There was a pain in Celia’s side that caused her to collapse on her bed. She groaned and struggled to sit back up; the malnutrition made her weak. She climbed underneath her blue covers, holding her side. Just think of all the clothes you can wear after this diet, she thought. Think about all dresses you can get after this diet. Her phone rang and the bright screen lit up, indicating a text from her best friend. Celia picked up the phone, reading the message. Another invite to a social gathering that included food. She typed in a brief “no” and set it back down on the nightstand, next to an apple. The mere thought of eating made her nauseous.
“Celia! Dinner!” her mother called from the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m not hungry! I ate at school!” was Celia’s reply. Her stomach grumbled, indicating that she was indeed hungry, even if she didn’t want to admit it. She started reaching for it but paused. No eating, she thought. Instead, Celia reached over for her laptop, pushed it open, and typed in her long password. The screen illuminated  her her face, showing prominent cheekbones, a thin face and pale skin. Messages from group chats appeared in her inbox, friend requests, and photos of artistic lattes popped up after she opened her tabs.
She clicked into a new incognito tab and searched pictures of models. She’s so pretty, Celia thought. She’s got a great figure. Unlike me. Celia admired the model’s curves. Curvy in all the right places.  Scrolling through the seemingly endless pictures of beautiful women, she sighed. Face it, Celia, you're never getting that dress. There's no way you can fit it. There's no way you'll ever be deemed skinny.
Thoughts clouded her mind as she stood up and wandered towards the full length mirror in the corner. She stared at herself in the mirror, with pale skin and fatigue in her eyes. She looked down at her legs, staring at how they didn't look thin enough and how they didn't look tan enough. Her shoulders sagged, another wave of nausea causing her to sway and fall onto the carpeted floor. She laid there, staring at the ceiling and taking deep breaths. She struggled to sit up, her elbows giving up underneath her weight.
You must eat, she thought. No! On that diet, remember? She struggled in between the two. Her health or her looks? Maybe just a bite of that apple. The apple, she thought, is on the nightstand. Just a mere couple of paces away. She stood up with much difficulty, the pain etched across her face. She reached for the red fruit and bit into it, the juicyness taking her by surprise. Just one bite. That’s enough. Or it isn’t. Celia fought off her inner thoughts like she was against the world.
She took another bite of the apple, it’s juice running down her chin. The color returned to her face and the nausea had gone. She turned the apple, taking occasional bites, but her stomach yearned for more. She strode across the room and opened the door, walking downstairs and greeting her family for the first time in a week. Her mother smiled and handed her a plate of meatloaf. Celia smiled and took it, sitting next to her brother. She smiled and answered the questions being asked by her father. Left on her bed was her laptop, still open, the pictures abandoned and forgotten.