Can You See Me?

I forget how it started or how it corrupted my very being, but you knew everything, and I entrusted you with all of my thoughts. You were my diary, the equivalent to Tom Riddle, but you hadn't been aware of my secret obsession with you. You were only aware of our secret meetings in that empty Transfiguration room, and the slight ramblings of my skinny, crazy self as you caressed me smoothly, knowing your charm was taking over. Don't you remember that? How you always let your fingers linger on my cheek, and practically begged for me to let a strand of hair fall loose just so you could push it back and let your finger linger.

I knew I'd told you more than you would have cared to know, but I couldn't stop. You always had this unsuspecting trigger that made me willing to give in, and make me want you more. When it was the two of us, when you put your hands on me, I lost myself to you, and all of my troubles and worries came spilling about.

Thoughts of you swirl around my head as I lean against this large window and stare outside. I look as if you'd suddenly turn up and run into the room, taking me away because that's what you do best Away from this cesspool of moronic filth. Of skinny, psychotic girls (I still remember the first time they enrolled a male) with problems and triggers of all sizes and shapes. I hate this place. And I love it.

I remember how it was like before I got there, easy. Nobody paid attention to me, which was possibly why I always rendered myself invisible and slunk off to be with you in McGonagall's empty classroom. And I always rendered naked when you ran your hands down my back, able to feel every bone.

"You're too skinny," you had told me as you ran your long fingers down my spine and emphasized every piece of it. You stared at my back and ran both long and masculine hands gently down it in one great stroke.

"Since when do you care what I look like?" I had responded, reaching behind and grabbing your wrists. If you were going to complain about my spine, you might as well cop a feel of another bone in my body.

"What are you doing?" you asked, a slight trace of distaste lingering on his tone as I brought your large hands to my ribcage. I still remember your slight shudder as your fingers fell between my ribs and the way you took your hand back sharply, a small uneasy breath, somewhere between scared and concern. "Where is your body?"

I had stood up then, naked, you still wearing dark green boxers, and let my hands, too heavy for me, fall to my sides. You stared at my emaciated being in front of you, your expression unfazed. I let your eyes grope me for a moment before you stand. You weren't much taller than me, as I was rather tall for my age, and you reached forward to place a hand on my concave stomach.

"I can't even see you anymore."

I grin now as I continue to stare out the window, ignoring the shuffling and feather-light footsteps of the crazed thin girls as they enter the room, followed by a moderately sized lady carrying a clipboard and a dusty quill. I can feel the eyes dart toward me sitting solitary at this window, my sanctuary, but am determined to keep my gaze on the tree right outside.

The many eyes slowly turned to face the dusty-quilled lady as she sits down and smiles sweetly at them. The smile, which I had memorized from day one, is reminiscent of Umbridge. I suddenly remember how her heh heh would distract anyone from a conversation, and how I was so good at imitating it. Even when things were bad, they were still good. They were good because nobody but you knew my little secret.

I had taken the time to inspect myself before jumping into the shower five minutes later. I stood there and glared at my body, and I had picked out every flaw and reminded myself of why I did what I did and am still doing; it wasn't working, but I still attempted to try. It wasn't as if I could stop anyway.

I was so thin then. My robes hung on me, and my skirt was too loose. I had to take Hermione from her busy schedule of snogging Ron and force her to help me pin it. Hermione hadn't commented on my drastic weight loss, only rushed to pin the skirt down and complimented me. I could have sworn her tone was one of jealousy, and your daily comments of my thinness were thrown to the back of my mind. It was finally beginning to work.

"You've lost your baby fat," she had said, grinning falsely, that green glint of jealousy in her eye.

I had watched Hermione's curvaceous figure walk out of the room, bushy hair trailing behind her. I needed another self-evaluation. So I stood in front of the mirror.

I found it funny that simply restricting food would make me so thin. This was a Muggle practice; I never knew witches and wizards could go through the same things. I had splayed my fingers in between each rib of mine and pressed down on my collar bone in deep satisfaction. I had surpassed the art of having a flat stomach, and had fallen into the concave form, a form which I thought would bring me to notice. I had been to the point where my lips would turn purple in the cold, and I would shiver uncontrollably. Even you could not come to my warmth, because we kept our relationship strictly forbidden if in the public eye. You were so malicious, but that's why I kept seeing you in that damned evacuated classroom. You would come over and taunt me, have your cronies make fun of the fact that I was near death. I was so cold, and so were you. So I would just sit there shivering, bringing my robes around me tighter to try and collect warmth, squeezing my frail frame.

My legs never met at the thighs, and my knees were so sharp I'd be able to cut my sheets if I slept on my stomach. I had also lost a decent amount of hair, but I had so much that the decent amount went unnoticed if I made sure my hair was brushed at a certain angle.

It wasn't until I had gone to meet you again that you had said something else.

"Why are you doing this?" you had asked, grabbing my tiny right wrist and emphasizing the fact that it was so thin by making sure your thumb overlapped your index finger. I hated that maniacal glint in your eye, almost as if you'd do anything to make me stop.

"They don't see me," I had answered, speaking breathlessly, because you had just whispered the question. You made me weak with your whispers as they tingled my ear and brushed my neck. "Nobody sees me."

That's when you said it, putting your family name to shame and losing all your dignity.

"I see you," you parted my lips with your fingers and said, almost hesitantly, "I love you."

You had started to use my nickname after that. You made everyone suspicious. They started asking questions about us. Directed to me, but never quite meeting my ears from the person asking. They came from Patil and Brown, the Gossip Queens. But never from the true owner of the question.

"Her?" were the nasty spits from your side. From your house. As I passed by the dungeons on my way to Potions.

The healthy looking quill lady begins to speak, but I'm not distracted from the window. I have a hunch you're coming.

"Does anyone want to tell me about their day today?"

The room falls silent, and I pray that you'll turn up now, because this is the part of the day I hate the most. You know how much I hate this part of the day. I told you in an owl I sent a couple of days ago. I hope - I know - you got it.

Someone in the center of the room raises her hand. Even though I've been here for three weeks I haven't tried to get to know anyone. I haven't made an attempt at talking or getting to know anyone at all. They don't seem interesting enough; I don't belong here anyway. I belong with you. I belong to you...

"Today, at lunch, I ate..." the girl trails off. Her voice doesn't sound familiar, but I want to hear what she has to say, even if I look like I'm not paying attention. The lady urges her to continue. I turn slightly to look at her. She's blushing. She's blushing and wringing her shirt, making it look even baggier than it already does. Her eyes aren't too hollow anymore, so I assume she's been making an effort to get better. "I ate... a plate of nachos and a chocolate frog."

Some girls clap, other girls simply look at the ground, but I haven't turned around to face the window again yet, so I take time out to inspect some of the girls looking at the ground. Some have looks of jealousy in their eyes, but others look disgusted, like they would never go near that stuff.

I wouldn't.

"That's excellent Lexy; that's a big step," says the lady, resting her clipboard full of parchment on her lap and clapping with the quill between two finger. "Anyone else willing to share what they've eaten?"

I can't raise my hand even if I want to because I haven't eaten anything today.

I turn back to the window. You have got to be coming.

Someone mumbles something in the room but I can barely hear because I've let my mind wander again. I'm back at Hogwarts and Hermione and Ron are arguing about Ron's eating habits.

"Ron, I swear, you'll blow up if you continue eating so much!" Hermione had been saying to Ron, whose plate had been filled to spilling point and was grabbing a second smaller bowl for some treacle fudge.

"I'm a growing boy," Ron had retorted, sticking his food in some mashed potatoes. "I need all the food I can get!"

"Seriously, Harry doesn't eat as much as you do!" Hermione exclaimed.

"And I'm still as thin as him...so it really doesn't matter. Besides, why are you being so shallow?" Ron asked, rolling his eyes. I had taken all this in because I wasn't interested in my food.

"Oh for Merlins sake, Ron! I don't want to date some fat..." her voice had trailed as she noticed Harry's and Ron's faces dart toward Neville, whose face had gone scarlet as he stared down at his plate next to Hermione.

I gathered that the conversation had died down because Hermione had insulted Neville, who had asked her to the Yule Ball three years ago. I can hear Neville as his voice asks Hermione if that was another one of her reasons for not going with him. Hermione tries to back herself up by saying she was already set to go with Viktor Krum (Ron's ears tint red), but the table knows that even if she wasn't set to go with Krum, she'd probably decline Neville partly because of his weight. She was always so shallow. I pick at my food.

It's so unappetizing. The mashed potatoes are so sticky and everything on my plate looks like someone's sat on it. I can just imagine all the items in the plate hold the key to my own personal invisibility cloak. If I ate them it would be activated, and the fact that I was there sitting next to Harry would turn into a fact that the seat next to Harry was empty. I pushed the food around my plate to look eaten, but it's obvious I haven't eaten any.

"Is there something wrong with your food?" Hermione had then asked from across the table, and it took me a while to register that she was asking me this question. Had someone finally noticed? My work, had I finally reached my goal?

I looked up at her in the process of taking apart a piece of chicken and mashing it into the mashed potatoes to hide the bits of pieces. She had that glint in her eye, the green glint of jealousy, and it took a lot for me to not smirk. I knew then that I had spent too much time with you.

"Well?" came the voice of Harry, who was staring at my plate.

"No, nothing," I said. This was the first time I had heard my voice in a while. Suddenly I'm panged with the sensation of wanting to see you, to vent...or do something...with you. I turned to look back at your table, and there you are, looking carefree and unsuspicious, because this was before you told me you loved me. When you had first found out about my undiagnosed eating disorder.

You had caught my eye then. You had smirked, and I felt my knees buckle beneath me. Then you pointed to your plate, a signal that you wanted to see mine. You had become so protective, sort of intrusive then. You had begun to snatch yogurts from the kitchen and force feed me, asking to see the bottom of the yogurt cup when I was done. You had always demanded to see any plate of food that had been put in front of me.

I lifted my plate slightly and saw your smirk contort itself into a sort of odd shape, one that oozed with disdain and disappointment. I hate it when you give me that look.

You turned away then, angrily, and began talking it up with the blonde bimbo sitting next to you.

"We're talking to you," Hermione snapped across from me, and I looked at her.

"What?" I asked, almost rudely.

"We're worried," came Harry's voice. "You're looking really thin lately...and you haven't been eating much..."

Ron had then snapped up, "This one hasn't been eating at all. Jump down her throat Hermione! At least I eat!"

"Oh Ron, will you shut up! We're not talking about you for once!" Ron was looking scandalized. Inside I grinned, my plan was finally in full effect.

The girl named Lexy spends half the session telling us about her day, but I can only hear it in blurs because I'm too busy staring out the window waiting for you. I sit and wait for you because I haven't told you yet.

I am trapped in this purgatory of mindless, skinny, vengeful girls waiting for you. I love you, dammit! And I can't tell you because you're not here, because my plan backfired when Ron owled my mother to tell her my condition.

I couldn't feel the heart attack, only the numbing in my arm and the colour black...could you feel pain, hurt? You were placing your name deeper into the shame pool and burying your dignity deeper into a grave. Did that mean you wanted me here? How can someone who loves me put me here? How could you let them?

I'm reminded of that midnight the night after my heart attack. I was still in horrid condition, but you wanted to see me, and you had snuck past Madam Pomfrey with such an ease.

"How are you doing?" you had asked me, sitting on the edge of my bed, face emotionless. There was never a time where I could accurately read your facial expressions.

"Can't feel a thing," I said, and I realized I had run out of breath so I gasped for some air. You leapt to my side, grabbed my hand and squeezed tightly, the tan that had developed of your then pale skin growing pasty once again. You told me you loved me again, but your voice was restricted. You had to say more.

But you didn't; you just disentwined our hands and walked out, as swift as ever. I could imagine that smug smirk grow about your lips as you swept off into the corridor.

The rumours about us had stopped so we were back on last name basis after my heart attack. Madam Pomfrey came bustling in afterward.

Lexy starts crying. Another girl runs to her comfort. I'm too busy recapping my last moments with you to know why she's crying. The quilled lady places her quill and clipboard on the ground next to her and stands up. She rounds on the girl comforting Lexy and places an arm on her back.

Lexy looks up at the lady and hiccups. "Mrs. Landon?" she says in a small voice. I turn to look at Lexy. She realizes all eyes are on her and erupts into sobs again. When she's through, she signals to the girl still comforting her to leave her alone and Mrs. Landon looks down at her.

"Yes?"

"Am I ever going to get better?" she asks and suddenly the room is dramatically stiffened. I look at my feet. You asked me the same thing the day before my mother sent me away.

"Will you try?" you had added as I pulled on my robes after saying good-bye in the Quidditch Pitch at three in the morning.

"Why?" I began, "does it put your name to more shame if your girlfriend is..." I still couldn't believe my plan had completely hit rock bottom. I was being shipped off to a facility for people...like me. All I wanted was some attention.

"Anorexic," you finished for me, rolling your eyes apathetically. "It does, yes."

At least you were honest.

You kissed my neck seductively. I knew that kiss was embedded in my neck forever. I can still feel it as Mrs. Landon sighs and sits back in her seat, ready to answer Lexy's question.

"Yes, if you believe." I tune her off then. The blatant statement is so hackneyed I can almost feel the room lessen its tenseness. Everybody probably shut her out.

Instead, I stare out the window more intently this time, knowing that you'll come and rescue me, that you'll display our relationship to the public and disrespect your name to the point where your father disowns you and you drive your mother to her grave, that you'll do it...for me. It's still eating me up, the fact that I haven't been able to tell you I love you.

"Excuse me?" A voice next to me whispers, and I jump out of instinct. I don't know who this person it. I must be hallucinating because the voice sounds like yours. "Excuse me?" they repeat.

I turn to find that the person sitting next to me is the same girl who comforted Lexy, and I know I'm delusional, because she sounds nothing like you.

I nod. I can't bring myself to speak here. You took my voice when you left me.

"It's a little chilly in here. Mind if I close the window a bit?" The question startles me, then angers me. I glance at the clock and recognize the fact that the session will be over in a matter of seconds. The girl is glaring at me, daggers shooting my way, maybe even hitting pedestrians on the sidewalk outside. Mrs. Landon comes to my rescue by announcing the ending of the session. The girl stands and leaves, and every other emaciated frame follows.

I stand up and feel my legs fall beneath me. I stay on the ground for a moment, my three weeks here flashing like your eyes.

I don't know what my voice sounds like anymore. I haven't gained any weight. The lingering thought of eating something disrupting my already backfired plan hangs over me. Why is something so simple for others so difficult for me? My plan has completely fallen to shambles, but I still cannot bring myself to eat. My body is full of only candy smuggled in by my attendant, a nurse who used to be bulimic. I'm magnificent at hiding my food, spitting after chewing, or inventing any excuse to excuse myself from feasting. I haven't seen the people that led me here...that cursed me with the thought of trying to be seen by them, to please them and give them what they want to see. I haven't seen my family either, and visiting day was yesterday.

My mind is completely scrambled when I flashback to the day Ron told me that our parents had enrolled me in this facility.

The air was thick and it hit me as if the castle had turned over and fell atop me. I could barely keep myself straight. Nobody had seen me sneak out of the Hospital Wing because I was so thin I slid through a tiny space between Madam Pomfrey and the door, but not before stuffing my pillows elegantly under my blanket.

I stood on the edge of the cliff knowing I didn't need to jump, because the atmosphere itself was enough to knock me off the ledge. I could feel it weaving its way through my body and taking full control of me. I was given the feeling you used to give me on those special nights. I grinned.

Life was being sucked out of me. I needed to go. I had just made everything worse. Life wasn't sacred, but I still didn't deserve it. But... a razor sharp quill could hold on to life for me, so I didn't have to have that responsibility. I stepped forward and peered over the edge, my stomach dropping. I felt my grin disappear and bit my lip. Maybe I could just bite continuously until I ate myself. At least something would have passed my lips.

A laugh. I had just told a joke for the first time since the summer. My laugh had actually ceased sounding forced.

Something rustled behind me. I stepped back and turned sharply. It was Ron. He was looking pale, but he couldn't have been looking any worse than me. My skin had been yellowing in the past few weeks.

"You're hollow," his voice said, it sounded tight and shaky, and he was toying with his robes. "You've disappeared."

"I haven't," I said, bored. My voice was dry, and I felt faint. "Ron..." I said desperately. I should have died then...

"You need help," he said. "We're getting you help. This isn't only a Muggle practice...witches...and...and wizards as well. We're taking you to the place closest to home...it's far, but it's closest to home. You...Look at you." His voice was dripping with fear. I only caught a few phrases. I was able to catch the phrases having to do with taking me away and needing help, but I was feeling too dizzy to pay attention to the rest.

"Ron..." I said desperately again. My legs wobbled beneath me.

He began walking toward me. "Come on...I don't even know if anybody else is going through the same thing right now. We're all so glad we caught you before..." He looked at me. "Before anything else happened. Hermione says...starvation can cause..."

But what it can cause I never caught because I became best friends with the colour black again. It was so dark...so dismal...it was the story of my life.

I woke up to my mother's short and distant sobs and a car shaking terribly on a bad road. Then I ended up here.

I'm already strolling in the corridor back to my room when my flashback stops abruptly.

Where are you? Why haven't you rescued me yet? I haven't seen you in three weeks. You're driving me insane.

My vision blurs suddenly as I round a corner, and the corridor ahead seems to be spinning. My arms are numbing again...

No. Not now. I haven't seen you yet. I'm not letting this happen.

Frantically I search around the corridor for any attendants or passersby.

The numbing reaches my fingertips...

I'm becoming familiar with black again...strips of white tear away at the black and suddenly I'm walking in a long tunnel. It's dank and wet but I'm walking to the light ahead, white and bright. Could you possibly be in there? I'm getting closer...voices...

Voices are yelling. Screaming. Possibly screeching. I reach the white light. I step through.

"Bloody miracle." The voice is whispering to itself. I recognize the voice. Flickering open, my eyes gaze ahead of me.

And there you are. Standing there, looking as emotionless as ever.

My stomach flips, summersaults, and falls gracefully in my stomach. For the first time in what seems like forever I can hear my own heartbeat. I take note that I'm abnormally lucky. If my body were able to move in any other way, it probably wouldn't have anyway, because I'm paralyzed with shock and happiness. I'm giddy. I haven't felt these emotions in a long time...

You're not speaking coherently and I can only catch words like bollocks and fuck. I'm positive it's you.

Before my mind gives me any more time to register how shocked I am and find synonyms for every emotion I'm feeling, I stare up into your pale, desolate eyes and let out a long, shaky sigh.

"I love you."