Starved to Perfection

"130 pounds? Look in the mirror, Chloe. Do you even look like a girl?" For the entire summer break, my plate only had boiled, tasteless vegetables. Every morning, I had to run five miles on an empty stomach. Mom rode her e-bike right behind me, refusing to let me stop. By the time school started, I had lost thirty pounds. Mom touched my collarbones, frowning. "Still too soft. We need to keep going." She banned me from eating in the school cafeteria. The moment I got home, the first thing I had to do was step on the scale. In less than six months, I was reduced to skin and bones. My classmates whispered behind my back, calling me "the walking corpse." During the P.E. fitness test, I collapsed right at the finish line. When I woke up, Mom was crying, holding a bowl of pasta. I stared at the pasta and whispered, "I can’t eat carbs. I’ll get fat." The air froze. The tears were still wet on Mom’s face. Her hand holding the bowl remained suspended in mid-air, as if someone had hit pause on her entire body. She stared at me, the warmth in her eyes fading instantly, replaced by a burning rage. "What did you say?" her voice trembled. I opened my mouth, wanting to tell her it wasn't my choice. My body had just been conditioned this way. For the past few months, she had been chanting in my ear every single day: "No carbs, no sugar. You have to be thin to be worthy." Those words had been nailed into my bones, impossible to pull out. But she didn't wait for my explanation. "Chloe!" She slammed the bowl of pasta onto the nightstand. The hot sauce splashed out, burning the back of her hand, but she didn't even flinch. "What is wrong with you? I worked so hard to make this pasta for you, and you tell me you can’t eat it? Are you trying to kill me?" I looked at her. Her eyes were red, the tip of her nose was pink, but all her softness was gone. She stood by the hospital bed, hands on her hips, her chin tilted up like a lioness ready to pounce. Suddenly, the ward door pushed open. A nurse wheeled in a cart to check my temperature. In a split second, Mom’s face changed. She turned around, wiping her tears, her voice instantly softening. "This girl... she’s just too stubborn. She faints and still refuses to rest. I made her some pasta to help her recover, but she’s still worried about gaining weight..." The nurse glanced at her, said nothing, and handed me the thermometer. The doctor walked in then. She was a woman in her late forties, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, holding a stack of charts. She glanced at the pasta on the nightstand, then at my mom, her voice flat. "The patient is severely malnourished. Pasta is too low in nutrient density. It’s not suitable for recovery." Mom froze. I had seen that look many times. Every time she thought she was right, only to be publicly called out, her face would go blank. It was like paint peeling off a wall, revealing the dull, gray concrete underneath. But she quickly recovered. "Then... I’ll go buy something else right away!" Her voice became eager. "Dr. Carter, what should I get? I’ll get it now. The hospital cafeteria food is definitely no good. I’ll go buy it outside!" Dr. Carter nodded, gave a few instructions about nutrition, checked my vitals, and turned to leave. The moment the door closed, the eagerness on Mom’s face vanished, like someone had pulled the plug. She stood by the bed, looking at me, her lips twitching, but she didn't say anything harsh. She sat down, picked up the bowl of pasta, and suddenly sighed. "Chloe," her voice softened. "Don't blame me. I’m doing this for your own good." That phrase again. "Look at you now. You look so beautiful thin." She reached out to touch my hair. I flinched away slightly. Her hand froze in mid-air for a second, but then she let it drop onto my shoulder, patting it. "You used to be so chubby. Nothing looked good on you, and people stared whenever you walked by. Do you know how much that hurt me?" I closed my eyes. I didn't want to look at her. But her words still crept into my ears. "Your Aunt Rachel said to me last time, ‘Why is Chloe getting so big?’ Do you know how I felt hearing that? I wanted the ground to swallow me whole." Aunt Rachel. It was always Aunt Rachel. She was Mom’s old high school rival, and the two had never stopped competing since they met. Tears squeezed out from under my closed eyelids, sliding down my temples and into my hair. "Why are you crying?" Mom’s tone carried a hint of impatience. "Isn't everything fine now? You're thin. Who would dare laugh at you now? Do you have any idea how much effort I put into you? What other mother would run with you every day? Who would cook for you every day? Don't be so ungrateful.""Don't be so ungrateful." I had heard those words too many times. So many times that they had become a trigger. Every time I heard them, my stomach would tighten, as if an invisible hand had reached inside and squeezed hard. On the day I was discharged, Dad came to pick me up. He stood at the door of the ward, wearing a faded plaid shirt, holding a plastic folder with my discharge papers. He looked at me, his lips moving, but in the end, he only said, "You've lost weight." I looked at him, waiting for him to say more. Like asking how I felt, if I was still in pain, or even just telling me to rest well at home. But he didn't. He just turned around, took the bags from Mom’s hands, said, "The car is downstairs," and walked away. I followed behind him, staring at his slightly hunched back. His hair was turning gray, almost completely white at the back, like a dusting of frost. Since I was a kid, my dad had been a silent shadow in my life. He used to work as an engineer, leaving early and coming home late. He would sit on the couch watching TV, occasionally offering a word or two as his version of family conversation. When I was in kindergarten, during a school play, I looked everywhere for him from the stage. I finally found him sitting in the very last row, head down, staring at his phone. Mom said that was just how he was, and told me not to mind. But I did mind. Of course I minded. On the drive home, Mom sat in the passenger seat while I sat in the back. She reclined her seat all the way, talking to Dad about the hospital bills, complaining about the tests Dr. Carter ordered, and saying how hospitals only cared about making money these days. Dad didn't speak, focusing on the road. "Chloe," Mom suddenly turned around. I looked up, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. "You gained quite a bit of weight during your hospital stay," she said casually, as if talking about the weather. "Step on the scale when we get back. Let's see how much you gained." My hands gripped the seatbelt. The AC in the car was blasted high, but my back was covered in sweat. The first thing we did when we got home, as expected, was the scale. I stood on the white digital scale, staring at the numbers, my heart hammering against my ribs. Mom crouched down to look, then suddenly bolted upright. "Four pounds!" her voice shrieked. "Chloe, you were only in the hospital for a few days, and you gained four pounds!" I opened my mouth. "Mom, the doctor said I need nutrients right now..." "What do doctors know?" she cut me off. "They don't have to deal with the rest of your life! Do you know how far you are from your target weight? You were only a month away, and now look! You have to start all over again!" Her eyes welled with tears, looking as if she were the victim of some grand tragedy. "I worked so hard to help you lose weight these past few months, and you ruined it all in just a few days at the hospital." I stood on the scale, frozen. The surface was freezing, and the chill traveled from the soles of my feet straight to my head. "Get off. What are you still standing there for?" Mom shoved me. "Starting today, we're back on the diet. No eating in the cafeteria at lunch. I'll drop off your food." "Mom—" "Don't argue with me." Her voice turned cold. "If you pull another stunt like this, I'm taking your phone and your computer. You won't be going anywhere." I looked at her, suddenly feeling incredibly exhausted. Not physically, but a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. It felt like someone had poured lead into my marrow. Every breath took all the strength I had.The next day at lunch, Mom showed up as promised. She parked her car near the school's side gate. When I climbed in, an insulated lunch bag was already waiting in the back seat. She unzipped it, pulled out a Tupperware container, and opened it. Inside was boiled broccoli and a few slices of chicken breast. No oil. No salt. Not even black pepper. "Eat up," she handed me the fork. "Eat quickly so you can get back to class. Don't waste time." I took the fork, looking at the boiled green heap, and my stomach turned. "Mom, can I please have some salt?" "Too much salt causes water retention, you know that." She had already turned back to her phone, her voice impatient. "Just eat. Stop lingering." I poked a piece of chicken and chewed. Dry, bland, like cardboard. The broccoli was practically raw, crunching loudly, releasing a bitter, grassy taste in my mouth. Outside the car window, some of my classmates were walking back from the cafeteria, laughing and talking. They held yogurt and fruit, the warm sunlight reflecting off their glowing skin. I lowered my head and took another bite of the chicken. "Oh, by the way," Mom suddenly said. "Is that girl Mia in your class also trying to lose weight?" Mia was my desk mate. She was short, a bit chubby, with two cute dimples when she smiled. She told me last month she wanted to lose weight because the guy she liked said her face was too round. "Yeah." "How much has she lost?" "I don't know. I didn't ask." "You should ask," Mom kept her eyes on her phone. "If she's losing faster than you, you need to work harder. You can't lose to her, understand?" I didn't answer. The chicken in my mouth felt impossible to swallow. This routine went on for two weeks, and my weight finally dropped back to a number that satisfied my mother. She smiled as she inspected my body, but her next words were: "We need to keep this up." A week later, Mom said she had an errand to run at noon and couldn't make it. "Get some bread for lunch. Do not go to the cafeteria," she warned before leaving. "I put a slice of whole wheat bread in your backpack's side pocket. One slice is enough. Drink plenty of water." I unzipped the side pocket of my backpack, and there it was—a Ziploc bag containing a single slice of whole wheat bread. Brown, hard, with visible grains of bran. During recess, I pulled out the bag, set it on my desk, and stared at the bread for a long time. "Hey Chloe, going to the cafeteria?" Mia stood up, grabbing her lunch card. "They have steak bites and loaded fries today. I saw the menu yesterday." Steak bites. I remembered that taste. Savory sauce coating the tender beef, biting into it, the juices bursting in your mouth... Saliva flooded my mouth, but I shook my head anyway. "Come on, let's go!" Mia grabbed my arm, chatting away. "I am so done with dieting anyway. It's torture. Life is meant for delicious food!" Delicious food. I hadn't tasted it in so long. As if possessed, I nodded.The hallway was packed with students heading to the cafeteria, laughing in small groups. The sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow on the floor. It had been so long since I stepped out of the classroom at this hour. Before, every lunchtime, I would sit alone in the empty classroom, waiting for everyone to leave before going daily to eat that box of boiled vegetables in Mom's car. When I returned, the classroom would still be empty, so I would sleep on my desk. When I woke up, the corner of my mouth was often wet—I couldn't tell if it was drool or tears. The cafeteria was packed, with long lines everywhere. I took my tray and found a quiet corner to sit down. Mia sat opposite me, her plate piled high. "Why are you eating so little?" She stared at the tiny portion of food on my tray. "Eat more! Look how thin you've gotten." I didn't say anything, just picked up a piece of steak. The moment the meat touched my tongue, my eyes welled with tears. The rich, savory sauce dissolved, the aroma of the beef filling my mouth. That long-lost, vivid, warm taste was like a key, unlocking a place that had been sealed for too long. Tears fell without warning, splashing onto my rice, creating a tiny wet circle. "Chloe?" Mia panicked. "What's wrong? Is it bad?" "No," I shook my head, blinking hard to force the tears back. "It's too good. It's so good I want to cry." Mia looked at me, a flash of pity in her eyes. She didn't press for details. She just scooped half of her mac and cheese onto my plate and softly said, "Eat up." I didn't reject it. I hadn't felt this in so long. The feeling of being full. Or rather, the feeling of being comforted by food. It felt so good. So good that it terrified me. When the dismissal bell rang, I packed my bag. My hand brushed against the side pocket and felt the slice of whole wheat bread. I pulled it out and shoved it deep inside my backpack. Walking out of the school gates, my steps slowed down. The convenience store across the street was brightly lit, its glass cases filled with snacks. Chips, cookies, chocolates, lollipops. My eyes locked onto a box of chocolates. Golden wrappers, small squares, neatly lined up in a transparent box. I stood in front of the store for what felt like an eternity. Finally, I walked in. "How much for this?" "Eight dollars." I pulled out my wallet. There was only a ten-dollar bill inside, which Mom had given me for breakfast last week. I bought the chocolate. The clerk handed me two dollars in change. I gripped the coins in my hand, stuffing the chocolate box into my jacket pocket. My heart raced as I walked out. I didn't even know why I was so nervous. It was just chocolate. Eight dollars, a small box, maybe ten pieces inside. I could have one. Just one. I could hide the rest and eat them slowly—one a day, or one every two days. I squeezed the box in my pocket, the plastic wrapper making a faint rustling sound. I kept my head down, walking toward the gate. But just as I reached the exit, a familiar figure appeared. My steps faltered. Instinctively, I wanted to turn around and hide the chocolate in my backpack. But it was too late. "Chloe."