The Silicon Valley Connection

35 | aidan: print ('free fall')

Opening up to Faith about my past is long overdue. Trust is a two-way street and omitting this from her makes me just as wrong as Hunter for what he did. Nora is right about one thing, though. I have changed, but it was easier said than done. Guiding her to the far end of my childhood room, I slide open the glass door to the balcony patio. With the perfect view of the Golden Gate Bridge, the terrace has been my favorite place to go due to my anorexic-induced anxiety.

faith

I should have pulled away back then. Left without a word.

That's how it should've gone, right? But when he collapses back into a leather sectional overlooking the San Francisco skyline, pressing the palms of his hands into his face, trembling, I move almost instinctively to sit next to him. Folding my knees under me and tugging his hands away from his face, I set his glasses on a nearby table.

"It's more than okay to cry, Aidan, but please don't cover your eyes. Especially in front

of me. Keep your eyes where I can see them--red, puffy, and all. It's perfectly fine for the most jovial person I've met to have painful shadows hidden underneath. It's okay not to be okay. We'll get through this--together."

Even if your quiet words tear me apart.

"It began when I was a sophomore in high school. The intake of how much food I could truly consume without having the venomous chant to regurgitate it immediately after. It was a vicious cycle," he began, pulling a nearby pillow to his chest and supporting his chin on top of it. "There was a constant pressure I put on myself to maintain a body image I was confident in, and it drove my eating habits completely out of balance." He clutched the pillow, gripping it to the point where his arms were buried in the cushion.

"It eventually got to the point where I'd stay up until the wee hours in the morning, hurling the previous dinner or dashing to the nearest restroom throughout high school and part of college to get rid of my breakfast. I'd always bring at least three 32oz Gatorade bottles to practices to keep my electrolytes in check and offset the fainting spells. Socially, I felt as if I were two different people: 'Faultless Aidan and-"

"'Broken Aidan?'" I ask.

He gulps. "Exactly that. You get it."

"I do, very much so, but we're focusing on you right now."

Aidan nodded slowly as if he was still having difficulty releasing his personal struggles to me.

"Take your time," I reassure him. "I'm not going anywhere."

He gives me a faint smile and glances at my shoulder. "May I?"

"Of course."

Aidan rearranges himself on the furniture and his head falls on my shoulder. I lean down a bit and kiss his forehead while he continues. "As it progressed, I finally reached out to get help because I noticed that I began to worry my mother too much. Obviously, it became better for a time," he quipped as if to reassure me.

I stayed solemn. "But...?"

"But," he says, "it was a different aftermath. Even though I wasn't physically struggling as much, my mental health started to deteriorate...and so did my relationships."

Realization hits me like a freight train and I tense up. "What about Nora?"

"Oh, Nora," he laughed, wholly bitter and humorless. "She dumped me two months into my freshman year of college. She didn't believe guys struggled with eating disorders."

"What?" My lips curl in disgust. For him to go through all this just for her to leave him and then have the audacity to show up today is screwed up on so many levels.