Timestamp: 18th of Summer 511
Location: Home Sweet Home
Location: Home Sweet Home
Elira woke up clutching her sweat-soaked sheets and reached out for Daron for the millionth time that night. She couldn’t recall the nightmares that plagued her, but only the cool touch of Daron’s skin could slow her racing pulse. Her connection to him was the only thing that got her through those terrible nights.
When she rolled over for the last time, the sun was already peeking through the curtains. She reached out for Daron, but felt only the cold damp sheet, dusted with breadcrumbs, where the soft lump of his body had once been.
Instantly, she felt gluttonous over the breadcrumbs. Daron had come home late last night and she'd lost control while waiting up for him. Her fast had been going well until then. Now she'd ruined it and was back to square one.
Her lover hated fat girls. It wasn’t just that Daron wasn’t attracted to them; they made him angry too. Elira could never figure out what made him so cruel about it, but she knew he'd never change.
It was better that she get with the program, keep the jerky out of her mouth and bread away from the bed. Over the years her weight had gone up and down. Right now, she was on the up end. She didn't have the guts to guess at a number. All she knew was that the dresses she'd fit comfortably into when she first met Daron, no longer fit around her midsection.
Her Daron had already noticed. She was sure of it. It wasn't the kind of thing he could hide. It came natural, like breathing.
Knowing how big she was getting just made her want to eat more. The more she ate, the more she wanted to eat. If she kept eating that way, she'd eat herself into the dark black bottom of Lake Ravok.
Elira loved Daron despite his flaws—and they were many. She wasn’t blind. For years, she’d been letting out his pants. He had no idea that his own girth was growing. There was no way she would let him think poorly of himself. And maybe a small part of her enjoyed the fact that less women noticed him now.
Daron wasn’t going to change. If not for me, than for no one. He loved her in his own way. It wasn’t the same way she loved him, but she knew that he did. It was in the sparkle in his eye when he looked at her. As long as my waist fits between his fingers.
Silence loomed eerily in every corner. The still bedroom disturbed her, driving home the message that Daron was gone. She hated the feeling of his absence. It made everything in their tiny cubicle feel empty, especially her.
With the window closed, she felt like air was being sucked out of the room.
She sat up with a swiftness that made her stomach rumble and reached for the glass of water on the narrow table next to the bed. On the table, was her grandmother's vase. It the only thing that Elira had worth anything to her. The table and the small wardrobe were both Daron's and the only furniture that fit in the small space. Had the table been any bigger, it never would have fit. She felt the same way about herself some days.
There was barely enough room for Daron on their bed. Add her to the equation and unless she was smooshed up against him, there wasn’t enough room for the both of them. If Daron rejected her, she’d be sleeping on the floor—worse, in the same room with the chamber pot. Though, the nagging fear that she wouldn’t be able to squeeze into the room with him? That was the worst. Not being able to touch him when she woke up from the terrible dreams she so often had was an impossible thought.
She ran her trembling fingers through her hair to break up the knots, distracting herself from that line of thought. There was nothing good to be had travelling down that road.
As her thoughts returned to her body, she remembered the glass in her hand and took a sip of water. It was as stale as the air in the room, but she took a few swallows to fill up her stomach anyway, then forced herself out of bed. If she held out against the hunger long enough, it would pass. She just had to stay busy until it did.
The sheets were a good place to start. They were covered in crumbs and Rhysol knew what else. She didn’t want to think about the seed Daron spilled on their bed with the whores he brought home from the House of Immortal Pleasures.
She cringed. At least none of them have turned up pregnant.
Okay. That was it. Her thoughts had betrayed her enough for one day.
She made quick work of tearing the sheets from the thin mattress. With the sun shining through the window illuminating more proof of Daron’s wrongdoings, she started to feel sick. More and more stains cropped up, glaring at her from the bed under where the sheets had been.
I’m not going to let it get to me today. I’ll just keep scrubbing ‘til they're gone—every one of them.
She rolled the filthy sheets up into a tight wad, careful not to touch anything white, and shoved them into her sewing basket by the bedroom door. When she left for her parents’, she’d take them with her and boil them until the stains disintegrated, but she needed to clean everything else up first. Daron liked things a certain way. Elira had her own ways too.
While he liked the thick curtains drawn to ensure his privacy in the bedroom, she didn’t like to do things with him that required the curtains to be drawn.
That’s why he does most of what he does, she reminded herself. Though knowing it was her fault didn’t take the sting out of his actions.
She glimpsed the mirror. Oh the mirror. He loved it. She hated it. Every chance she got, she covered it up. Like now. She grabbed a cloth from the wardrobe and slung it over the top of the wooden mirror. It rested on the wardrobe at the end of the bed so Daron could see what went on it from every angle.
Not only did she not want to see what went on in the bed, she also couldn’t stand to see herself awkwardly moving around the bedroom. It was too easy to catch a glimpse of her widening hips. If only her breasts would have grown in proportion to them. Maybe then Daron would have enjoyed having a look at her more often. But no. She was made like a pear.
And don’t even get her started on her long nose or the fact that her stringy hair wasn’t quite blonde and wasn’t quite red, but some mishmash of in-between-color. She’d actually considered getting it colored once—something dark. Daron seemed to love dark hair the most. It was the only trait she ever saw in common in the girls that she occasionally caught him with. Ever since she saw the gentle way he’d stroked the hair of the girl downstairs—that dark chocolate hair—she’d wanted to do it.
She could do it. Elira’s pulse quickened. Why not today? She could do something different. It wouldn’t take long. When I’m done with my chores. All I have to do is finish scrubbing the cubicle and avoid the jerky downstairs until I leave for my parents’. I can do that.
She smiled a rare smile to herself and started scrubbing.
