's POV, at the recital...

   Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths, deep-
  "And now our star pupil, Marlo Janes, is going to preform her routine entitled rêve d'un cygne volant, dreams of a flying swan." Madame Bourguignon announced. Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths. Calm down. Calm down. You skipped two days worth of meals for this and only drank a protein drink this morning, so you know you looked great. Just go out there and wow everyone- forget your fight, was it really a fight, with Pho- c'mon, if you don't you're... Well, then. You're worthless. You don't wanna be worthless then, do you? No, you don't. But you are. Maybe you won't be if you do really great. Just go out there and wow them Go! I stopped thinking and began walking onto the stage; I needed to let go of my thoughts and let the music and dance takeover me.

   And then it was all over, as quickly as it had begun. The stressful part of the evening was over; now it was time to turn on the charm, time to begin to schmooze and convince the parents that their little angel need the stress of the other ballerinas being thinner and more agile then them, the stress of whether or not they'll win the competition, and should pay a month's salary to learn about the competitive, destructiveness that was a beautiful art I couldn't live without.

The next morning...

   I woke up to see the sun streaming in through the window above Pho's bed. I took a deep breath and yawned; I had fallen asleep close to ten-thirty, before dad- I assumed he had shown up, considering that an iPhone charger and pink toothbrush was carefully place on the table- had shown up, and he usually made me go to sleep around eight-thirty. My feet hit the cold floor and I instantly shivered; I was lucky I lived in an area that was always warm, I had lost most of my body fat and now anything below seventy degrees Fahrenheit made me cold.

   I glanced at myself in the mirror, my braid had come undone throughout the night, and decided to change out of my pajamas later. Right now I had something much more important to do. I began tiptoeing out of our room, after I shoved my phone into my PJ pocket, quietly opening the door so it wouldn't wake Pho. I liked to think I did this because I was a naturally nice person, but in truth I did it because if she woke up me I couldn't do what I always did in the morning. I scurried over to the stairs, scrambling down them to the living room, then into the kitchen. 

   I stood on my tippy toes and leaped up, grabbing a bowl and the Healthy Whole Grain O's from the cabinet I'd open. I set the bowl and knock off brand cereal on the counter and walked over to the fridge, pulling out the skim milk. Doing this, this being convincing whoever I was around that I had in fact consumed a food product close to breakfast without actually consuming anything, wasn't an exact science. I had to pour a few bits of cereal into the bowl, then top it off with a tablespoon or so of milk. I'd take a spoon and much the cereal until it looked like I'd actually ate the rest, then I placed the bowl in the sink and let whoever I was with lecture me on how I should put my dishes in the dishwasher when I was done with them. 
   Lunch was probably the easiest to act like I'd  ate; I went to school everyday with three dollars for lunch, but instead of buying lunch I bought gum or zero calorie beverages that I chew or eat in order to trick my brain into think I'd ate something. If I talked a lot to my friends or occasionally swiped a cracker or celery stick from their tray, they never inquired about my eating habits.
   Dinner was the most difficult meal of the day, because daddy insisted we all ate at the table together, as a family. Usually we had pasta, pizza, Mexican, or some sort of marinated meat with salad and corn or green beans and mashed potatoes or peas or lima beans. If we had pizza or pasta I'd try to act like I had a big lunch that day and pick at the toppings, drink a protein shake I mixed up for myself, and try to keep my calorie consumption under three hundred. Mexican was simple- no tortilla, keep the meat to a minimum, eat the lettuce, tomatoes, no cheese, and then chug a protein shake. No carbs, which meant no sugar or bready items, no dairy, no sweets, nothing fried, bulk up on veggies and fruit, preferably the fresh variety. Occasionally switch up the calorie consumption to make your metabolism work, chew lots of gum, drink lots of water, work your butt of at your three hour daily ballet practice and twice a week yoga. That was my regime and I had stuck with it; it was fool proof and it worked.
   "Ding!" My phone went off. I pulled it out at glanced at it. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap. Crap! Why did this have to happen? Why?!
   "Prestigious residential New York City American Ballet Academy raises non-continental tuition costs." NyCABA (knee-cAH-buh)  was the most prestigious American ballet school that excepted thirteen to sixteen years olds; usually they allowed American territories, such as the US Virgin Islands, where I inconveniently lived, to apply. The school accepted dedicated dancers who were twelve to fifteen and trained them so that way when they turned sixteen they could audition for a company. The competition was murderous; the school was the best in the country and thousands of people from all over the world auditioned. I had yet to tell my parents about it; tuition was a bank breaking thirty-thousand dollars a year, fifteen of that thirty was devoted to housing. If we lived in New York, I wouldn't have to board, but since we didn't... Well, the numbers spoke for themselves and with the rule change, who knew how much more they'd demand- not that it would stop me from needing to get it.
   I angrily tossed my phone at the wall- CRACK!- I glanced over; it had hit the glass sliding doors. As if I didn't have enough worries; mom would probably go balistic when she found out. I opened the glass door and stepped outside, to try and assess the damage when I spotted a shadow out of the corner of my eye. Was someone on the balcony?
   "Hello?" I cried out, taking a slow step back into the house.
   "Shh!" A gruff voice cried out from above, on the balcony. "Just lemme in."
   "AHH! MOM!" I screamed, slamming the door shut. Someone was here; were they trying to break in? Why would you do that this early when everyone was waking up? Why not wait until the afternoon or evening? I turned my back and began tip toeing out of the kitchen, hoping they wouldn't do anything before I could go tell mom.    
   "Wait!!" The voice called out and I heard a scratching on the door.
   "MOM SOMEONE'S TRYING TO BREAK IN!" I took off running, towards the stairs when I bumped into mom.
   "Marlo!" She whispered. "What did you hear?"
   "Someone on the balcony."
   "On the- on the balcony?" She paused, a glimmer of regret crossing her face. "The balcony..." She sighed.
   "Yeah... is there something I should know?"
   "Just stay here. If I scream, call the police and play a Sarah Mclachlen song at my funeral."
   "Mom!"

   "I'm joking, sweetie." She smiled, ruffling my hair, something she hadn't done since I was six. She began strutting over to the kitchen and slide open the door. "Harbor!" She exclaimed over dramatically. "What in the world are you doing here?"
   "I'm um... Uh... Um..." Their voices dropped, so I began walking closer to the kitchen so I could here their whispers.
   "Did Marlo see you?"
   "I don't know. I thought if I went out the balcony door in your bedroom they wouldn't see me..."
   "Well, she might have! What are we going to say? We may have agreed to forget that this happened, but the kids... I mean, she's in middle school and Phoebe's in high school, so they obviously aren't clueless. What would we say? Wouldn't this confuse them?"
   "I don't know... we aren't getting back together- this was a one time thing- maybe they'd get that?"
   "Dammit. This complicates crud."
   "Let's just... I don't... I'll go, you say it was a tree branch."
   "She isn't stupid."
   "I know; I raised her smart."
   "I-I... raised her pretty."
   "Maya." I heard him whisper sigh. "I'll go, let's- tree branch, okay?"
   "Okay." I heard the door slide shut and nonchalantly began playing on my phone. I looked up at mom when she walked by.
   "No police?"
   "Oh, no. It was a tree branch."
   "Sure..."
   "Honey, I'm feeling really tired; I didn't get much sleep yesterday, I think I'll try and get a little more sleep, if that's okay with you."

   "Sure." And with that, she scurried up the stairs to her bedroom and I plopped myself down on the couch, hoping that some Netflix and New Girl could help me forget about my parents and their time together; the idea disgusted me, even though I knew was here, so that meant... but still! It was an awkward, horrible prospect.

NOTE: I have no idea how accurate my eating disorder logic is or if that's how someone who suffers from an eating disorder mind works, so I apologize in advance for whatever mistakes I made. 
IMPORTANT! - >  If you suffer from an eating disorder, please seek treatment. Here are a list of hotlines which I hope may be helpful to you: http://www.something-fishy.org/other/hotlines.php