e i g h t e e n
“I had learned early to assume something dark and lethal hidden at the heart of anything I loved. When I couldn’t find it, I responded, bewildered and wary, in the only way I knew how: by planting it there myself.”
—Tana French
Know how many minutes there are in a school day? I do. 380. Five seven-minute passing periods between classes. A thirty-five-minute lunch. The other three hundred and ten minutes are class time. Zach and I don’t have any classes together.
It’s like being in a long-distance relationship. When Zach actually is at school instead of acting, I might be able to squeeze in an hour with him. We try to find private places to talk, but there’s always someone—usually one of Zach’s friends—interrupting us. Now that I can’t see him as much, I worry that Zach will lose interest.
It’s hard to get out of bed. Some days I barely have the energy to shower. Then there’s the paranoia that Zach’s cheating on me with his castmates or other girls he meets at networking events. How long can our relationship—if that’s what you call our arrangement—possibly last? I can tell he’s losing interest, and I’ve gained three pounds, which makes me feel even more like hell.
I’ve practically flushed my grades down the toilet along with everything else. Including art. There’s no progress on the portfolio. Everything I draw looks ugly. I know I’m disappointing Ms. Day. This was supposed to be my year, but I can’t seem to care anymore. It’s as if, at the same time that my life started turning into the fairy tale of my dreams, I was also cursed with this massive depression weighing down on my back.
If I’m being honest with myself, I haven’t quite been the same since Antonia and Sam stopped talking to me. Yeah, I have Zach. Technically.
I get lonely at night so I’ve been spending a lot of time on the pro-mia websites for other girls—and the occasional guy—like me. I used to only check on them every once in a while, but now I read and comment on them every day. I’ve made a few friends, but I don’t know their real names. My username is Friducha. That’s what Diego Rivera nicknamed Frida when they got married.
It’s a place to talk to people who are as messed up as you are. We don’t judge each other. The girls on the threads are actually pretty supportive. At least they understand my emotions. Our conversations are about tips and tricks or holding each other accountable for making our goal weight, or sharing bingeing and purging stories, but most of the time I just find myself talking to them about how I feel about life.
* * *
LanaLoo: So I fasted for six days straight and had to binge but then I wasn’t able to purge. I tried for like three hours. The more I tried the worse I got. I panicked and swallowed a bunch of pills because apparently I’d rather die than gain weight. I’d legit rather die than not be able to purge. The only thing I remember the first day at the hospital was the IV and having the worst stomach pain. They transferred me to the psych ward for three days. I can’t even eat without wanting to die. This is going to kill me.
LilMisfit: I binged and I couldn’t purge like you. Tried for hours. So at first I
started crying, then I smashed my room up then ended up hysterically crying.
again in line at the grocery store. Love you xo.
XxXSkinnyXxX: Whenever I can’t purge i almost always have the thought that maybe I can just OD so the doctors will make me vomit anyway. I’m so sorry you’re going through this.
Friducha: I have the same problem with not being able to purge sometimes. I used to be able to purge all or almost all of what I’ve eaten. But now I can only purge about twenty percent so I cut myself to keep from bingeing, but then I think maybe I should just cut deeper so I won’t have to deal with fighting off the urge to binge anymore.
LanaLoo: Thanks for your support x. I’ve never felt this alienated. Honestly I feel.
like I was mostly disconnected from my emotions throughout the whole hospital thing and it really only hit me today. I was bingeing at a restaurant on my own and as dramatic as it sounds I could see my reflection in the window and that’s when I realized how I’m the biggest loser ever. Never thought my life was fun but the whole puking daily thing isn’t even that bad...it’s just accepting that’s what your existence has come down to that isn’t so easy.
* * *
I’m still scrolling through the thread, thinking about how only the most screwed-up people are there for each other, when Mason barges through my door.
“Don’t you knock?” I say, slamming my laptop shut. “Or is that not your style?”
I’ve been dealing with Mason visiting from Silicon Valley almost every weekend to help with the campaign. Mom and Dad want Royce to focus on schoolwork because this is his senior year, so he hasn’t been coming down as much. Just my luck.
“It’s Friday night. Don’t you have any friends?” Mason asks.
“Not really,” I say, feeling lonely.
I think being with Zach lessened the pain of being distant with both Antonia and Sam for a while, but I can’t tell Zach everything, like my past with Sam or the kinds of things I would share with Antonia since she’s—or was—my best girlfriend.
“I thought you had a boyfriend. That actor guy.”
“That actor guy works most weekends,” I say. “And Daddy Dearest has banned me from dating him or ‘appearing’ with him. Don’t you have something better to do?”
“Whoa, Liv. Can you not take a joke?”
“What was supposed to be so funny?” I shrug.
“Do you want me to leave you alone?”
“That would be preferable.”
He considers this for a second.
“I’m going to ignore that request,” he says, plopping down on my bed. “You don’t have any booze? Do you?”
Mason has been sober for at least a couple of years.
He’s just fishing for information.
“No,” I lie. “You don’t have to try to trick me. You can just ask.”
“Look, I know we don’t have the best relationship, but whenever I come home you’re all locked up in your room. It’s not healthy.”
“Who’s to say what’s healthy?” I argue.
“You’re a teenager. You should be out having fun.”
“Yeah. Dad makes that really easy.”
The truth is that I’m not sure I would even want to go out. Any social interaction feels exhausting.
Mason ignores my comment and walks over to a sketchpad that’s sitting on my desk. He starts flipping through the papers. I’d normally hide them, but I’m so unmotivated I don’t even care right now.
“These are pretty good,” he says. “Are you going to use them for your portfolio?”
“How do you know about that?” I ask.
“Mom told me you’ve been working on something.”
“Not really,” I say.
Mason tosses the sketchpad back on the desk. “If you really don’t have any plans, wanna get dinner with me?”
“I’m not that hungry.”
“You don’t have to eat,” Mason says. “Just come keep me company.”
What else am I going to do? Mason’s right. I might as well get out of the house. Maybe then he’ll stop bugging me and I can spend the rest of the night in my room.
Mason takes us to a Mexican restaurant down the street that’s pretty popular. Waiting for a table, I stand next to a wall of Polaroids of customers who’ve completed the “Big Cali Burrito Challenge” over the years. It’s a six-pound burrito filled with beans, potatoes, cheese, salsa and meat. I may be thinner than most of the people in the pictures, but I’ve expanded my stomach so far that it could handle that burrito, no problem.
A waitress seats us and asks for our order.
“I’ll take three fish tacos and a Coke,” Mason says. “Liv? You eating?”
He has no idea how complicated that question is for someone like me. If I don’t eat, then I’ll look like I’m an anorexic because I’m skinny. If I do eat, I’ll either gain weight or have to purge, which I’ve been terrible at lately. It just won’t come out.
“Liv?” Mason asks again.
The waitress is staring at me, tapping her notebook with her pen.
I have to make a quick decision.
“What’s that burrito called?” I ask, pointing to the wall of photographs.
She raises an eyebrow. “The Big Cali? Sure you want to try, hon? It’s huge.”
“Do you care, Mason?” I ask.
I don’t know why I’m doing this. I guess I want to make him uncomfortable. I just feel like punishing him for making me come out to this restaurant with him.
He shakes his head, but he tries to talk me out of it. “You sure, Liv? I thought you said you weren’t really hungry. When did you start doing eating challenges?”
“If I can’t finish, I’ll take the rest home,” I explain.
The waitress starts to turn away. “I can come back...”
“No. That’s fine,” Mason says. “We’ll take it.”
We’re silent a moment when Mason tries to strike up a conversation to ease the awkwardness of the situation. “So things are pretty rough at home?”
“It’s whatever.”
“I think you should talk to Dad about all this. If his rules are really affecting you that much, then you should tell him.”
“Don’t you think I already tried?”
“Forbidding you to see Zach kind of seems over the top. Even for Dad,” Mason says.
“It’s Rich. Dad listens to anything he tells him.”
The waitress returns with Mason’s tacos and soda. She has to go back to get my burrito, which is sitting on the plate like some kind of limp fat dead thing. It doesn’t even look good to me right now, but my brain tells me I have to eat it. I have to punish myself.
“What’s going on with Sam?” Mason asks, sipping his drink.
I stab at the burrito with my fork and knife.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I think he’s dating a girl on the debate team.”
“I thought you guys were really close.”
I take a bite of the burrito. It’s cheesy and greasy and easily slips down my throat.
“We were too close, I guess,” I say. “I think he liked me.”
“Oh,” Mason says, biting into his taco. He starts talking about a girl he used to be friends with from high school. Something about how he had a big crush on her, but could never tell her because they were too close. Honestly, I’m not really listening.
For the rest of the meal, Mason and I chat about the campaign, but I’m not really paying attention. I get about three quarters through the burrito when I feel too bloated to fit anything else in my stomach. But I keep going. I hate myself. I hate food.
It takes all my effort to eat. I take one bite after another as Mason talks, shoveling the food down my throat. I chew and chew, mashing the food smaller so I can fit more into my stomach. I should have never led Sam on. I shouldn’t have gone with him to the beach or the bench or held hands with him. I took advantage of our friendship just because I wanted to feel like someone was attracted to me. I didn’t want to admit that I was emotionally using Sam for a long time, but I realize now that’s what I was doing. I depended on him to ease my insecurities about myself. What a bad friend.
“You done?” Mason asks.
I nod. I feel disgusting.
The waitress stops by the table with the check. While Mason’s pulling out his wallet to leave cash, an older Mexican man with a gray mustache approaches us.
“I heard you completed the Big Cali Burrito Challenge!”
Everyone around us dining at the other tables look over. In their eyes are expressions of surprise and disgust. They must think I’m a total joke.
The owner puts his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s take a picture of you for the wall!”
“No,” I say. “I really don’t want to have my picture taken.”
“But you finished the burrito! You’re so skinny too.”
He starts to pull me out of my seat.
I feel so ashamed. I can’t have my picture taken. I’m so fat right now. And I don’t want this showing up in the newspaper or on TV. I can see the headlines now. OLIVIA BLAKELY GOES ON ANOTHER BENDER, DESTROYS SIX-POUND BURRITO.
“No. Please. I don’t want a picture,” I plead.
Tears are welling up in my eyes.
I feel so ashamed of myself. How could I binge in public?
Mason looks panicked. He doesn’t know what to do.
“Mason? Please? Can we go now?”
“I didn’t mean to offend,” the owner says, putting his hands up.
I stand up and push the chair out.
“It’s okay. I don’t feel well.”
Mason leaves the cash on the table and apologizes to the owner as I run out of the restaurant. I barely make it out to the parking lot before I bend over in the grass and heave. I don’t need to stick my finger down my throat this time. Like the binge, I don’t have any control over this. It’s coming out no matter what I do.