The Art of Balancing » work in progress

CH. 15 : "I'm in the mood to drop kick something."

I had a dream while I was asleep on Graham Bryant's bedroom floor.

I ran into the middle of an empty street and stood there, watching everyone walk by until they disappeared into the horizon. Then I looked up at the sky, a bus came, and next thing I know, my legs are being amputated and Reid is forcing cookie dough down my throat while the entire varsity soccer team laughs.

I wake up with a dry throat and clammy hands. I can barely control my breathing, and the sight of little Emma Bryant standing over me with her big blue eyes almost makes me wet myself.

"Sorry," she laughs as I grab at my chest. "I thought you were dead."

"It's fine," I shake it off, suddenly feeling a kink in my neck. I take off Graham's headphones and rub at my face in an attempt to wake myself up. I notice that I have been draped in a fluffy, strawberry-smelling, unicorn covered blanket. Emma giggles.

"You looked cold," she says simply.

I thank her as I get to my feet. Graham's room is dark now, and I can hear trees swaying and rain hitting the window. Canceling soccer practice was probably a good idea. And I mean, it's not like I hate having company every once in a while. Who really needs soccer?

"Your parents are here," Emma tugs on the sleeve of my sweater. I raise an eyebrow. "Your mom's making spaghetti. Come on!"

She pulls me out of the bedroom and into the hall. The smell of garlic and marinara are wafting up the stairs and into my nose, and I swear I hear my stomach grumble. Sasha's spaghetti doesn't sound good, no. It sounds - and smells - absolutely amazing. I forgot what having an appetite was like, or rather what it was like to fulfill an appetite. To want to fulfill an appetite.

I feel so conflicted. I know that this is ultimately a good thing. Recognizing hunger and being happy that I can have something to satisfy it, that is. But it also makes me nervous, so much so that I almost lose my appetite in the process.

I am hungry, and so I will eat. That's all there is to it, Violet. Get over it.

I enter the kitchen and find Sasha slaving over the Bryant's stove as if it's her own. Reid, Graham, and Mrs. Bryant are all laughing about something over a bottle of white wine. Graham's drinking a water, and surprisingly, Mr. Bryant is nowhere to be found.

"Sleeping beauty!" Reid says as if everything between us is normal. I am internally throwing up at the fact that he wants to pretend he didn't fuck everything up, but on the outside, I am laughing. It is so incredibly forced.

Therapy has barely brimmed the surface of my anger. All Dr. Patel wants to talk about is why I developed an "eating disorder," and why I won't "let it go." Is it because I so desperately need to have control in my life? Was I starving for attention? Who knows, who cares. Why can't it just be as simple as wanting to lose weight? Why can't it be as simple as not wanting to eat?

I don't particularly like Dr. Patel. She tells me to call her Hannah, like one day I'm going to walk into her office and collapse on the leather couch and say, "oh, Hannah! I understand everything about my disorder and am now free! All thanks to you!" 

I don't address her at all. And even if I did, it wouldn't be Hannah. 

Even with Dr. Patel, I am still incredibly angry. It is taking everything in me to not punch my father in the gut. I know it's horrible when he's doing the best he can, because I'm sure he is, but it's not something I can put on a shelf. I am so angry. I don't know when I won't be.

I take a seat at one of the stools by the island as Emma runs into the family room. I throw my hair into a pony tail and yawn. I glance at the time on the microwave - 6:46 - and then turn to Graham.