And Then We Fell Apart (18+)

chapter 24

Sam leaves, and I feel lost.

I think I'll be okay, but then it all hits me again the second I realize he's not here anymore. It's a rollercoaster trying to manage it, but I'm sure it'll get easier with time.

Bennett and I hang out every now and again. We do it to take our mind off of our best friends being gone, but it just turns into us coexisting with each other on my couch. It's what we both need to cope.

He tells me Noah calls just a few days later. My stomach sinks, because I have yet to hear from Sam even though he said he'd call. It's even worse when Bennett puts his hand on my shoulder after my fit of silence, then pitifully says: "It's okay. I'm sure he'll reach out soon."

As I initially fear, things take a turn for the worse, but I don't tell anyone. I notice now more than ever that my body is beginning to fail on me.

The first time I notice is when I try to go up the stairs at school, and I find myself only able to make it up one flight before needing a break. The second is when I miss my period that month, but I haven't had sex in almost a year and a half. When I take it upon myself to do some research in the library at school, I find that missing your period can be a direct link to stress or malnourishment, both of which I know are the reason.

Regardless of my findings, I still can't make myself eat. It's the texture of food in my mouth, the way it feels when it goes down, the way it feels once it hits my stomach. I want it out the second it goes in.

It's not much longer before it's a September evening two weeks into school, I make myself eat a plate of dinner that matches my mom's because it's what seems "normal," and then the severe guilt kicks in.

And I make myself throw it up.

It's a strange feeling, once I've done it. I worried it would drastically change me but afterwards, I feel the same. If anything, I feel a little bit better. Guilty for doing it, but less guilty for getting it out.

But I know it's wrong, and I know I should never have done it. I do my very best to make that the first and last time before the feeling becomes another thing I can't control.

I do it two more times that next week.

In my normal fit of regret, I take a shower afterwards in hopes that the steam will help to ease the burning in my lungs and throat. Some things are easier to throw up than others and unfortunately for me, tonight's dinner was quite the uphill battle.

Everything seems to be. Maybe this is what life is: constant disappointment, bouts of wallowing, isolation and regret. Maybe this is getting older, and maybe my last good year was fifteen. Maybe that's everyone's last good year and they just won't talk about it because it's too goddamn gut wrenching.

With wet hair hanging over my shoulders, my oversized T-shirt drenched and cold from my air conditioned room, my toothbrush hanging from my lips, I feel my eyes go half shut from the exhaustion and malnourishment. I feel as if I'm constantly running on thirty percent, just doing what I can to make it through everyday until I can fall into my bed and pretend everything is different.

On some nights, I convince myself I would be better off if I never told Sam how I feel or if I never agreed to a date with Alex or if I never ran into Max in the kitchen on that summer night when I was sixteen. I even convince myself maybe life would be easier if I'd never met Sam at all, if I'd never opened that guest room door.

It hurts to even imagine what life would be without him, but I can't deny its truth.

Its cold, harsh, yet completely reasonable truth.