I showed up in the tabloids not that long ago. A slow day in tabloid history, for sure. But still.
“They’re just saying what you’ve already said to yourself a million times, Bria. You gonna get surprised when TMZ repeats it?? Do you believe yourself or don’t you?”
Damn.
A single tear falls across my nose down to my pillow as my sister continues to massage my raw, stiff soul. The pain makes it hard to see the point.
“You should’ve been building yourself back up all this time. What good is it, trying to beat people to the punchline if you’re just gonna get upset about how they respond anyway?”
“I barely made it through last semester. Mom wanted a big ass graduation party and all this…”
“Stop worrying about what Mom wants. I’m not gonna sit here and say I know what it’s like to go through a program like Halcyon and come back with nothing. But you picked up and went back to school as if nothing happened.”
“And now I’m in hell.”
“You can dig yourself out.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. And you’re going to.”
I break down in tears, gasping for air.
“I need help!”
Skye didn’t answer for a long time. The struggle is both real and old for me, and Skye was always the first one to rescue me. She’s probably looking for a red-eye right now, getting her former trainer on the phone—
“Okay. Then get yourself some help.”
Oh. I guess it’s tough love time. Fair enough. I’ve done this to her enough times. She’s allowed to be tired. I feel a lump in my throat.
“So you’re done helping me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I don’t want Mom to know anything.”
“Well, that’s gonna be hard, but I think we can do it. I’ll make some phone calls, but you gotta be 100% transparent Bri. If you slip, don’t do it alone. If you’re not fine, don’t say that you are. Promise me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’m proud of you. I’m so fucking proud of you, Bria. You know that?”
“Yes.” I wipe my tears.
We decide it’s best to call mom’s assistant Tyra to confidentially come in and remove my extensive snack stash and replace it all with fresh food. So I did. Best way to do it is no last hoorahs. Rip the band-aid off. Have someone else do it if you can.
The next day Aunt Pat comes over— my mom’s long-time hair and makeup stylist. She is not my mom’s or anyone’s sister, but I know if Aunt Pat’s at my door it means that Mom found out about what I was doing, even though I don’t know how. But Forresters leak like a sieve. And also, maybe the disgusting paps followed Tyra leaving the reclusive sea beast’s lair with four grocery bags full of Ding-Dongs.
Pat gives my hair her patented conditioning treatment. It involves Saran wrap and it’s the last thing I need to be worried about. But dammit, if I don’t feel like I’m gonna knock this thing out once I see my shiny and voluptuous hair in the bathroom mirror that’s just past my shoulders when it’s straight. I owe it to the world to chip away this gorgeous slab of marble.
Cooking for myself’s gonna be a bitch. Not because it’s hard, but because it reminds me of Halcyon. When Luke and I would cook on the weekends. Meals were like magic— follow the directions and they came out tasting exceptional every time. I wish I could remember some of those recipes. The night we had the chimichurri chicken was the night he asked me if I loved him. I admitted I did. I ruined the salsa verde enchiladas and they were still delicious.
Everything was of the highest quality. I even lost a few pounds without trying, and despite eating as much as I wanted while I was there. They really spared no expense. I was 80 pounds lighter then— still heavy, still constantly stalked by shame. I’d kill someone to snap my fingers right now and be back there.
By the end of day three, I already want to quit. It’s a hell sandwich. I go to sleep in my reclining chair instead of the bed and cry my eyes out. Hungry. And on top of it, the Halcyon nightmare is back.
It starts out well enough, with Luke’s hands on my hips. Luke moving underneath me hard and intimate. And then I hear laughing. It merely distracts me in the dream.
I’m not self-conscious at all until the dream changes and suddenly we’re not in the suite we shared for six months, we’re in the fucking dining hall. Or should I say, we’re fucking in the dining hall. On top of one of the shiny metal picnic-style tables. Somehow I knew it was an audition. The person wasn’t laughing at me, they weren’t even paying attention. Suddenly the dining hall is more full than it’s ever been. For some reason, I’m too embarrassed to simply pry my naked body from his and run out. I have to pretend that I meant to fuck him in the dining hall. I have to keep going. Luke is obnoxiously indifferent, as usual. The way he was when we weren’t lying down.
I wake up with a dull ache in my chest, not to mention between my legs. Note to self: next time that dream rolls around, get over yourself and ride him for all he’s worth.
I buy a calendar. Prep my meals. Fast intermittently. Cross off the x’s until Houston. I don’t go near a scale. It doesn’t matter, not anymore. This can’t be temporary. Not if I can’t map out a new way to live and stick with it. If I haven’t lost enough weight this month, I simply have to keep going until I do.
Cliff
I’m awake. In a strange room I don’t recognize. I’m waiting for something to attack me. Something black and oozing from the wall. I hold my breath. Someone walks past the window and my heart leaps from my chest. But nothing happens. I want to say that it’s normal, but normal feels like it was only a dream. It feels inconsequential. And the dreams are what I’ve considered real for what seems like an eternity. Unbearably frightening. But colorful. With only the illusion of separateness.
Another person walks by without incident. A landline phone rings. I want to feel relief but I’m afraid to hope. Maybe I only see them but they don’t see me.
I need to test it out but I’m terrified. Don’t say anything don’t say anything don’t say anything…
“Hello?”
At first, nothing happens. Then, a quiet-looking woman in scrubs.
Is this a hospital?
“Sir, do you know where you are?”
“No.”
“Do you know your name?”
“Cliff.”
“Your whole name, Cliff.”
“Cliff Novak.”
“Your parent’s names?”
“Nadia and Cliff Sr. Am I in the hospital?”
“Yes. What year is it?”
“…I don’t know.”
“Try to guess.”
“2014?”
“Good.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“…There was an accident. You’ve been in a coma awhile. In and out of consciousness for a few days. What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I was… in a hell.”
“You were in hell?”
“In one of them, yes.”
“Okay,” she patiently replies, “Do you remember having an accident?”