CLEANER II: Chapter Three - Part Three

MELISSA

It was at breakfast that I finally accepted that this dieting lark wasn’t going to be as easy as all that.

Whether it was hunger or a new bedroom, I hadn’t slept well. For two hours in the night I’d lain, hot and fretting on my big king-sized bed. I hadn’t been worrying about one specific thing at first but I had a low level anxiety that had buzzed my heart rate enough to wire me out of the possibility of sleep. I thought about my husband back home, oblivious to my little games. I thought about what he would say to me if he knew what I was doing.

And I fantasised about food. The self control I’d managed the night before scratched away at me and I found myself regretting the lack of food, wishing I’d let myself go more. I was on holiday after all. There was no one forcing me to lose weight. I could go one eating at least for a few weeks. There was no point rushing things.

I lay there regretting organising the personal trainer for that morning. I fussed over the embarrassment of cancelling him; worrying that the receptionist would smirk again smugly, realising I was incapable of ever getting slim. That made me think I should go through with it after all; perhaps drop out after a couple of sessions. I ended up visualizing different ways I might phrase my cancellation, hoping I wouldn’t have to meet him.

Eventually I drifted off again but my dreams were about food... and guilt. And the judgement of others. In the dream Dahlia and her former PA, Katherine, were talking behind my back, sniggering about how useless I was, that they’d known I would never be able to cut it; that I was a poor excuse for a Dahlia. Why did I ever think I would be able to be her?

I woke up feeling ugly and fat, my eyes parched, my brain sizzling. My hair was a terrible tangle. In the bathroom mirror I looked like a monstrous, obese hag. I hated myself. All I could think about was getting downstairs to breakfast and cheering myself up with a giant spread.

Without putting my contact lenses in so I didn’t have to look at myself (and wondering if I should just revert to the glasses) I stood in the shower until the top layers of my skin had been flayed away by the onrushing water. I got dressed, glumly thinking how stupid I must look in the posh clothes I had; wishing I still had the plainer outfits I wore in my real life.

I dried my hair but struggled to make anything of it, I was so irritable. I regretted having the dye and restyle. I considered just being done with this charade and reverting to my proper cut and colour. Eventually I gave up and tied it back then sat on the edge of the bed feeling sorry for myself.

This went on for a good half hour until the scratching in my belly urged me to get downstairs as fast as I could. Reluctantly I put the contacts in, thinking to myself how this would probably be the last time I had to put myself through that horror of self-inflicted pain.

On the way down in the lift I wondered what Dahlia would say when I told her that I wanted to end it all and swap back. Was that the right move? Would I regret it later? I was such a pathetic loser. I always had been. Why did I ever think I could pull this off?

I hadn’t bothered with make-up. I didn’t look my best. I didn’t look the slightest bit like a super model. I was an idiot to think that I ever could. In the foyer nobody paid me attention openly but I had the impression that they were all looking down their noses at me.

In the great big dining room I built up a mountain of hot food and noticed the cereal and fruit I could follow it up with. I carried it to one of the outside tables overlooking the pool area and sat looking at it, feeling conspicuous in my solitude and the opposite of the confidence I’d had the night before.

Then a counter wave of negativity hit me because this feast before me was the epitome of failure. All my plans to become slim and prove myself better than Dahlia, and this was how it ended.

Predictably.

I was just as sad and pathetic as I’d always been. I was far inferior to her. At least she had the will to go through with her side of this trade. I couldn’t even manage my side with untold riches as an incentive.

I stared down at my plate, kind of hating myself. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. Twenty.

My thoughts started to settle.

I pushed the plate away from me and gazed out across the surface of the pool.

I looked back at the plate; back at the pool.

I thought about Dahlia, waking up to her new life as a hotel cleaner and a smile rippled across my lips right to left.

My food was well and truly cold now. I considered going back in to get some more. I contemplated that for several minutes and then got to my feet with a wheeze. I went back into the canteen, walked over to the buffet tables and picked up a bowl then half filled it with slices of kiwi fruit and banana.

I took that out to my table and sat down; glanced at the full plate of greasy food, quickly congealing, and gave myself a nod.

I wasn’t pathetic. I could do this. I could do anything I put my mind to.

I tucked into my fruit. It tasted better because of the virtue it was laced with. I smiled to myself and the smile became a grin.

Then I noticed that a man was standing near my table with his arms folded, leaning against a pillar. He was smiling as broadly as I was and I was taken aback to see that he was looking right at me. He was Greek and well built, darkly tanned.

He came closer and motioned to the food before me. “You made the right choice there. Good for you.”

I wasn’t sure what to say.

“Dahlia, yes?”

“Er... Do I know you?”

“You will,” he said, taking the seat opposite me. “I’m your new personal trainer.”

And as a little bonus, one of my readers, Marissa, was kind enough to create these two images of how she sees our two heroines... 

Thanks Marissa!