Here's a short story for adults I wrote ages ago.  Any feedback would be great.

When the mirror lies

by Elaine Jeremiah

I stand in front of the mirror, looking critically at my naked body.  It's still the same as it was yesterday and I hate it.  There's nothing to like about it.  I've been standing here a while.  Glancing at the clock, I see that  I'm running out of time to get ready.  My lecture starts in half an hour.    Quickly, I get dressed, then do my hair and make up. 

     After that it's time for breakfast.  I have a routine that I go through every meal time, whatever I'm eating.  I count all the calories painstakingly and if the number of calories isn't stated, I work them out.  Today is no exception.  I'm eating two Ryvita crackers with some low fat cheese spread on them and I briefly work out the calories.  One of my house mates, Marie, walks into the kitchen, waving hello.  I give her a brief smile.  She walks over to the table where I'm sitting. 

     'You know you don't have to be so strict with yourself Hannah,' she says.

     'I don't know what you mean,' I reply.

     Sitting down next to me, she says, 'With your eating and your weight in general.  You're not fat Hannah and you really shouldn't be so hard on yourself.  It's not healthy.'

     'You sound like my mum.  Just back off will you?' I snap at her.

     'OK, OK.'  Marie replies, grabbing her glass of water and walking out of the room.

     I wait until she's gone before wiping my tearful eyes.  I shouldn't let her get to me, I should just stick to my routine.  I eat my breakfast slowly, reading a magazine, envying the stick thin models' figures.  I then run most of the way to my lecture, chastising myself for not getting up sooner.  It's raining and I'm trying not to slip up in the puddles. 

     Finally, I reach the university campus.  Even after two months of being here, I still find it huge.  I stop.  Where is the lecture hall?  I ask myself.  My mind's gone blank.  It's been doing that a lot lately and I don't know why.  Perhaps I'm doing too much, I think vaguely as I turn full circle.  Then I remember.  It's in the Macmillan building.  I head across to it, trying to run but my legs won't let me.  Exhausted, I reach the hall, sitting down at the back.  I've got a few minutes until the lecture starts, so I find my compact mirror and sit frowning at my reflection.  I look tired but, more than that, I look overweight and awful.

     'Can I sit here?'  a male voice asks, interrupting my thoughts.

     'Er, yeah, sure,' I reply distractedly.

     Seeing the lecturer coming into the hall, I shove my mirror away and get my notebook out.

     'Oh no, not Boring Bland again,' the same voice jokes.

     I turn to him.  'Do you mind?'  I ask frostily.  ' 'Boring Bland' happens to be one of my favourite lecturers.'

     Which isn't entirely true.  I enjoy some of Dr Bland's lectures on English literature, but others are just that, boring.  I glance at the male student.  He is looking suitably crestfallen.  I almost feel guilty as I try to concentrate on the lecture.  But after a while, my mind wanders back to my figure and how much I hate it.  The mirror never lies, I know that.  It only tells me the truth, never what I want to see.  I muse over how much I want to be able to get into that size four dress.  Only then will I be satisfied that I'm not eating too much.  I must be nodding off, because suddenly I'm being prodded in the ribs and the male voice is whispering in my ear,

     'Wake up, dozy, Boring Bland's looking right at you.'

     I sit bolt upright and look studiously at my notes, realising that I haven't made any.  I'm feeling groggy and confused – I think back to last night and remember that I had an early night.  So why am I feeling this sleepy?

     'Thank you,' I whisper peevishly to the student.

     'That's OK,' he whispers back.

     As the lecturer drones on,  I realise that he's right.  The lecture is boring.  I wish myself a million miles away, on a sandy beach in a skimpy bikini with a figure to die for.  Then I remember that 'Boring Bland' has already caught me snoozing once, so I sit up straight and try to focus.  Finally, after what feels like hours, the lecture ends.  For a moment I think I see the lecturer frowning at me and I turn away, embarrassed.  Then I hear the familiar male voice interrupting my thoughts.

     'Dozy girl.  Hey, dozy girl.'

     I turn to face him.  'What?'  I ask impatiently. 

     His mouth stretches into a broad grin.  'Well at least I've got your attention,' he says.  'Do you want to come and sit outside with me?  Or have you got another boring lecture to attend?'

     Part of me wants to be rude to him and say I don't have time for superficial men.  The other part desperately wants to say yes, to get away from the mirror and all its truths.  There is a pause whilst I try to ignore him as I stuff my books away in my bag.

     Well?'

     I'm running out of excuses.  'Um... OK,' I say, surprising myself.

     That huge smile of his spreads across his face.  I decide that I like it.

     'Great,' he says, extending his hand.  'I'm Steven.  Nice to meet you er...'

     'Hannah,' I reply, shaking his hand.

     We make our way out of the hall and into the sunshine outside.  It's stopped raining and everything is verdant and lovely.  I find myself chatting away to this guy I don't even know and the mirror seems far from my thoughts for the moment.  We talk about our favourite authors.  Mine is Jane Austen and his is J.R.R. Tolkien.  This is so stereotypical that we both laugh.  We find a bench to sit on that isn't too damp.  I can feel my stomach rumbling.

     'You hungry?'  Steven asks.

     I feel my face burning red with embarrassment.  'No, not really.'

     'Cos if you are, we can go and grab some grub.'

     'No, honestly, I'm fine,' I say as firmly as I can.

     'It's no trouble to me if you want to get some.'

     Now I'm cross.  'No, I said no and I meant it,' I snap, then immediately feel bad.  'I'm sorry Steven.  It's just that people are always on at me about what I eat and I have a hard enough time with my weight issues as it is.'

     I can feel Steven's gaze on me as I'm staring at the ground. 

     'What weight issues Hannah?  You have a great figure and I didn't mean to be rude.  It's just...well you look like you worry too much about food.'

     I turn to him incredulous.  'And that's supposed to make me feel better is it?' I ask angrily.

     Steven runs his hand through his spiky hair. 

     'No.  The thing is my sister died a couple of years ago of anorexia.  We tried for years to tell her that she wasn't fat, that she was beautiful and that we loved her the way she was.  But it made no difference.  She was convinced that she was huge.'  He pauses.  'Eventually she died weighing just seven stone.'

     I feel like he's punched me in the stomach.  No one's ever been that frank with me about my weight before.  Mum nags me occasionally to eat more but most of the time she just leaves me to prepare my own meals.  I feel sympathy for him that he's lost his sister, but also outraged that he's comparing me to her.  I search to find the right words to say how I feel without hurting him.

     'Um, that must have been awful for you,' I mutter, then looking at him I add, 'But you know, I'm not your sister.  I have my own issues, but they're not necessarily the same as hers were.'

     Steven looks at me earnestly.  'Of course you're a different person from Catherine.  I guess you just reminded me of her.  You do have a very slender figure.  But I'm sorry if I offended you.  I didn't mean to – I was only trying to help.'

     'That's OK,' I reply.

     We sit in silence for a moment longer.  I realise that I do feel hungry, but I'm certainly not going to say so now.  Anyway, my body doesn't need food straight away.  Looking at my watch, it tells me that it's only been a couple of hours since breakfast, so obviously my body needs time to digest the food and I shouldn't eat again too soon.

     Steven breaks the silence by saying, 'There's a party on tonight in the student's union.  We could go if you like?'

   '  Yeah, that would be nice,' I say.  This really isn't like me.  'What time is it?'

     'It starts at seven thirty.  I could meet you outside.'

     'OK, sure.'

     We part ways now, both of us having things to do.  I walk slowly towards the library where I have to do some research, mulling over my conversation with Steven.  I can't believe I've been so bold with someone I've only just met.  Well, bold for me anyway.  Probably tame by Marie's standards.  I think about what I'm going to wear.  Nothing too tarty.  I've got those smart black trousers and that silver shirt I could wear.  That would look alright and wouldn't show off too much excess flesh.

     Once I'm in the library with my books open and a pen in my hand, I try to focus on Thomas Hardy's novel 'The Mayor of Casterbridge' and what I want to say about it in my essay.  But I can't concentrate.  I'm having visions of Steven's hazel eyes with the flecks of green in them.  I hadn't even thought about his looks whilst I was talking with him, but now they come flooding back to me and I feel flattered that he's asked me on a date.  Then I start stressing about my chosen outfit for tonight.  Perhaps it'll reveal too much cleavage?  Looking down at myself I see that I needn't worry about that.  My cleavage has disappeared and I'm surprised that I haven't noticed it.  Maybe Steven is right and I am worrying too much about my weight.  I feel hungry and decide to get a bowl of salad from the canteen.

     That evening, I spend two hours getting ready.  I eat first, counting the calories as usual. Afterwards, I have a shower, giving my body a thorough scrub.  Back in my room, I take off my dressing gown and study myself once more in the mirror.  I honestly can't imagine what Steven sees in me.  Sighing, I look at the clock.  Half an hour left till I need to leave.  I quickly put on my black trousers.  They are slipping down below my waist.  I'm amazed.  How did that happen?  Hadn't I been eating a  lot lately?  I find a snazzy belt to wear with it and then put on my shirt.  Hair and make up done, I'm ready to go.

     I'm feeling nervous as I approach the student union.  I've never felt confident in crowds.  There are loads of students milling around and I feel very self conscious.  Looking at my watch, I see that I'm a few minutes early.  It's cold and I wish that I'd brought a coat with me.  Thankfully I don't have to wait long as Steven soon turns up.  He's looking gorgeous in a shirt and nice trousers.

     'Hi,' he says, walking over to me.  'Let's go inside, it's freezing out here.'

     He walks beside me without touching me and I wonder if he really likes me after all.  So to break the silence, I say,

     'Are any of your friends going to be here tonight?'

     'Why?  Are you worried you've got competition?' he jokes.

     'Of course not,' I laugh.  'I mean, I've only just met you.'

     'Well some of my mates might be turning up later.  But for now I'm all yours.'

     The darkness hides my smile.  Inside, there is a dance floor lit up with bright, swirling lights.  It's stiflingly hot and I take off my jacket.  We sit down together at a table. 

     'What do you want to drink?' Steven asks me.

     I feel embarrassed.  It's very chivalrous of him, but I've only just met him.

     'I can buy my own drinks,' I say.  'You don't have to be so kind.'

     'It's nothing,' he replies.  'Come on, let me treat you.'

     Blushing, I nod.  'OK.'

     Steven walks away to buy the drinks.  I look around me, feeling as if everyone is staring at me.  On his way back to the table, Steven waves to a group of blokes who come over.  Great, I think.  Just what I need – a load of guys ogling me.  They sit down – about four of them, plus Steven – and start talking loudly over the music.

     'Got a girl pretty quick then?' one of them asks Steven.

     Steven just smiles and has a sip of his beer.  I'm excruciatingly embarrassed and wish I hadn't come.  Steven seems oblivious to my distress and continues drinking.  He chats with his friends and ignores me.  Then when I'm about to get up and walk out, the friends go off, leaving Steven with me.  

     'Sorry about that,' he says and to be fair to him, he does look apologetic.  'They're always bugging me for attention that I'd much rather focus elsewhere.' 

     He takes hold of my hand and strokes it gently.  A shiver runs down my spine.  This is too soon, my head is telling me.  But my heart is telling me something quite different.  He leads me onto the dance floor.  The DJ is playing a slow number and there are couples rocking each other slowly.  We put our arms around each other and I can think of nothing but him.

     'This is nice,' Steven murmurs, his face buried in my hair.

     'Yeah,' I say lamely. 

     Why can I never think of the right words?  But it doesn't seem to bother Steven.  He pulls me even closer to him.  I keep thinking that this is all too fast, that I don't even know the guy.  He makes me feel so good, though, and in spite of my misgivings, I'm enjoying myself.  The track ends and before I know it Steven is whisking me around to a fast-paced dance song.  I'm finding it hard to keep up with Steven's energy and I say to him loudly,

     'I need to sit down Steven.'

     But he doesn't hear, or pretends not to, so I decide to try and keep up.  After a while, I start to feel a bit queasy.  I really need to sit down.  This time, I try pulling away from Steven.  As I do so, I become light headed and the room starts spinning.  Then everything goes black.

     I feel so bad about Hannah.  Why didn't I listen when she was telling me that she felt strange?  Maybe it was because I was so caught up in the moment with her.  I was having such a great time, feeling as though, although I'd only just met her, she could be the one for me.  Everything is such a blur.  The ambulance seemed to take forever to arrive and whilst we were waiting, one of the blokes on the SU committee was giving Hannah mouth to mouth.  I couldn't think – it was Catherine all over again.

     When the ambulance crew arrived, they managed to get her breathing again.  They asked me if I wanted to come with them to the hospital.  Seeing as I was the only person there who knew her, I agreed.  I was so tense all the way there.  I couldn't stop reproaching myself for being such a bonehead and dancing away whilst Hannah was suffering.  The paramedic was asking me a barrage of questions about Hannah, most of which I didn't know the answer to, although I did tell him that she wasn't eating enough.

     'No,' the paramedic had agreed.  'I'd be surprised if she weighed over seven stone.' 

     I nodded, feeling sick to the stomach.  Now no one knows if Hannah will ever wake up.