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120.
120. That was the number that was currently staring right back at her.
60.
180.
450. No—too many.
Sakura’s hands trembled with weakness as she reached for the protein bar stacked on the shelf neatly, automatically turning the package over to see the nutrition label.
350. Ugh.
These days, protein bars are way too much for her to handle. She remembers when it would be one of the only foods that brought her comfort, though now she can’t stand the sight of one.
She reaches for the bottled water directly beside the other shelf. Better to keep her fast than break it on something useless. The cool droplets of condensation slide down her hands, leaving the reminder that she can’t eat yet.
Not yet.
Not when she was only sixty hours into her fast.
Sakura swallows thickly as she turns around to head to the checkout. Her head spins with exhaustion, and her legs threaten to give out beneath her for every step she takes. Methodically, she greets the cashier who kindly states what she owes for the water.
What was it again?
“Uh, sorry. Could you repeat that?” she asks, words slurring as the fog clouds over her brain once more.
The cashier throws her a strange look, before repeating the price. Slowly. Sakura sighs, hand reaching to dig in her pockets for the notes she was sure she brought.
“Thanks,” she mumbles as she pays and takes the goods.
The first swig of water burns.
Burns, in such an odd, disgusting kind of comfort. The comfort of knowing she’s in control. The cool liquid runs down her throat, swishes in her painfully empty stomach.
The nausea hits her like a brick wall. Sakura stumbles back as her back hits the building’s wall, stopping to level herself. Bile rises up in her throat as she breathes in carefully.
In. Out. In. Out, through the mouth.
It’s always like this at hour sixty.
The first time she woke up on the third day of her fast, she honestly thought she’d faint. As soon as her feet hit the floor and her vision turned black, she might as well had collapsed right then and there. She definitely wasn’t proud of the binge that followed directly after, but it definitely taught her one thing—
Her disordered eating can, will, and already has utterly destroyed her life.
Every aspect of living has been hijacked by that nagging set of thoughts in her brain. She was never really close with her parents, but ended up pushing them even further away. Her friends, who she cherishes so deeply, also fell victim to this. She stopped showing up to hangouts, started ignoring anyone who tried to speak to her, and shoved herself deep into isolation.
Sakura would joke her way out of Naruto’s accusatory confrontations, dismiss Sai’s growing worries, and ignore Ino’s pleads to please just eat something, Sakura.
Of course, the overwhelming guilt threatened to consume her everyday. There was only one thing bigger than that guilt, though.
Running her fingers over her defined collarbone in seek of comfort, she picks herself up to continue with her day. It was like an unintentional ritual, at this point—a finger smoothing over her ribs, a hand wrapping around her aching wrist, a fleeting touch to her scar-textured thighs. The hardness of her stuck-out bones would bring her a sense of euphoria; a reason to keep going, a reminder that her efforts will eventually be rewarded.
It would be all worth it, if she still cared for the sickly thin, emaciated look.
Of course, Sakura did strive for that twisted sort of beauty, but she realised long ago that this entire thing stopped being about looks.
The numbers.
It truly only became about numbers. Whether it be the number of calories she consumed that day, the double digits displayed on her scale every morning, the reoccurring nightmares where she’d binge ate, or the backs of food packages her eyes immediately would glance to, it was soon all about the numbers.
Or maybe, it was all about the sense of control.
She’d read about this—eating disorders, as they’d call it—in her medical textbooks last year. Anorexia nervosa; a disorder which was characterised by low body weight, severe calorie restriction, and a distorted self-image. Bulimia nervosa; a disorder characterised by binging and purging food regularly. Binge eating disorder; a disorder characterised by binging regularly, feeling guilt or shame afterwards.
However, none of those labels had applied to Sakura. Not really. While she had deprived herself of nutrients, refusing to eat enough for her body to function, she also fell into habits of binging and purging regularly. It was highly upsetting—managing to be so good for the entire week, keeping her brain too busy with work to focus on anything else, only to ruin the progress on the weekends.
It was an awful loop she couldn’t escape.
Starve for five days—binge on the remaining two—purge the dirty calories with unfathomable amounts of exercise—repeat.
It was never worth it, having to see her bloated figure in the mirror each morning afterwards.
And when her mother would ask her if she’d ate anything that day, Sakura’s first reaction would be to snap back at her in a blind fit of rage. She never did care, Sakura knew she didn’t. The most her mother ever noticed of the change in her eating habits was when she praised her—congratulating her on finally eating healthy.
Where was she going, again?
Right—the library.
Even such a simple task now feels impossible. She knows full well that she’ll barely even be able to focus on any of the text she tries to read. But still, it gives her something to do. Something that keeps her out of the house; away from the food. Sakura drags her feet along the pavement, an irritating scuffle of her shoes she chooses to ignore trailing close behind.
Every day feels like hell. Every day, she wishes she was dead.
No one had to know about that, though.