Hannah

A few days later, a knock on the front door made me jump. My heart pounded as I set down my book and crossed the living room to answer it. The delivery man didn't even speak before I snatched the plain cardboard box from his hands, quickly thanked him, and slammed the door shut, locking it behind me. I knew exactly what was inside.

I carried it upstairs to my en suite bathroom, my fingers trembling slightly as I used tiny scissors to cut through the tape. Sure enough, there was my usual order from WhiteRabbit—enough diet pills to last at least a month, maybe two if I rationed them.

As I stared at the stark white bottles filled with little blue tablets—my crutch for so many years—a churning of emotions filled me: guilt, excitement, relief, anger, sadness, and more. Part of me, the sane and logical part, was ready to flush them down the toilet. Just as I'd promised myself—no, promised my child, the Moon Goddess, my counselor, and the women in my eating disorder support group—I would do if I felt the urge to relapse.

But the darker part of me whispered to hang onto them. Just in case of an emergency; what if I gained weight during pregnancy? They didn't have to be gone for good.

My grip tightened on the bottle as that evil voice took hold. I felt the familiar itch, the craving for control the pills had always granted me. Just a few wouldn't hurt, right? I could still be in control, I lied. Not like before. I'd wait until absolutely necessary. They would be here, waiting.

Eventually, with shaking hands and a shuddering breath, I tucked the bottles deep into the back of the medicine cabinet, hiding them behind other items. Out of sight, out of mind, I thought—for now, at least. Just in case.

I felt sick as I closed the cabinet door, gritting my teeth against the shame reflected in the mirror. So much for being strong. So much for getting better.

That night, I spent an hour staring at my gaunt reflection, clutching my knees and crying silent tears until my eyes stung and my throat felt raw. Out of sight… out of mind.

The sound of a knock on my bedroom door made me look up from my phone. “Come in,” I called, knowing who it was.

A moment later, my handmaid entered. “Are you ready, Luna Hannah?” she asked, her eyes on my sleek black dress. “Alpha Noah is waiting.”

I sighed and nodded, smoothing my dress. I'd chosen something plain and unassuming for Noah’s friend’s housewarming party. We were, of course, expected to attend.

“I’m ready.”

A little while later, we were pulling up to the house. It was sleek and modern, with a perfectly manicured garden—a Scandinavian design with light wood accents against dark metal. Not really my style, but nice.