Calorie Counting for Mom's Love

My mom is a retired supermodel. She's added a monitor to the weight scales at home so that she can monitor my and my sister, Abigail Teller's perfect body weight.

If my data goes up by 0.1%, Mom will ban me from eating for the next three days. But the thing is, Abigail keeps eating fried chicken every day, yet her monitor's light is always green.

Mom claims that Abigail's still going through puberty. I defend myself, saying that I've gained weight because of the bloating caused by my period.

As Mom points at the red light emitted by my monitor, she exclaims, "The data is never wrong! If you've gained weight, that means you've been snacking far too much!"

After getting punished many times, I begin believing that being fat is a sin.

On the night of my 20th birthday, the long-term diet I've been placed on has triggered my kidney failure, which causes me to bloat up everywhere.

I kneel on the floor and plead to Mom that I'm seriously ill. But that's when the monitor lets out a shrill alarm.

When Mom sees the 5% increase in my body fat data, she puts me through a devillish punishment. I can feel the electric currents jolting through my body.

"It's bad enough that you've secretly snacked on cake, but to even lie in my face about your illness? I'd like to see how long you can stay stubborn for!"

Having said her piece, Mom locks the door and takes Abigail out to celebrate her birthday.

I guess Mom is correct. Monitors never lie.

I'm the one who's at the wrong for being a glutton. That's why I've transformed into a monster who doesn't deserve any love at all.

I'm sorry, Mom. I'll only drink water in my next life.

The monitor on my ankle started beeping like crazy.

Mom had it custom-made through someone she knew, and it was hooked up to the central control system at home. If my body fat shifted by more than 0.1%, it didn't just sound an alarm—it shocked me.

"This is killing me…"

I curled up on the floor as I felt a sharp, twisting pain tear through my lower back. Before Mom left, she had cranked the setting all the way up. My heart was pounding so hard that it felt like it might leap out of my throat.

"Caution. Caution. Heart rate anomaly detected. Classification—metabolic overdrive due to excessive intake. Level-three punishment protocol initiated," the electronic female voice said.

The next second, blue and purple sparks exploded around my ankle.

My whole body convulsed as I yelped. My fingernails scraped against the floor, leaving pale streaks behind. It hurt… so much.

I wanted water—I needed it. My throat was painfully dry. This was a warning from my kidneys, and my body was crying out for help.

I crawled toward the kitchen, using both my hands and feet. Every small movement sent a tearing pain through my skin. My legs felt heavy and badly swollen. Mom said it was just fat from being lazy.

I finally reached the sliding kitchen door, only to find it locked. That was one of her old rules—if the numbers weren't good enough, the kitchen became off-limits.

Her favorite line was, "If you want to be thin, you have to control your intake. Even water will make you bloated."

I collapsed beside the door and pressed my face against the cold glass, trying to cool my burning skin. "Mom, I swear I didn't… sneak any food… I'm sick… and my lower back hurts so much… I can't pee."

Would Mom return if my swelling went down? If the numbers dropped, could I finally drink some water?

Wait—exercise! Mom always said intense workouts burned fat the fastest!

I ignored the pain, rolled over, and started doing crunches. Every time I lifted my body, a spike of agony shot through my lower back, and my vision went black. Cold sweat soaked my spine.

"Caution. Core temperature increase detected. Cause assessment—thermogenesis induced by unauthorized caloric intake."

Another surge of electricity hit me. I spasmed and curled in on myself. Why did the red light go off even when I was trying so hard?

I stared at the swollen back of my hand in despair. When I pressed it, a deep dent stayed, refusing to spring back.

Mom was right. I was a monster, one who gained weight even from drinking water alone. No matter how hard I tried, it never came off.

I wasn't like my sister, Abigail Teller. She could eat fried chicken and drink soda whenever she wanted, while her monitor always stayed green, displaying "18% body fat".

Mom said it was good genes, that she had inherited her supermodel DNA.

My thoughts began to blur, my vision splitting into doubles. I thought I saw Mom in a gold gown, standing under bright lights with a trophy in her hands and smiling.

"Our family is very strict about body management. This is discipline… My eldest daughter? She just lacks self-control."

Look, Mom—I was exercising and trying to lose weight. I didn't have a drop of water or a bite of food. Could I not be locked up at home anymore? Could I get a hug? I truly, desperately needed to drink water, even if it was from the toilet.

Mom, save me.