It really sucks when things start weighing you down, consuming you, making you unable to think, or even just, well, function.
Usually I do eat. I mean, it doesn't really feel like it because we're talking a candy bar here and some chips there and the occasional bread and pasta, so rarely ever any actual meals. Still, it probably adds up calorie-wise.
Being around Rhys, you barely even realise he's constantly counting calories. Kell, however? You'll hear daily rants about how this item has too many calories and how it's super unfair. He says he restricts on junk food, about half of the calories his body needs, and it's... well, let's just say I probably eat about 2,5 times more than that, which should mean I'm eating about what my body needs in a day even though it isn't a lot. I guess it makes sense, and I shouldn't really be surprised because, well, I don't really look like I've lost any weight in a few years now. I am underweight, though, that's for sure.
What I'm trying to get to is that I haven't been able to eat all week. Of course I've eaten here and there, but this time it's actually here and there, and the calories don't really add up, because it's one candy bar on Monday, then two beers Tuesday that made so fucking drunk I probably threw up food for the three days prior (afterwards, Kell lectured me on drinking alcohol on an empty stomach. Let's just say I've learnt my lesson).
On Wednesday, Kell got me to eat some popcorn, which I proceeded to also throw up out of anxiety. That evening, Peyton kept pestering me about how ill I looked and I managed to actually eat some fries at work. Thursday—yesterday—I ate more of them. Today, I ate nothing, because, well, Peyton didn't have the same shift as me, and I honestly just feel so nauseous I could barely stand the smell of food at work. Like, I almost called in sick.
And all of this?
...
Yeah, all of it is because of what happened with Sam.
But, like, I mean, I think that it's maybe not completely about Sam. Something about raised voices take me back, and it's hard to stay in the present once you've remembered the past exists.
And it fucking sucks. I feel fucking awful.
I look fucking awful.
I know elevator lightning isn't the most flattering. I've never been one to care too much about looks—I mean, I'm pretty dang ugly but in a cool, stoner kind of way so, like, I'll take it.
But it's not my actual appearance that bothers me when I stare into the elevator mirror every day. It's those dark circles under my eyes, it's the flatness of my hair, it's my swollen cheeks.
They've kind of sunken in now, my cheeks. Obviously not by a lot, but still. I kind of thought that'd make me look like, you know, an actual 22-year-old instead of a 12-year-old. It did not.
The dark circles are darker. My hair isn't flatter—it can't be—but it definitely looks deader.
Sam's comment about me looking like a heroin addict stung pretty fucking bad. Still, there was some truth to it. But fucking hell, if I looked like a heroin addict last week, then I must look like... I don't know, a person addicted to all drugs out there now?
The elevator doors open, and I step outside. Unfortunately for me, the sun is still going down, so I have to squint like the light-sensitive idiot I am (my head hurts pretty fucking bad, mind you, and I'm pretty fucking dizzy).
And then I see something I absolutely didn't need to see right now.
Sam's out on the balcony, with his green flannel on, and that dark brown, curly hair glimmering in the sun, and a head of even darker, longer hair resting on his shoulder.
Emma's wearing a red shirt. It goes way too well with Sam's shirt. Gross. It's not like I would ever make sure my outfit matched my boyfriend's if I had one. It's super gross. Makes me want to puke. Yup. Not something I want. Definitely not with him.
Her?
No, I don't like Emma. I mean, she's nice and all, and she's unfairly pretty...
What if Sam's bi? How many people are bi in the world?
I know a few, most notably Kell and Peyton. Still, I tend to forget they exist, which sounds really bad, I know. Thing is, I grew up in an environment where bisexuality didn't exist and homosexuality was the most sinful sin of them all.
If Sam's bi...
Yeah, she's, again, super pretty.
And me?
I don't think the whole ugly in a cool, stoner way will work with Sam. Especially not now that he can't be charmed by my less-than-charming personality. Frankly, my personality is godawful.
I keep staring. Kind of creepy, I know, and damn, it hurts. His arm is around her and everything. They're just sitting out there being all in love while I'm standing here, fucking miserable.
God, I miss having that.
Peyton was right all along—Michael and I were fucking awful for each other. Still, I guess it was nice to have someone to cuddle with, to kiss, to try to have sex with and then cry because it made both of you feel so fucking guilty you couldn't do it, at least not after that first time you did it in a bathroom at a party when you were 14 because you obviously couldn't do it at home or you risked getting literally killed and neither of you knew what you were doing and it was very clumsy and you were both a little drunk but nonetheless, pretty fun.
I miss the comfort. I miss the feeling of home.
I know I was only 14-16, desperately in love with a guy, not just because of him but because of the rebellion it automatically meant. Still, I want that again. With someone else, of course—Michael, although probably not completely happy with his life, seems pretty damn content with his new boyfriend, and I'm not in love with him anymore and even if I were, I wouldn't want to screw him up more.
I swallow, and leave.
