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Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> Blink-182

The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

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This World's An Ugly Place
By Kate

 

Skye, can't you see what's happening? You're killing yourself. I don't know how it could ever
have gotten this far. You were in such control of your life, you were so happy. What went wrong?



I guess it all started when Tom met Jen. You felt inferior to her in so many ways. She was thin,
tall, and beautiful, so much like a supermodel.



You felt inadequate. Maybe you were afraid I would start to like Jen instead of you, or maybe you
thought people would criticize you when they saw the four of us together. Whatever it was, you never
should have thought that. I love you more than anything, and I always will. But when I see what you
are doing to yourself, it gets harder every day.



I told you that you were beautiful. You didn't need to lose weight. I would love you no matter
what. But Jen was still there, a constant reminder to you about those few extra pounds packed around
your hips.



You went on a diet, you lost some weight, you looked good. Every time someone complimented you, I
could see your self-confidence coming back.



We got married. You were so happy. I was too. We were in love. We still are, I think. I know I
love you. Do you love me? If you do, why don't you listen to me when I tell you that you are too
fucking thin? You are starving yourself, Skye. Why don't you listen to the counselors? Listen to the
therapists and doctors. Quit pulling the IVs out of your arms. Just eat something, please.



After our wedding, you still insisted on losing a few more pounds. Just a few more pounds. And
just a few more after that. You wouldn't eat. I was starting to get worried, but I never thought
that you, my Skye, would ever get anorexia. Anorexia. That is such a cruel word. Insecure teenage
cheerleaders get anorexia, not you. Not my Skyle.



I was wrong. I came home from tour to find your skin clinging to each bone, your hair brittle and
falling out in clumps at the slightest touch, and you weighed eighty-eight pounds. You were proud of
it, too. You were so excited that you broke ninety. "Just a few more pounds," you said. Eighty was
your new goal.



I refused. I tried to force-feed you. You would yell at me, scream, and cry. You said I didn't
understand. When I told you how sickeningly skinny you were, you wouldn't believe me. You said I had
to say that because I am your husband.



I hid the scale. I know it was a stupid thing to do, but it was a last resort, a final attempt to
get you to forget about your weight. Of course you went out that very afternoon to buy a new one. Of
course, at eighty- two pounds, you collapsed from weakness in the middle of the store. That's when I
decided to throw away my pride as a husband who can take care of his wife. I called a counselor.



You met with her every two days. You told me that the two of you were making progress. So the
ignorant bastard that I am thought it would be safe to leave you again.



Blink 182 went on tour, and I left you in the hands of the counselor. Jen and Melissa promised me
that they would come by to check on you every day. You promised me that you would keep seeing the
counselor. I should have learned not to trust your promises, ever since this horrible disease took
control of your mind. "I'll eat later." "I'm only going to try to lose two more pounds." "I'll take
care of it by myself."



After only nine days of touring, Jen called me. She had taken you to a doctor, and you were
hospitalized for emergency feeding. You weighed sixty- four pounds.



They tried everything in their power to get any sort of nourishment into your body. Of course you
still refused to eat. You pull out the IVs and tubes. You scream at the doctors and nurses, and you
kick anyone who brings food into the room. You put up a strong fight, Skye, and you just might win
it. I'm going to ask you one more time. Please, please don't die on me, Skye. You have so much to
live for, if you would only eat one bite. One. Bite.



It's time for your daily weighing. The nurse enters and lifts you out of bed. You are too weak to
even walk the five feet to the scale. You grasp the railing as the nurse sets you down. This is the
highlight of your day; to see how much weight you've lost. It is the most grotesque thing I have
ever seen, to watch your emaciated body poking out of the thin hospital gown, and to hear the nurse
announce that you have lost yet another pound.



She fiddles with the bars on the scale and makes a clicking noise with her tongue. "Forty-nine
pounds."



Forty-nine fucking pounds. How is that possible?



You turn to me with a smile. "I did it, Mark," you whisper. "I broke fifty."



I stand up slowly. "No, Skye," I say firmly. "No."



You look at me with confusion. "I'm beautiful," you say faintly before your eyes roll back in
your head and you collapse.



The nurse bends over your small body and frantically searches for a pulse. I stand by, knowing
what will happen next. It was only a matter of time.



"I'm sorry, Mr. Hoppus."







It's ironic. You worked so hard to be thin and supposedly beautiful, to fit the "perfect" mold of
American society, and yet your funeral will be closed-casket.

 

The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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