The Bully (Part 5)

I really expected to wake up dead, but I checked, and I was alive. I couldn't remember what had happened at first, and then I realised that I was in hospital, and then a nurse came up to me. She was beaming away, as if she was pleased I was alive. I didn't want to be alive.

"Why aren't I dead?" I wailed. I started to cry. I couldn't help it. The tears just poured out, and wouldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. I was hoping that I'd drown in my tears. The nurse came up, and hugged me. I pushed her away, screaming, "I'm not dead! Why couldn't you let me die?" I suddenly remembered what happened, and I turned away, crying more tears.

"What's wrong, Charlotte?" the nurse asked. I was temporarily taken aback. How did she know my name? Then I remembered that I always carried with me a donor card, and my library card was with that too.

I wanted to tell her what was wrong, but I was so ashamed. The truth that I'd been gang raped was too humiliating to be true.

"What's wrong? No-one will find out."

"They raped me." I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"Who did, Charlotte?"

"Some men. I-I picked one up, and he took me to his place, tied me his bed, ripped my clothes off, and then phoned his mates... I feel so ashamed."

I looked up at the nurse, wiping my eyes. "Have I been in here long? I don't remember much."

"You've been in here four days, in intensive care. We've been so worried about you. You're all skin and bones, and we put you on a drip to help you get better."

"A drip? You've put me on a drip?" I looked down, and noticed it for the first time. I ripped it out, and screamed at the nurse. "You're not getting me fat! I'm too fat! Just leave me alone!"

I jumped out of bed, and started to run away out of the door, but the nurse was too quick, and caught hold of me, motioning to some other people to help her.

"Let go!" I screamed, in hysterics. I wanted to get out of there. They were all trying to get me fat, and I hated them. I was dragged inside, and the door was closed and locked. Two nurses and a doctor were in there with me, and as soon as they let me go, I headed to the door, and tried to open it. I wrenched at the door, pounded on it, screaming the whole time. The nurses and doctor were standing there, doing nothing. I gave up, and turned around, and looked at them. Their faces were emotionless.

I was suddenly calm. I could make up for all the weight I'd put on after I got out of here, and the calmer I was, the sooner I'd get out. I put both of my hands in the air. "OK, I surrender. You got me!" I said humourously. I expected them to at least smile. But their faces remained stony, and professional. I went to sit on the bed.

"I'm sorry. I've been under a lot of pressure."

The doctor sat on the bed next to me, and sighed. "What's your date of birth, Charlotte?" she asked.

"Fifteenth of February 1986." I replied. "Why?"

The doctor was visibly distressed by this news.

"A Mrs. Webbster has filed a missing person's report of her daughter Charlotte, aged thirteen, date of birth February 15th 1986, and matching your description. Why did you run away? And why did you attempt suicide?"

"I didn't attempt suicide," I said feebly.

"You did, Charlotte. A Mr. Green phoned an ambulance when he saw you unconscious on the street. He saw an empty bottle of paracetamol beside you."

I knew when I was beaten. "I was raped, OK?" I screamed. Then I lowered my voice. My heart was suddenly filled with anguish. "They all raped me. I am so ashamed. I feel like dying every time I think of it. I was used. Now do you understand why I wanted to commit suicide? Why didn't you just let me?" I was crying by this time, and I didn't know what to do. The doctor took me in her arms, and let me cry on her shoulder.

It felt really weird, because I didn't even know who she was. She was a stranger, and I was pouring out my heart to her. Suddenly I realised that she was a doctor. Doctors always pretended to be concerned for your health, when really, they're trying to get you to be the opposite to what you want to be like.

She wanted me to be fat. I desperately wanted to be thin now. Before it was to forget my life, and those who were making it such a misery. Now I was away from those people, I had no reason to continue making myself sick. But I felt the feelings it gave me to wear clothes that were no longer tight, and hung loosely around my waist. So much so, I could go down a size in clothing. The feeling made me so happy and ecstatic, and I decided that maybe, I should just not eat as much to begin with, and then, I wouldn't have to spew it up, I could still get a bit thinner. My size 10 clothing was a little loose, and I wondered if I would ever fir into a size 8. Two years earlier, when I thought of people who wore size 8 clothing, I thought of super models, especially Naomi Campbell. I never thought of ordinary people like me, it just didn't happen. It was only then, however, when I noticed my size 10 trousers getting loose, that I thought twice. It would be such an achievement if a pair of size 8 clothing would fit me. But first, I needed my freedom again, and I needed to be out of that hospital.

I begged the doctor to let me go. It took me long enough, but she relented, and said that before she discharged me, she would take some tests to check I was alright. She asked me to step on the scales after she had taken my blood pressure, and I realised that it had been a while since I had weighed myself. I peered worriedly at the numbers. I weighed 6 stone 8 pounds. I nearly fell off the scales. The previous weighing I had weighed 7 stone 12 pounds. I had lost over a stone of weight. I was thrilled, but I knew that the doctor wouldn't be. She hadn't succeeded in making me fat! I looked at the doctor's face. It was stony and cold, almost angry. She spoke to me in a cool, and slightly concerned sounding voice. However I knew the voice was put on.

"Could you step up to that wall chart, Charlotte," she said, nodding her brunette head in the direction of a brightly coloured chart against the wall. It reached up to the ceiling, and it was marked all the way up. A height monitor.

I stepped up to it. The doctor stepped up, and slid the bar down, so it touched my head lightly. I stepped out from underneath it, and she wrote the figure down on the sheet she was using for my weight, blood pressure and so on. I was just a fraction over 5 feet 9 inches. The doctor frowned, looked over her notes, and turned to me, with a coloured chart in her hand.

"Look at the chart, Charlotte." she instructed.

I obeyed. It was a mass of different coloured squares. A weight / height chart. Red indicated severely over or underweight, orange indicated very over or underweight, yellow indicated over or underweight, and white indicated normal. The doctor had circled a square in the red section. I looked at it., disbelieving it. How could I be overweight? I had been dieting for ages. Yet, the chart must be true. I looked at it with a sinking feeling. I couldn't stay fat.

"Charlotte, I've indicated on the chart your height against your weight. You are severely underweight, and you need to put on more weight, or you will die."

I looked at her squarely in the eyes. "Don't be silly." I told her. "I'm overweight. I have to lose weight. I can't get even fatter!"

"Listen to me Charlotte!" the doctor's voice bordered on hysteria. "You are underweight! You are not getting enough nutrition, and you will die! You are starving yourself to death. Please let me help you."

I felt tears coming into my eyes. Why was everyone out to get me? My father, Pauline, my mother, Christine, my rapers, the man who found me in the street, the nurses, and now the doctor. Who else? Why were they trying to get me fat, and why were they tormenting me? I couldn't understand it.

"I don't need help!" I screamed. "Leave me alone, and stop trying to get me fat! I hate you, and I hate everyone in this hospital, and everyone in this country. Why didn't you let me die when I wanted to?" I burst into tears, and ran out of the hospital, finding strength in my legs I never realised were there. I outran all the hospital staff who chased me, and sank down finally in an alley, put my head in my hands, and cried. I was there for a while, and several people walked past me, ignoring me. I almost liked it, after comparing it with the inquisitive behaviour of Christine, and the nurse and the doctor. And now, more than ever, I was dreading going home to Mum. I was sure that the hospital would contact her, and say that they'd found me, and tell her where I was. She would be so mad at me for everything.. the prostitution, the chocolate gateau, me being raped.. I suddenly realised that whilst I was being raped, not one of them used a condom. I could be HIV positive, I could be pregnant, anything. I sobbed louder. My mother was going to kill me. Luckily, I still had plenty of money from what I had made a few nights ago. I had to know if I was pregnant or not.

I got up, and ran to the nearest Boots chemists. I pulled out a fiver from my jeans pocket, grabbed a home pregnancy test from the shelf with shaking hands, and located the pay till. I paid for the item, and tried not to let the cashier see my face.

I knew that it was because I was ashamed. I didn't want anyone to know that I was possibly pregnant after raped. It was too humiliating. And I also knew that I had to get out of Folkstone, because inevitably, my mother now knew where I was.

When I left the shop, I went in search of some public toilets, and carried out the test. When it showed up negative, I slumped to the floor in relief. If I were pregnant, I would get so fat, I would die. I was overweight anyway. Being pregnant would be awful, even if it were by a man I loved. I would never be able to get thin afterwards, and I would die because I would be so overweight.

Filled with relief, I picked up my bag which I had grabbed from beside the hospital bed, and I walked out of the toilets, deep in thought. Where would I go? I had to go somewhere where I would blend in, somewhere big enough so that if my mother found out I was there, it would be difficult to find me. I couldn't have her finding me, I knew that she would be angry with me after all that I've done. I had to go far away, and make sure that no-one would recognise me if they came across me by chance. It was then I decided to go to London. I could earn much more in one night there, than I could in one week in Folkstone. I still had a pocketful of loose change and notes, and I decided to travel up to London the same day, and earn some sweet money after night fall. Perhaps then, I might be able to afford a flat or some such thing. I wouldn't have to sleep in subways anymore.

It hurt every night, sleeping in the subways. Even sitting down hurt now. I couldn't understand it, afterall, wouldn't my flubber make a cushion for me? I suppose it was too much to ask. I was fat, yet I still couldn't sit down or sleep without aching all over within half an hour. My life was miserable. My life needed serious revamping. A little flat to call my own would fit the bill nicely, I decided.

I ran to Folkstone train station after being given directions by an elderly lady wheeling a bicycle with a wicker basket attached to the front of it. She seemed happy enough to give me directions, but I nearly fell over when she informed me that she thought I was too thin. What a load of rubbish, I nearly told her, before thanking her for the directions, and going on my way. I bought a child single to London Waterloo, and went to wait on the platform for the train, standing up, because the benches were metal, and I would have had bruises for a week if I had sat down on them.

A train pulled up, and I walked up to the top of the train. The doors opened, and a few people got out. My heart stopped when I noticed that one of the people getting off the train at the very front, was my mother. I stood still, my heart finding itself again, and then I quickly leapt on the train through the next door, just as my mother turned around to come down the platform. I found a seat on the opposite side of the train to the platform, and sunk into my seat. I waited a little while for my mother to pass, and looked up just as my mother looked in and saw me. My eyes widened in fear, but luckily for me, the doors closed just then, and the train pulled off, leaving my mother staring in horror at my fat. Finally, I relaxed in my seat, safe in the knowledge that I had escaped my mother.

However, I couldn't shut out how different she looked. She was paler, thinner, and her clothes looked as though she had slept in them. She looked a state.

I didn't know at the time that it was because she had seen me looking such a state myself, all I noticed was how she had looked that moment as the train pulled away.

I tried to push it out of my mind. Ignoring my mother had been so easy, but now it was incredibly hard. I wished I'd never looked up. I wouldn't feel like this. But I had. I still couldn't go back. She wouldn't want me. She would hate me for ignoring her, and for staying on the train. There was no way back now. I had to go to London, and I had to stay there. I couldn't face my mother again.

Part 6 of The Bully

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