TW: Anorexia Nervosa, Self Induced Vomiting, Body Dysmorphia, Self Hatred, Perfectionism, Self Harm

Roman scrutinised his shirtless figure in the mirror from head to toe. 

His normally gelled up hair was faded and thinning from the overuse of hair gel. Everyday, he would slather on at least half a bottle of hair gel, certain that it needed to be more gelled, more stylish. This caused his bathroom counter top to be strewn with bottles and bottles of the product. After all, he needed to look perfect. 

His gaze wandered down to his eyes. Oh how innocent and sparkling they used to look, shining with youthful innocence and joy. Now, they just looked empty. Bloodshot from staying up late into the light, they reminded Roman of how he kept looking at fashion magazines, longing to look more like the models in them. Perfect. 

Below his eyes were dark circles . Usually, layers of foundation would cover them up but after his shower and washing his face in the process, they had washed away. The foundation hid his dark circles from his friends. Patton had practically begged Roman to sleep properly after seeing them for the first time and he couldn't bare see Patton's guilt ridden expression again, as if Roman not sleeping was somehow his fault. And though he knew Patton was right, he still stayed up late, forcing him to use foundation. After all, he had to make his friends think he was perfect. 

His stares travelled down to his cheeks. Puffy from the binge eating Roman did at the end of the week and the long time forcing it out afterwards. He found that forcing out the binged food helped ease the guilt, helped ease the pain, even if just temporarily. And the food he binged helped stop the growling of his stomach that he beared with every week. Every day, he would tell himself how this was worth it. How he was finally able to control something. How he was getting ever so slightly thinner every week. How this was the right thing to do. Because that way, he will finally look perfect. 

And the starving was beginning to show. Roman looked at his torso. What once was muscular had reduced to mere skin and bones. He had a small journal he kept around in his pocket, where he would track the amount of calories he took every meal, if he had any. Logan would be proud of how systematic he was. 

Every day, he would reduce the calories, give himself more and more rules. What to eat. How much of it to eat. It made him feel in control and he liked that feeling. 

However, it brought about other feelings too. Feelings that made it painful to look in the mirror, look at himself. Feelings that made him doubt himself, his own self worth, because of how much he weighed and looked. 

And he dealt with those feelings in another way. The gaze travelled to his arms. They were swollen from the controlled diet, an unhealthy yellowish in colour. But what stood out about them the most were thin, even scars that ran down his arms. Some were faded, others a dark crimson colour. Scabs filled the empty spaces between the fading scars. At least my scars are perfect, he mused, finger tracing them gingerly. 

He could not take the emotional pain and coped with the only way he knew how. He inflicted physical pain. Because that pain, unlike emotional pain, could be controlled. Because it distracted him from the emotional pain. Because he was too weak to deal with the emotional pain. And though the physical pain eases the emotional pain, it added more self esteem issues. It made him feel weak, to give in to the emotional pain.

So as Roman went to bed that night, he choked back a sob. He would never be perfect. Why couldn't he be perfect?

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I am so sorry. I think me realising I can't write fluff has brought out some angsty dark side I didn't know existed.