[Hi, I'm sorry. No excuses but I also can't guarantee this not happening again sorryy.]

I sit on the dining table and he, despite my millions of attempts to convince him that I'm not hungry, forces me to eat.

I request for the number of calories, to no avail. I can't even figure it out.

Maths has always been so hard for me that since I've started dieting I've not had a single topping. Not even while binging.

I wipe my tears and roll the long strands of spaghetti mixed with a bunch of vegetables and tomato sauce around my fork but he thinks I'm not taking enough of it.

He takes my hand and makes me roll enough spaghetti to cover the whole of the fork.

My hands shake, maybe out of weakness? But the sight of so much food is scary too. He takes my hand and sets my hair aside to properly watch me eat.

"Just five bites—"

"—You promised fifteen, Sawera."

"I can't, Azaan."

"Please? For me? I'm starving and I— Don't." He holds my hand and warns me when I try to gobble the whole plate up. "I know what you're thinking of. I'm not going to let you purge this."

"Seven?"

"Fifteen."

"Nine."

"Sawera, stop and start eating."

"No, please."

I realise how baby-ish I'm acting and I hate myself. I pick the fork up and tangle the spaghetti but he makes me take more.

"That's unfair! You're making me finish the whole plate."

He continues feeding me until I take it in my hand and roll it at my pace.

"I need time to digest."

He sighs and rests his head on my shoulder, whining about something I don't care to think of.

I take the opportunity to silently take some tissue out of the tissue box and hide the spaghetti in it but he sees me stuffing tissue back and holds my hand.

Fuck, fuck, fuck

Did he see that?

I hold him back, "I finished it and I'm never doing this again. I'll die of a fucking brain tumour if I keep living with so much anxiety."

He pulls the tissue box to himself and I facepalm, mentally groaning.

"You want a vegetable soup?"

I look behind me when I don't hear anger in his voice. He's looking at the spaghetti inside the box but— he seems calm?

I get off his lap. "No. The deal was of spaghetti."

"Mhm, and did you finish it, sweetie?"

"It's not on the plate, it—"

"Sawera. All I'm asking you is one meal a day. That's it. Don't force me to—"

I whine 'okay whatever' for him to stop scolding me because he reminds me of worse times.

He holds my hand so lightly while pulling me to the kitchen, he knows I can pull it to myself but I won't... I think I've given him enough assurance.

"Why am I not so sure that you'll never leave me? Why do you have this—" oh of course, I realise, I have nowhere to go.

"What?" He asks.

"Nothing."

"Why do I have... what were you saying?"

"How's Sasha?"

"Sawera, I don't know. I don't call home to ask about our servants' healths." He points his eyes to the countertop but I shake my head.

I love this small house. It's so... old-ish. So Bollywood Honeymoon-ish.

"You're rude... Kind of—? proud."

He opens the cabinet above me. The countertop is crooked and so sixteenth century-ish. I love it.

I look at him and I want to thank him but I let it be, "You are proud."

"Why on earth would I ask about their health—"

"—Okay, but you don't— You were so... harsh on her."

"I think I was quite calm."

"No, you were..." I hate when I can't find words, "frightfully ridiculous. It wasn't her... She had told me to... I don't— You're terrible."

He hands me the warm bowl of soup.

"I'm sure she's fine. Suno, Sawera." He turns but comes back and reluctantly moves his hands up to my bowl but puts them back before touching it.

I look up at him.

"I know you want your phone, I know you want to be able to lock your door, follow your so called diet and go back to that life because it seems comfortable but— please understand that I love you. And none of that is right for you."

I stare at the bowl. "Hm."

"Naa— hm what? You're not even listening to me."

I look up at him and see realisation settling in him, he moves aside.

All the times he didn't listen to me. All the times I said this to him.

"Say Wallah you'll never cheat on me. If I ever annoy you, promise me that you'll divorce me."

"You're nuts. Don't use that word ever again."

Stupid traditional Pakistani men.

They'll see life crashing because they're in a relationship they don't want to be in, but they'll still care about the taboo more.

He could have a happier life.

Shut up, Sawera.

"Don't you think, like... just a little bit of weight loss—"

"—No. We talked about this. You don't see it, Sawera. You don't see yourself. You need to gain weight."

It makes me kind of happy? Because I know it has been a long journey but it also makes me sad because the long journey has given off no big results.

"—No. I want to go on dinner dates with you. I want to have breakfast in bed with you and I want you to try new recipes for lunch and bring them to office— what do you call it...? Tiff—?"

"Tiffin."

It was supposed to be romantic. Me making lunch for him, packing it in a lunchbox, driving to his office and watching him eat and appreciate my cooking...

"Why are you so nice to me?"

"You cannot see how beautiful you are. This is killing you."

I kind of wish it was. I hate him pitying me.

"Don't you want to live a beautiful life with me?" Longing trails off his voice and he takes some time before adding, "I don't know about you but I want to spend our seventies together."

I don't want to smile because he still thinks he can control me, however, a small smile escapes my lips when I imagine him in his seventies.

"Don't you want that?"

I'm not sure about it, but I nod.

"We both need to be healthy to see that."

I wonder how he didn't say anything about having children.

"Sawera? You need to be healthy."

What does he mean? Anxiety rises in me. I saw that thigh gap a day or two ago. I cannot have gained so much weight so as to be called obese, but my common sense goes out of the window and I feel like disappearing from his sight.

"W-what?"

He signals to the soup.

I wish I could take a lighter and burn all this fat away.

I want to tear my head apart.

"But you say— Do you still love me? Even with... all this— fat?"

"What?"

"You don't?"

"What the heck, Sawer—"

I tell him that it's okay, he inserts explanations, justifications... maybe it slipped out of his mouth.

But only a truth can slip out of your mouth.

This is what he feels about me.

This is what he thinks of me.

"I know myself better than you do. I don't need this." I put the bowl aside and get off the countertop.

~~~

I push his arm and walk away. I can't bear the mirror highlighting my fats. "Don't ever touch me again."

I turn to him, "And do not for fuck's sake start that lecture of yours again nor that trail of lies— I do not want to hear you."

"I love you, you look great and you don't need to change anything in yourself."

I roll my eyes.

I groan shortly after.

"Give me my freaking phone back! What did I ever do to you? I never disturbed your life— I admit I did. For a month? For two? I'm sorry about that, but if you keep interfering in my life for two months I swear to God I'll die. My mental state is already too fucked for you to fuck it more. Don't. Please, don't."

"Sawera, I—"

"—No, no, I know you now know my weakness. I know you know that I can't say no to you when you look at me with that look. But this... this is why I don't talk to you. I wish you understood me instead of—"

"—You don't use the right words. I do understand you. I just don't want you to do all of this. You call those shitty internet friends understanding just because they support the way you're killing yourself."

Fuck him.

"You don't understand me. You never do, you never did, you never will. Someday I'll stop speaking to you and you'll find me dead on the floor with bleach dripping out of my mouth—"

~~~

I feel him looking at me when I pick his phone from the sidetable but he doesn't say anything.

What's his manager's name?

I open his Messages and see Kylie's name on the top with sixteen unread messages. Her name makes my heart drop into my stomach, but I carry my eyes to the second chat.

Finn Manager

Of course, it's Azaan.

I look at the texts above and copy Azaan's straight-to-the-point chatting demeanor.

A chopper, tomorrow at 7AM for

Wait, we came in a train. Ugh, how do I ask that? I don't know the name of the station or train?

Fuck, will I have to be nice to Azaan again?

I can't be nice all of a sudden.

I send Finn the location and pray he doesn't get suspicious.

Azaan:
Need to go back home tomorrow.
Send a car at 8AM and arrange the rest.

Is that how he'd say it?

God, I sent it.

Fuck it.

It's done now.

"Do you want to read a book?" Azaan whispers and I put his phone over his chest and pull the duvet up till my head.

~~~

"I didn't text y—" Azaan pauses and looks at me.

I roll my eyes and walk past Finn to the car. After climbing down the few pairs of steps, I sit in the backseat and curl up to sleep for some more.

How did I walk? Did I walk straight? What did my back look like? He was watching me. I hope yellow clothes don't emphasize my fat.

Fuck. How am I giving him attitude with such a body?

I think of the whole of yesterday.

I'm so fussy, I want to scream words of hatred to myself.

"Azaan?" I look out of the window and interrupt their talk. He looks at me.

"Hm?" How is he so kind to me after all the misbehaviour?

I swallow, hating myself. How am I anxious after doing it all wrong myself?

And he's so good-hearted, he comes to me and rubs my hand. "You okay, Sawera?"

"Can we go home?"

It reminds me of what he said about me on the phone on our first day to Bora Bora.

"This place is lovely, I promise, but I don't want to be here."

That's fussy as fuck, Sawera.

"I mean, it— it— you should get back to work. D—don't s— don't do this for me... I— T—thank you? I. I don't." I take a big long pause. "I'm sorry." I take my hand out of his and roll the windows up.

Why the fuck do I talk like that?

He holds my hand before the window is even halfway up and I look at him, "It's okay. It's okay if you don't want to be here. Let me finish... Nevermind, we'll go back right now."

He goes back to speak to Finn and I hate myself even more.

Why am I so rude to such a good person?

"I promise I'm fine, why are you doing this to me?"

He gets into the car.

"I just don't feel good about myself and you claiming that I'm not... what I am, does not change anything."

He looks into my eyes and stays paused for God knows what, his eyes just make me insecure, "That is ridiculously stupid."

Okay, here it goes.

"If you compare yourself—"

"—No, go on trips with that Kylie. She is ridiculously smart. I'm sorry that I'm not, and I am sorry that you chose me despite knowing that I cheated in school which obviously means that I have always been stupid as fuck but you didn't care at th—" My hand casually went to my head and... now I have a big chunk of hair... over my hand?

What?

Azaan holds my hand and takes the hair out of it before telling me that he's sorry and he didn't mean what I figured out he meant, while he rolls the hair around his two fingers and makes a ball and I visualise myself back in the penthouse, taking a knife and cutting my wrist open.

~~~

Every time I lie down, I'm reminded of Azaan thinking that I'm not trying.

I go to the kitchen to find the sharpest of the knives but I see a new servant there talking to Azaan.

It stresses me out to have someone here all the time but I turn as I find another way.

Azaan has no razors?

I open all of the drawers and cabinets of the house in search of something sharp.

"What do you want?"

I plomp down in bed and close my eyes.

It frustrates the fuck out of me when he kisses my forehead. I hate myself for ever being rude to him but also for existing and annoying him with my presence and I hate him for being so nice with me.

He gives me an iPad, calmly making me understand how dangerous shit is and making me feel like a child with no control over myself, which makes everything worse, I don't feel like using any electronic device, the only thing I want right now is to be dead.

Fuck... this feeling...

"I need to go out."

He's dropping his watch on the sidetable when he hears that, his posture stiffens after and the watch drops only after a pause.

"Where?"

"Can you not fucking trust me for once? I'm an adult, and if you're snatching my phone from me then it's only because I'm letting you, my privacy is protected by the law and I don't need— to the pharmacy."

Fuck his eyes.

"What do you need?"

"Privacy. Azaan, please. You're..." I pause for an exhale, I'm sick of him.

Every single thing here is horrible.

~~~

He drops me to the pharmacy, I buy my laxatives by myself and he drives me back home.

I feel horrible for the next five days because I eat more in these five days than I have in the whole of five months. I've never had a meal in so long but Azaan's making me have one meal every day with the plus of snacks.

I never even binged this much.

~~~

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING YOU'RE NO ONE TO DECIDE MY LIFE!"

"Are you kidding me? OMAD? Who the fuck told you you need to lose weight, Sawera? You just f—mm argh don't."

"I've listened to you for the past five days I promise I'm not joking I'll kill myself if you don't let me decide for myself."

He stares at me for a while. A long painful while.

I think of what I look like. I lose my trail of thoughts and try to catch onto what I was saying.

He keeps staring and I sit on the bed, wondering what I just said to make him look at me like that but I can't remember.

I feel like burying myself in the ground until he stops staring.

I gather my courage to tell him to stop looking at me but before I can, he pulls a chair for himself.

"I feel like I've lost you. And you don't want to come back." He reminds me of what we were talking about.

I whine, "Azaan, you—"

"—SAWERA!"

I do startle but I get up before he can manipulate me into anything. I walk till his room and slam the door.

I listened to him for five days only for him to shout at me again.

"Sawera, you don't—"

"—I don't care. I don't care. You don't want me. You just want to make me feel like shit. Leave me alone. Please."

I want to... Where the fuck do I go?

There... I've tried every— I need a surgery.

I pick the iPad and google liposuction near me. I see that it doesn't help much, it just helps you lose two to five pounds but right now, anything is better than nothing.

He snatches the iPad from me and lectures me while I decide that tonight's the last night.

Until I see his tears.

He apologises a million times and explains how I can't see anything clearly but he sees a future with me and how I'm destroying myself, while I stand there, stunned.

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