Chapter 3: The Other Birds
The silence of the bathroom was a vacuum after she turned off the light. In the hallway, the only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator down the hall and the ragged pull of her own breath.Ilia’s phone was still warm in her hand.She shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t.The number from the scale was already a brand on her mind. But the text to Marco was a door cracked open, and a terrible, masochistic curiosity was pulling her through.She needed to see the shape of the ghost he was chasing.
She leaned against the cool wall, her bare feet cold on the wooden floorboards, and woke the screen again. She navigated past Marco’s thread. Her thumb hovered over the Instagram icon—a little orange camera on a pink background.He rarely used it, or so she’d thought.She tapped it.
His profile was sparse.A few sunset shots, a picture of his dog from years ago. She went to his messages.The list was short.A meme from his brother. A question about a podcast from a coworker.And then, a username she didn’t recognize: @sofiiiaax.
The preview text read: thanks!!you’re so sweet.Louise opened it.
The thread was a month old.Ilia had initiated it. He’d replied to a story—a picture of a coffee cup on a windowsill, a slender wrist adorned with delicate bracelets in the corner of the frame.His message: That looks like the café on 5th. Best lattes.She’d replied.It had been innocent, for a day. Then the pictures started.Not from him.From her.
Louise scrolled up, her stomach shrinking into a cold, hard knot.@Sofiiiaax posted full-body pictures in front of her mirror. Outfits for clubbing, for dates.She was all sharp angles and concave spaces. Her hip bones jutted against the waistband of her jeans like handles. Her collarbone was a stark, elegant shelf. In one, she wore a cropped top, her midriff a flat, smooth plane between her rib cage and the low rise of her shorts.
Ilia had written: You have such a delicate frame.Looks great.Delicate frame.The same words. The exact same words he’d whispered into her hair once, his lips brushing her temple, his hands spanning her waist.Louise kept scrolling, a numbness spreading through her fingers. There was another girl, @LenaBites, a fitness account.She was more muscular, but still narrow, defined. Photos of her back flexing, a perfect “V” tapering to a wasp waist. Ilia had commented on one: Goals. My girlfriend used to be tiny like you but she let herself go a bit lol.Trying to get her back in the gym.
Let herself go.A hot, sharp shame lanced through the numbness. It was a phrase for a untended garden, a forgotten house.But it was the last thread that stopped her breath. A girl named Maya.Her pictures were artistic, melancholic black and white shots. She wasn’t just slim; she was ethereally thin. Wispy hair, enormous eyes in a pale face, legs like a fawn’s. In one, she was curled on a windowsill, sunlight making the dust motes around her look like a halo. Ilia had sent a direct message, separate from a comment.It was from two weeks ago.
You look like a porcelain doll in that light.Fragile.Really beautiful.Porcelain doll.Not a bird anymore.A doll. Something even more breakable. Something to be kept on a shelf, admired for its perfection, its unchanging nature.Louise closed the app. The phone slipped from her fingers, landing on the hallway runner with a soft thud.She stared at it, lying there like a dead thing. The evidence was no longer a whispered confession to a friend.It was a pattern.A type. A curated collection of thinness he not only desired but actively sought out, complimented, compared her to. Unfavorably.She walked back into the bedroom on automatic pilot. The weak gray light of pre-dawn filtered through the blinds, striping the bed where Ilia lay sleeping. His face was turned into the pillow, peaceful, innocent.The rise and fall of his shoulders was slow and even. He was dreaming of nothing. He had confessed everything and felt no need to lose a moment’s sleep over it.She slid back under the covers, the fabric cold against her skin. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the new, vast distance between their bodies. The space wasn’t inches; it was the twenty-three pounds. It was the ghost of her former self, and the phantom army of girls who now inhabited his imagination.
A plan, cold and clear and detailed, began to crystallize in the dark.It wasn’t just about eating less.It was about annihilation. She would become the final, perfect version of the thing he craved. She would be the blueprint all those other girls failed to match.
When the alarm buzzed two hours later, Ilia groaned and rolled toward her, his arm flopping heavily across her stomach.She flinched. His touch felt like a assessment.“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. His hand patted her side, a casual, habitual gesture. It lingered for a second on the soft curve of her hip, then slid away as he pushed himself up.
“You were up in the night,” he said, yawning.“Everything okay?”
Louise turned her head on the pillow. She made her face soft, her eyes still looking sleepy.She manufactured a small smile.“Yeah.Just thirsty. Go back to sleep for a minute. I’ll start the coffee.”
She slipped out of bed before he could pull her back, before his hands could make any more unconscious comparisons. In the kitchen, the morning routine was a silent pantomime. She measured the coffee grounds, filled the filter, clicked the machine on.Her body moved, but her mind was elsewhere, calculating.
As the coffee brewed, she opened the fridge. The light spilled out, illuminating half a pizza in a box, a tub of yogurt, a block of cheese, Ilia’s protein shakes. It all looked like an enemy.She closed the door gently.
She pulled her own phone from her robe pocket.She opened the app store.Her fingers typed: fasting tracker.She downloaded three. Then she searched for calorie counter. She downloaded the most severe-looking one, with a stark logo and a promise of “extreme weight loss goals.” She created a new account, separate from any old, failed profiles. When it asked for her target weight, she didn’t input the number from her note.She input a number ten pounds below it. A number that would make her lighter than the bird.A number that would make her a whisper.
Ilia padded into the kitchen, scratching his chest.“Smells good.” He came up behind her, kissing her shoulder through her robe. She forced herself not to stiffen. “What’re you up to?”
“Just checking my email,” she said, her voice light, even.She closed the app, swiped it away. “Coffee’s almost ready.”
“You feel okay? You seem… quiet.”
She turned then, and looked up at him.She made her eyes warm, her smile genuine-seeming. She reached up and touched his stubbled cheek, a gesture she knew he loved. “I’m perfect,” she said.“Just thinking about my day. Got a lot to do.”
He smiled back, reassured, and grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. “Well, don’t work too hard.Maybe we can get takeout tonight?That new Thai place?”
Her heart squeezed. Comfort food.Shared plates.Noodles that would sit in her stomach like lead.
“Maybe,” she said, turning to pour the coffee. “But you know, I was thinking I might start eating cleaner.For my energy.You should do it with me. We could be… healthy together.”
He shrugged, pouring cream into his cup.“Sure, babe.Whatever you want. Just don’t go turning into one of those kale-only zombies.” He laughed, a warm, easy sound.
Louise laughed too, a perfect, mirroring chime.She handed him his coffee.
“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice a soft promise, her eyes holding his. “I have a very clear picture of exactly what I’m going to turn into.”