VII

She writhes and twists, eyes closed. A slight grin calms her face. "Here I am again" she thinks. "I needed this." The cold waters part before her. She kicks off and wrests her limbs into patterns, forming grace and vision with her torso. Were anyone there to see they might have been awed. She was a natural, beautiful and efficient. Each long reach pulled her nearer her destination than that of her imagined opponents, her hands cutting the surface like they were designed solely for that purpose.
Her exercises were done. She lay back in the water letting her screaming muscles relax. She dipped and held, letting it overtake her. Each beat of her heart filled her eardrums with a wooshing sound. Her feet hung low below the surface. Her breasts broke water with each measured breath she took. They were well shaped and she was proud of them. She wasn't alone in this. Her tendency to send pictures of them to her male friends endeared her to them. She did this, of course, in all innocence, never realizing the rush of blood it tended to inspire. She was always confused at the advances they made at her, and slightly repulsed. "But you're my friend" she'd say. Their faces would drop as quickly as their egos, both hitting the floor simultaneously. She'd throw them a heartbreaking smile, apologetic but unswayed. Stupid boys and their silly crushes.
She never dated, never flirted excessively, never fucked. This had the confusing effect of giving her a reputation not only as a 'frigid bitch' but also as a less reputable type of girl. She neither bothered nor cared to remedy this. Shattered boys fell by the wayside and new ones popped up, figuring they would fare differently. They never did.
The mirror was foggy but she still appreciated the shape staring back at her. Her feet were cold on the wet tile and her hair lay a chill trail where it rested on her back. The swim had been good, even necessary, but now she felt a hollowness taking over. Small hairs pricked up on the back of her neck. She wiped a spot in the mirror with her forearm and peered closer. Her face was punctuated by two dead eyes. She forced a smile but only her lower face complied. "What's wrong with me?" she thought. "Where did I disappear to?" She'd half expected a worded response from the fuzzy her but it remained maddeningly silent. It obediently blinked and brushed hair from her face. It applied clothes and makeup but offered no advice or solace.
Her drive was silent. She'd been too absentminded to plug her iPod in. She made the turns with no emotion. Her stomach grumbled, demanding attention. She'd burned calories she didn't have and now it was time to pay them back. "Shut up stomach" she thought, finally noticing the lack of music. She cranked it on not caring what noise came. Another rumble now, one that said "Feel me damnit." She hadn't eaten in almost three days. She was trying to lose a bulge nobody but she could see.
A man stood on the corner with a sign. He also hadn't eaten in multiple days. She tried to avoid eye contact, pretending to fidget with..well, nothing. He knew. He'd seen it thousands of times. Without knowing exactly why, he was enraged at this particular slight. He glowered and shifted feet. She hoped the light would change quickly. Without trying to be too obvious she clicked the lock engaged. The man tried to approach, stumbled. Thank the gods for rotgut. She looked over with a start as he fell face-first on the sidewalk. The light changed. She floored it. "Close one" she sighed aloud. "perv."
Back at home her stomach grumbled again when she walked past her fridge. She opened the door and looked lustfully inside. Everything looked satisfying, if not completely delicious. The leftover pastries looked especially enticing with their cream cheese filling. She bit the corner of her lip poutily and closed the door. The light smacking sound signaled the beginning of the worlds spin. She needed water, rest..what she really needed was there, a mere arms length away from her. She reached out, half steadying, half seeking, found the handle. It was as her fingers closed around it that her body gave out. She dropped to the floor bringing the contents of the now open door with her. Had she been a salad or pork rib she would've been well basted. But she wasn't. She was perfect, she was beautiful. She was not supposed to be lying on the kitchen floor crying, covered in condiments. She deserved so much more. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement in the shadows. Her mind jumped to the man from earlier. Here he was, ready to have his revenge. Briefly she wondered if the news report would mention the blue cheese that trickled between her toes. She propped herself up shakily. "Hello?" her voice barely a whisper. "Who's there?" At her voice the figure came toward her. Hannibal, her cat. She sighed and crashed back to the floor. The last thing she felt before sleep overtook her was the sandpaper tongue working at the corner of her eye.