Her Demise

By Clive Matthews

Being told you're ugly on a daily basis is bound to affect your self esteem, sooner or later. For Catie-May, beauty was always in her stride. She longed to be thin, to be popular, and above all, to be loved.

Already underweight, Catie-May restricts the one thing she feels she's actually in control of; food. But that's just the beginning. Deep down, she knows she can be the person she longs to be. Somehow, if she can just get her plan in to place, she can be the person she was born to be.

But just how far will she go to achieve perfection?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clive Matthews
• Release date: May 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393867722

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Her Demise

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The characters within this book are complete works of fiction. Any likeness to anyone or anything that has happened in the past is purely coincidental. This story contains upsetting scenes which may be triggering for some. It choked me up just writing it, but I am quite a sensitive flower.

Warning - my language in real-life is atrocious. It's the same throughout this story. My bad.

Acknowledgements

To Bonnie, for propping me up when life got hard.

Chapter One - It’s Not Just Morning That’s Broken

As I sit here staring wistfully in the mirror, I feel like I could just cry. Even with makeup on, I never look good. Standing up, I turn around, all the time watching my figure in the hideous reflection that's staring back at me. Mocking me. I'm so fat. Ugh. I roll up my sleeves to cover my arms, and force a fake smile.

Hoisting my uniform on, I thrust open the top drawer of my vanity cupboard, and scramble around its contents frantically. I've run out of foundation. Of course I have. I meant to pick some up last night, but nodded off as soon as I'd finished watching those makeup tutorials online. Fuck my life.

I wish Mum was still here; I'd just be able to borrow hers, it wouldn't be a big deal. She'd be able to show me how to do it properly, how to blend well, make me look pretty. Scrap that, there's some things Jesus himself wouldn't be able to do. Can't polish a dog turd, as the saying goes. I'd require nothing short of surgery to make me look good, and I definitely won't be rich enough to afford that in my lifetime.

I briefly contemplate bunking off, but Dad's already onto me, wouldn’t hear the last of it if I did. I know what they'll say as soon as I get in though, It's gonna be bad today, I just know it.

'She looks even worse than usual, did she look in a mirror before she left the house this morning? Where's your makeup? Have you run out? You can borrow mine if you want, you need as much help as you can get, sweetie.'

I can pre-emptively hear the stifled giggles already, echoing infinitely around my head at an incomprehensible speed.

I think the worst one I've had so far was Mandy Beauchamp-Simmons in the third year of high-school. She was surrounded by a swarm of mean-girls, and proceeded to lay into me (for no apparent reason, we've never even spoke) probably to try and impress the gaggle of bitches that were flocking around her.

She told me the reason Mum had left was 'coz she was so ashamed of me; ashamed of how I'd turned out, ashamed of how I looked. That hurt. That really fucking hurt.

After I'd calmed myself down (and finished weeping in the restroom) I contemplated what it'd be like to have more confidence. I imagined a stronger, more courageous version of myself standing up to Mandy, too upper class for just one surname, and kicking her right in the cunt with my Doc's on. That'd show her.

I'm not like that, though. I wish I was.

I can't tell Dad any of this, he'd just worry. He'd tell me I was only sixteen, of course I was insecure, I was bound to going through a hard time 'at my age', and he'd finish it all off with 'you're the most beautiful girl I know.' Well, of course I am; he doesn't go out, and his glasses are so thick-rimmed, it's surprising they're actually able to balance on the bridge of his nose. To me, that renders his opinion completely void.

I leg it downstairs, focusing on the front door, hoping Dad wouldn't clock me. He did.

"Where do you think you're going? I've done you breakfast, you can't go to school on an empty stomach!" he hollered, sternly.

"It's fine Dad, stop being such a fucking grouch, I'll eat at school!" I lied. I haven't eaten for the past four days. I know it sounds extreme, but I'm really quite proud. I'll get this weight off one way or another.

"Catie-May, mind your language! I didn't bring you up to talk to me like that, did I?! You get here now, and eat something. I've been worried sick. You're turning into nothing but skin and bone!" he reckons.

Guess what? I call bull-shit. Fucking bullshit artist. I'm five foot four, and the scales roar at me every time I step on them. Six stone. Six fucking stone. I hate it. But like I say; what does he know?

Fuck off Dad, I'm going to school, I mumbled as I hurried through the front door. As the school bus creaked to a halt outside our house, Dad came striding outside to the front lawn, in his dressing gown, screaming my name frantically.

"CATIE-MAY! CATIE-MAY, DON'T YOU DARE GET ON THAT BLOODY BUS. I’M NOT FINISHED TALKING TO YOU. COME BACK HERE AND I'LL TAKE YOU TO SCHOOL! CATIE-MAY!" he shouted.

What a fucking embarrassment. As if I didn’t have enough to contend with already. Fuck my life. Fuck it right to Aberdeen and back.

I ignored him, obviously. He's so pathetic, just makes things worse. Throwing my hood up, I jumped onto the bus, proceeding with the walk of shame down the seemingly never-ending aisle. The kids were all sneering and whispering as I trod lightly towards the back seats, a muffled silence blanketing them as I walked on by, squinting my eyes, concentrating on trying to find a free seat.

Some of the kids stared at me in disgust, others put their rucksacks on the adjacent unoccupied chairs. Not that I blame any of them. If they were to be seen talking to me, it'd be classed as social suicide.

I heard a bit of a hushed argument between Olivia and Andy.

Andy, fuck off, you cretin. Go and sit over there! she barked.

"But, Olivia!" he protested, in his weasley, snivelly, pre-pubescent voice. He’ll have more going for him once his balls have eventually dropped. I assumed him and Olivia had fallen out again… I always thought they were a