Chapter 1 (Rough Draft) - "Beneath the Ashes"

Standing on the bathroom scale was difficult. My eyes burned with the fear of the numbers creeping up as I awaited the results. The scale revealed a number hard to bear – 105 pounds. That’s me. 105 pounds, five feet, 3 inches. It is now June 15, 2011 and I have gained 8.5 pounds since April. How pathetic! I am worthless. I felt water building up in my furiously green eyes, clouding my vision, making the bathroom walls nothing but a blur.
The pain in my gut stabbed me like a knife, forcing me to hunch over in immense pain. My knees bent and my back slowly slid down the bathroom counter, as I forced myself onto the floor. My hand covered my stomach and I half expected to see blood on my pale hands when I removed it. The pain became impossible to withstand, forcing a loud cry of pain from my mouth. I heard glass shatter downstairs, as if my mother dropped a glass on the floor from the unexpected cry for help. Footsteps were heard coming up the steps like a herd of horses stampeding through a field. The door flew open, revealing myself in a ball on the floor. My parents rushed to my side and I heard the baby cry in the room across the hall.
“Honey, get the baby, I’ll call 911” said my dad in a surprisingly calm, collective voice.
“But… is she okay? Honey! Honey! What’s wrong? Is it your stomach? I told you that you don’t eat enough!” cried my inpatient, worried mother.
“Sarah! Just get Alexis and I’ll take care of Lauren. Throw me that phone over there” my dad replied.
My father quickly dialed 911. Then it was as if my life fast-forwarded, for here I am, lying in a hospital bed. I awoke from a deep sleep, which is probably a result of the IV protruding from the vein in my forearm that I would assume has some sort of narcotic. I was shocked and slightly frightened, also numb. A tingling sensation rushed throughout my body, covering every inch of my pain. I took in a deep breath and slowly emptied my lungs of the sterilized hospital air.
Then, a pretty lady in a pair of white scrub pants and a top graced with flowers came into the room with a huge smile on her face. Her smile wasn’t annoying and fake, but sincere and caring. She spoke quietly.
“Hello dear, how are you feeling?” she asked.
“Okay” I answered.
She touched my ice cold hand with her warm hand and smiled at me with a look of concern and sympathy. The nurse was careful to say much after that, instead she just explained that she was giving me something for pain that would probably make me pretty sleepy. I felt a cold liquid enter my veins, and within a few seconds my eyes closed and I was out. I was floating on a cloud of happiness in my dreams. This is the only place I felt at home with myself - asleep, without a care in the world.
Approximately two hours later, I awoke, my mother asleep in the chair by the window. I eyed the room around me, feeling empty in the sterile, cold environment. It didn’t take much time until my mother was awakened, as if she sensed that my eyelids had opened and was immediately ready to pounce. Of course, she can’t stay calm, even when the situation I’m in requires a calm, patient, understanding voice. She must not understand that that’s what I need.
Mother leaped out of her chair, immediately hounding me with questions and accusations. I didn’t respond to them, in fact, I hardly listened. I was stuck in my own world. She must’ve thought I was going crazy, for I never once responded. I occasionally nodded my head and indicated that I was alive, which is not exactly where I want to be.
I’m trapped in a whirlpool of confusion and lies and depression, but I’ve stopped searching for a way out. I got tired, out of breath. My claustrophobia has worn off from the immunity of being caved in. Life is a one-syllable word. One chance, one opportunity, one fucked up girl.