t h i r t y - t h r e e
“There are ships sailing to many ports, but not a single one goes
where life is not painful.”
—Fernando Pessoa
I haven’t heard from Zach since he left me at the cemetery. I dreaded being at school today, but he’s probably filming and won’t be here.
I’m walking to my chemistry class to get help from my teacher during lunch—which has the double benefit of boosting my grades and distracting me from eating—when I get a stream of texts from Antonia. She’s been checking in on me a couple times a day since the cemetery.
ANTONIA: If I see him can I punch him in the mouth?
ANTONIA: How about I tell him off the way my Mama does?
ANTONIA: TOTAL tirade. Hope you’re feeling better xoxo
That was my worst breakdown yet. It was embarrassing, but I’ve felt better since sharing my problems with Antonia. I haven’t purged or cut. I’m still sticking to my rules to keep the pain and anxiety under control.
It makes me hate myself, but I think about Zach all the time. It’s a problem. I need to be strong. Antonia wants me to ignore him. And I will for now. But I want to see what he has to say. I’m angry at him yet I don’t want that conversation to be our last.
The weather’s finally starting to heat up and I want to wear shorts, but I can’t because of the cuts. I really screwed up. Forget wearing miniskirts or bikinis this summer. Forget swimsuits altogether.
Who knows whether I’ll be able to get rid of the scars?
I’m almost to class when Felicity rounds the corner and makes a beeline toward me. She’s pale and holding back tears. I still don’t feel close enough to her to ask what’s going on, but she waves me over. Immediately, I think of Zach.
Is he hurt or something?
I may be pissed, but I still have feelings for him.
“What’s wrong?” I say. I can barely talk again.
“He’s gone,” Felicity cries.
Something feels ripped from me. Breath, lungs, throat, stomach.
Everything seems to spin around me.
“It’s so sad,” Felicity whispers through tears. “I’ve been looking for you. I thought, ‘How could she know? She wouldn’t know yet. I have to tell her.’ And I didn’t have your number or know where you live, or I’d have gone directly to your house.”
I gulp air. I can’t cry. I can’t think. I have to think. I have to.
“Who?” I groan.
It sounds like I’m not even human anymore.
“LeFeber,” Felicity says, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”
I’m waiting to feel relieved that Zach’s not hurt, but I feel like a vise is grabbing on to and twisting my stomach. LeFeber can’t be dead. All I can think of is having spoken with him, how he was inspired by both the brokenness and divinity of man. Was he hinting at something? Was he hurting too?
“How did he die?” I ask.
Felicity says, “His agent said he’d been sick a long time but refused to tell anyone.”
“That’s so horrible,” I say, wondering why he didn’t want to tell anyone about his pain. Maybe LeFeber couldn’t tell anyone he was dying for the same reason I can’t tell anyone about my sickness. You don’t want people to look at you like you’re broken.
“I just thought you should know,” Felicity says, pulling away to leave for class. “Since you love his work so much.”
When someone like LeFeber dies, someone who created so much beauty and love, the world feels so much dimmer, like a bright star in the night sky has been extinguished never to return. What if he had passed away without ever making his art? What if he never turned his pain into beauty? I need to take LeFeber’s life as an inspiration. I need to be more motivated to work on my art. What legacy will I leave behind?
I’m heading toward class when I hear a familiar voice.
“Liv. Hey, Liv.” It’s Sam.
“Sam. Hey.” I try to smile.
He puts an arm around me and squeezes. “Guess what? We won the tournament. I think the suit really helped! It’s regional championships next, and guess what else?”
Sam’s beaming with genuine happiness. How can I possibly tell him about LeFeber? Or Zach? Or everything that’s wrong with me? I need to let him be happy.
“What’s the big surprise?” I ask.
“I’m going to Costa Rica for part of the summer. I got another counseling job at a surf camp. The town’s between the beach and the rainforest. It’s going to be killer.”
My first thought is that I should be excited for Sam—and I am—but I also know how unhealthy I got over this summer because I didn’t see him or Antonia much. I spent half this year without them. I don’t think I could survive a few more months right now.
“That’s amazing,” I say. “Really...really cool.”
I feel so stupid about my fight with Zach. I wish I could tell Sam, but he’ll act like Antonia about wanting to confront him. Probably worse.
“Maybe you could convince your parents to let you come visit me...” Sam keeps talking, but I can’t pay attention. It’s too late. Sam will be gone all summer. Zach’s never going to talk to me again. And now LeFeber’s dead. Why is everything I touch cursed?
I can’t even keep my body from screaming at me.
Eat eat eat eat eat eat eat eat.
It takes all my energy to refocus on what Sam’s saying.
Then I get a text from my mom.
I glance at it, then at Sam. “It’s my mom. I better go...”
“No problem,” he says. “Glad I ran into you. I’m so stoked.”
He’s already down the hall when I realize I don’t want him to leave.
“Yeah,” I say, wishing I could be as happy as him. “Me too.”
I look at the text and already hate what I’m seeing.
MOM: Coming to Dr. Larson’s this weekend?
MOM: I’m going to pencil you in. Ok?
MOM: Miss you xoxox
She’s assuming I’ll want to go to please her. That’s one of Mom’s tricks. To make you seem like you’re such a wonderful person that of course you wouldn’t mind helping her. I don’t have the energy to write her back. There’s no way I’m going again.
LeFeber. Gone. Dead. This hurts.
I’m devastated by everything. My fight with Zach, Dad’s campaign, Mason planning to tell our parents about my drinking and my eating disorder, Royce and Jasmine’s breakup, LeFeber’s death. Mom obviously suspects something. She wouldn’t be asking me to go to a therapist otherwise. I have to be even more careful now.
My secret is starting to split apart. It’s getting harder and harder to hide. When I close my eyes, this blackness starts to wrap around my organs, gripping them, twisting, contorting, eating through their fatty flesh until they begin to shut down, one by one.
I’ll never be enough. I’ll never be able to do enough.
I’m not like LeFeber. I’m no visionary.
I’m not an angel. Even a sick one.
I feel like cutting again. Right here. Right in the open.
And I want Zach back. Right now.