Lonely

Day three

MARIA:

The sun, a pale sliver peeking through the blinds, painted stripes of light across Matteo's chest: he was asleep, his face relaxed, a faint smile playing on his lips.

I traced the line of his jaw with my finger, the warmth of his skin a welcome comfort.

"Morning." I murmured, a little breathlessly, he stirred, his eyes fluttering open.

"Good morning, beautiful." he said, his voice husky with sleep: he pulled me closer, wrapping an arm around me. "Slept well?"

“Like a log,” I replied, I was glad Ellie was gone: Matteo leaned in, his lips brushing against mine.

"You look beautiful." he whispered.

My smile felt tight, I had to make sure Ellie didn't eat at Daniel's house, she was growing like a pig, and Daniel...he was too lenient, didn't understand the importance of control.

I'd been firm, instilled the discipline she needed: he was finally starting to see the light.

"Ellie's a pretty girl." Matteo said suddenly, breaking the kiss.

My annoyance flared. "Why are you talking about her, I'm right here."

His smile widened, innocent and oblivious. "Just thinking about her. A pretty girl, you know?"

"You're so clueless." I rolled my eyes, pushing him gently away.

"Don't be like that, darling. It's just a thought." He chuckled, his hand brushing my cheek.

I sighed and rolled on my back.

ELLIE:

The smell of maple syrup and butter wafted up the stairs, a familiar siren song that usually roused me from sleep.

Today, it was a battle cry, a reminder of what I couldn't have, my stomach clenched, a painful knot of guilt and fear.

My mom would be furious, her whispers of "fat" and "disgusting" echoing in my ears.

I dragged myself out of bed, the weight of my mom's expectations pressing down on me: I brushed my teeth, the minty flavor a fleeting distraction from the growing anxiety.

My dad's booming laugh echoed from downstairs, followed by the excited shrieks of Elvira and Elija, my little brother and sister, blissfully unaware of the dark secret my body held.

As I descended the stairs, I saw them huddled on the couch, their faces illuminated by the flickering blue light of the TV: my dad, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, turned to me.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. Hungry?"

The question felt like a betrayal, a reminder of the invisible chains binding me.

"No," I whispered, my voice barely audible, I forced a smile, trying to hide the tightening in my chest.

I sank onto the couch, the plush velvet offering a momentary comfort, Elvira, turned to me with a giggle.

"Ellie, you have to try Dad's pancakes! They're the best!"

Her enthusiasm was infectious, her bright eyes sparkling with innocent joy: I couldn't help but smile back, momentarily forgetting the torment in my own heart.

My dad entered the room, carrying a tray laden with steaming pancakes, his smile faltered when he saw me.

"Ellie, you need to eat," he said, his voice firm but gentle.

I shook my head, my throat constricting. "I'm not hungry," I insisted, my voice cracking.

"Just one bite, Ellie," he said, his expression softening, he set the plate in front of me, the fluffy pancakes looking like impossible temptations.

I took a small bite, the sweet taste of maple syrup a fleeting pleasure. "I'm full," I said, pushing the plate away.

"Ellie, I know you're not, you need to eat."

I pushed the plate away, my anger rising like a tide. "I'm full dad." I said.

My dad sighed, his gaze filled with a mixture of worry and sadness. He sat down beside me, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. "Ellie, you're making me worry."

I felt a wave of guilt wash over me, but it was quickly drowned out by the voice of my mom, her words like a venomous serpent, coiling around my thoughts.

"Don't do it for him," she whispered in my head. "Don't let him see what you're really like. Be good. Be thin."

"I need to go to the bathroom," I said, my voice trembling.

I rushed to the bathroom, the cold tiles against my bare feet offering no solace: I locked the door, my heart pounding against my ribs.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, a stranger staring back at me, my bones were showing, my skin pale, my eyes hollowed out.

I jammed my fingers down my throat, the gag reflex rising in my throat, bringing up the pancake I had eaten.

The taste of maple syrup mingled with bile, a bitter reminder of the torturous cycle I was trapped in: I flushed the toilet, the sound a mechanical symphony of my shame.

I went back to the kitchen, the guilt clinging to me like a suffocating shroud, Elija was bouncing on the couch, his laughter echoing through the room.

"Ellie, guess what?" he said, his face beaming with excitement. "We're going shopping with Dad today! It will be so much fun!"

I smile, mirroring his joy, a hollow echo of the excitement I had once known: and I was so, so tired.

***

As the afternoon sun bathed us in its golden embrace, I couldn't suppress the lingering nausea from breakfast.

With a heavy heart, I joined my father, and my siblings, at the mall: as we strolled through the bustling corridors, Elvira's boundless energy propelled her through stores like a whirlwind.

Her laughter echoed through the aisles as she nearly vanished into a sea of garments, my dad raced after her, his normally stoic features etched with concern.

I trailed behind, my feet dragging along the polished floor: Elija, his tiny hand clutching mine, pointed excitedly at every brightly colored toy that caught his eye.

The cacophony of the mall seemed to drown out the turmoil within me.

As we approached a clothing store, dad disappeared into the dressing room, emerging moments later in a sharp suit. "How do I look?" he asked, twirling before us.

Elija clapped his chubby hands with delight, Elvira's smile radiated pure joy, but I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of my father in such formal attire.

"You look silly, dad." I teased, my laughter bubbling up uncontrollably.

Dad feigned offense, but a twinkle in his eyes betrayed his amusement: Elvira and Elija joined in the merriment, their laughter a balm to my troubled soul.

Amidst the shared laughter and sibling camaraderie, I felt a glimmer of respite from the darkness that had been consuming me.

For a brief moment, I allowed myself to be enveloped in the innocence and joy that surrounded me.

As we made our way to the food court, the smell of greasy fries and sugary treats filled the air, I couldn't resist a pang of hunger, but the familiar guilt washed over me.

"Are you feeling okay, honey?" Daniel asked, his voice laced with worry.

I nodded, but my eyes betrayed the lie. "Just a little stomach ache." I murmured.

"Here, this sprite will make you feel better." He pushed his cup of sprite towards me, I shook my head and pushed it back.

***

"I'm not hungry, Dad." I said, keeping my voice low, a mantra I'd been repeating since we'd left the mall.

My stomach twisted with a discomfort that went beyond simple hunger pangs: it was a knot of anxiety, a lingering unease from a day that had been a blur of flashing lights, blaring music, and the constant chatter of excited children.

"Ellie, you've barely eaten anything all day. At least get a milkshake," Dad said, his voice a little too loud, cutting through the din of the restaurant.

I wanted to scream: I didn't need a milkshake, I didn't need anything, at least that's what my mom said.

I endured a thick vanilla milkshake, each sip a bitter reminder of my own dwindling patience: my siblings, oblivious to my growing frustration, savored their meals with the enthusiasm of miniature barbarians.

Elvira, in a fit of glee, smeared chocolate sauce across her face, while Elija: in a flurry of frantic motions, managed to spill his juice all over the table.

"I told you to be careful," My dad sighed, wiping Elijah's sticky face with a napkin: I watched him, his face etched with a weary resignation, and felt a pang of sympathy.

This was his life, this constant chaos, this never-ending cycle of trying to keep everything under control.

DANIEL:

I watched my 15 year old daughter, Ellie, as she reluctantly took sips of her vanilla milkshake.

I could tell she was hungry, but she made it seem like she wasn't, and I insisted her to at least get something to eat.

After all, we had been shopping at the mall for hours and had worked up an appetite.

I was glad that I had spent the weekend with my daughter, she was growing up so fast, and I wanted to cherish every moment with her.

I knew that one day she would be all grown up and on her own, but for now, she was mine: and I was going to make sure that she had the best possible childhood.

Whatever's going on with her mom.

ELLIE:

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we were out of the restaurant and headed towards the bowling alley next door.

I held my breath as we entered, the familiar scent of polished wood, stale cigarettes, and ozone hitting me like a physical blow.

The air vibrated with the sounds of bowling balls crashing into pins, the sharp clangs and the scattered cries of triumph and defeat.

"Okay, team! Let's show them how it's done," Dad announced, his energy suddenly rekindled.

He handed Elijah a plastic bowling ball, its weight too much for the little boy: the ball rolled down the lane and clattered harmlessly into the gutter.

"Look, Ellie, you go next!" Dad said, his eyes twinkling with amusement, I had never been good at bowling, but somehow, the thought of letting my dad down, of disappointing him, felt worse than the prospect of facing the stares of the other bowlers.

I took the ball, its heavy weight pressing against my palm: I was aware of every movement, every breath, every muscle twitch, my heart pounded a frantic rhythm, a drumbeat echoing the chaos of the day.

The lane seemed to stretch out before me, a vast, daunting expanse, it was like looking into a mirror.

The lane reflected the endless possibilities of life, the potential for both triumph and defeat: and for the first time that day, I felt a spark of hope, a flicker of something that felt like excitement.

I took a deep breath, raised the ball, and let it go, it rolled down the lane with surprising speed, the sound of its progress filling the air like a song.

It hit the pins with a satisfying thud, a sound that was both sharp and dull, like a blow to the gut.

"Strike!" My dad roared, his face lit up with pride.

I felt a surge of relief, a wave of warmth washing over me, it was a small victory, a fleeting moment of success in a day filled with frustration and chaos.

But it was enough.

It was enough to make me feel, for a moment, that maybe things weren't so bad after all, maybe, just maybe, we could find some semblance of normalcy, some shared joy, even within the confines of this chaotic life.

I looked at my dad, his face beaming, his eyes shining with genuine happiness, and for the first time that day, I shared the same smile and Elvira clinged onto my shirt: cheering for me, as well as Elija.

The day was far from over, but for that moment, as we stood there, surrounded by the sounds of bowling balls and the laughter of children, it felt like everything was going to be alright.