Last Time

• Rhiannon Cox, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2019

I rose from my chair, smiled at the girls, and headed toward the bathroom. My thoughts spiralled as I pushed the heavy oak door and stepped onto the white tiling. You have to do it. No, I don’t. You ate too much again, like you’ve done your whole life. My movements were urgent as I rushed toward the farthest stall. I slammed the door behind me and turned the lock. Thoughts engulfed me as I sunk to my knees. The tiles were cold on my bare skin. I faced the bowl, purposely quickening my breathing.
I whispered to myself, “This is the last time.” My thoughts overflowed and before I knew, my fingers were down my throat and the sound of gagging rebounded off the walls.


I flushed away any evidence of my disgusting habit then moved to the mirror. The light reflected from my glassy eyes and wet cheeks. I splashed myself with cold water, desperate to calm my hot face. I patted my face dry with paper towel and reapplied mascara in some attempt to look normal.
The thick, oak door seemed heavier, almost like there was someone pulling at other side. I watched my feet step one by one along the smooth wooden floor, guiding me to my table. I stopped for a moment as a dull pain arose in my head. The chatter of people and the soft piano blended together, and the floorboards became blurry. The room began to spin, the sounds became louder. My head felt heavy: a burden on my shoulders. Everything around me swirled. It felt like hours that I stood, not knowing which way was up; then there was black.

Bright white lights shone above me, the room was cold. I reluctantly opened my eyes and looked around. The crisp white room was divided by a thin blue curtain and was quite empty, apart from a stand with wires and liquids hanging off it and a single blue armchair in the corner in which my boyfriend slept. Suddenly, all my memories of the night before came rushing back in overwhelming waves and my head started throbbing; I didn’t know what else to do but cry.

Willow lay bound by crisp white sheets and confined by cold, white, metal rails. Her red face and puffy eyes accentuated her exhaustion. Dark, damp hair stuck to her cheeks and her skin clung to her bones like a baby to its mother. Calum straightened in the chair and reached for her pale hand. A single tear escaped from his warm eyes, then another, and another. He brushed his hair aside as Willow turned to face him. Warm and cold met as their eyes locked: not for long, but just enough for understanding to pass from one body to another. Calum slowly rose and gently lay down, tucking Willows head neatly into the crook of his neck. They lay still with eyes closed listening to the steady beeping telling them that somewhere behind those lifeless eyes was a human being that once had life and could have it again.