The Beautiful Truth

// 83

Two days later, I was back in Micki's hospital room, alongside her parents and Alex, where she told us the plan. The psychiatrists that she'd spoken to, seeing, apparently, that Micki really did have the desire to get better, but didn't have to slightest idea how to go about getting there, had laid out some options, helping her work through the pros and cons, and thus she'd arrived at a decision. We were here this morning because she wanted to tell us all at the same time.

"I've decided to go to rehab...in Palm Springs," she announced from her bed. "I...um...I think I really need to take some time to work on myself—learn to take better care of myself, instead of depending on you guys to do it for me."

My stomach lurched. She had relied on me. And I'd let her down.

"Micki is a bit of an unusual case," one of the doctors spoke up and interrupted my headlong venture into self-loathing. "She's aware that her behavior is self-destructive, but it seems to be more of a compulsive reaction to overwhelming stress, compounded by negative body image. She wants help, and this is more than can be said for most eating disorder cases."

"We feel," Dr. Number Two spoke up, "after discussing things with her, that the O'meara Institute in Palm Springs would be a good fit for her."

"Uh, it is one of those places where you have to check in and have no contact with anyone on the outside for a few weeks," Micki interrupted, "but I think that might be a good thing for me. I need to know how to be on my own. I've leaned on...everybody here right now for too long."

"When would you go, honey?" Micki's mom asked, the fatigue and sadness obvious in her voice.

Micki took a deep breath. "They'll accept me first thing in the morning if I can get there."

Micki's two doctors nodded, and explained the specifics of how Micki's treatment would work. Twenty-four hour supervision at first...individual therapy, group therapy...nutritional plans...the whole deal. I knew she needed it. The last IV still inserted into and taped to her arm told me if nothing else did.

But it was hard not to realize that if I'd thought My Berkeley had changed when Barton, Alex and Seth left...now my best friend was leaving too.

In the grand scheme of things, this was of definitive unimportance. As Micki and her doctors versed Mr. and Mrs. Van der Waal on the logistics of the situation, I wandered out into the hallway. Alex followed a few minutes later.

I glanced up at him briefly, not knowing what to say.

I must've looked like I was ready to cry again.

"I'm proud of her," he half-smiled at me.

I nodded. I was, too.

"Why don't we go back to campus and see about getting her packed?" he offered, extending his hand down to pull me from my seat on the floor. "They're gonna be tied up for a while, checking out and then I imagine they've gotta go over and make arrangements with the school."

I glanced up and noticed his hand was shaking. I grabbed it, letting him stand me up. I looked into his dark blue eyes and frowned, trying to make sense of the expression behind them.

Alex dropped my hand gently and some kind of silent truce passed between us as we set off to help Micki in the only physical way we had left.

"Come on, Konstantine, let's get going," Alex sighed. "Back to Berkeley."