I Used To Be

Chapter 9: Part 7

Great. As I suspected Dad's car was in the driveway. I wasn't sure which freaked me out more – him being there or him not being there. At least it seemed like things were going to follow their usual course. I pulled in ahead of Isabelle and waved. The plan was I was supposed to go in, scope things out, and return within 5 minutes. If I was longer than 5 minutes, she was coming in. Of course I hated this plan. But again – I didn't seem to have much say. Or any say to be precise.

I went through my entrance as usual, dropped my stuff, and kept walking, heading for the kitchen. Someone was usually in the kitchen. Even seeing the state of the kitchen would probably give me all the information I needed.

There was no one in the kitchen. But – it wasn't a wreck. Which meant Mom and Hayley had been back long enough for Mom to clean things up, and Dad hadn't fucked anything up again. I took this as enough info that things were as normal as they were going to be. And as much as part of me wanted to stay at Isabelle's again, it was also . . . confusing. I would rather be alone in my room. On PAM. Doing the things I usually did in the evening. I wanted things to feel familiar. That would make everything okay.

Just as I turned to walk back to my room, and therefore my door, I heard Mom's soft, "Anna?"

She looked like hell, and Mom rarely looked wrecked, even when I knew she was. Maybe this time they would finally get a divorce. I had no fucking idea why Mom stayed with him. If she ever said it was for us, I probably would just run away for good. Because the best thing for us would obviously be to leave. It was part of what made me hate her sometimes.

"Hey."

"You're back." Way to state the obvious.

"Yeah." I had no idea how to ask how things were. "Where's Dad?"

"Sleeping."

"Oh. So he's . .?"

"Yes. For now." I loved the way we talked in code. We rarely used the words, "drunk," "sober," "alcoholic," and especially not "abuse." Never that one.

"Good." I didn't feel like telling Mom that Isabelle was waiting for me, but I was also acutely aware that the clock was ticking and I needed to check in with her before she burst through the door, or whatever she was going to do.

"I'm just gonna eat dinner in my room. I got take-out." I lied. I was totally planning on skipping dinner. My weight loss seemed to have accelerated lately and I liked it. A lot. I was down to 105. I hadn't seen that number on a scale since middle school. I was starting to realize that I had the ability to get down into the 90's. Especially since I was getting better at purging, so I didn't even have to worry about stopping that completely. I had to make sure that I didn't do it much more than once or twice a week though because my gag reflex couldn't handle it, and I had to make sure I got everything up. No gag reflex = no vomit. Unacceptable.

Usually this dinner-alone-in-my-room thing wouldn't fly, but I think Mom was probably just too exhausted to argue. Plus Mom always acted guilty when things got this bad. I don't know why. If she was guilty for staying with him, why didn't she just leave? If she was guilty because of Dad's behavior, well that was just dumb. Sometimes I really hated her. I never wanted to be like her. I would never marry someone like Dad, and I especially wouldn't put my kids through it. Not that I wanted kids – I definitely didn't. I might not be as bad as Dad, but I was definitely fucked up. I wasn't going to subject anyone to a lifetime of me. I'd probably never even get married. At that point I just had to stop, because the end of that train was dying alone in some dingy apartment somewhere, with no one finding my body until it started to smell. I really did think that would be my end, and I probably wouldn't be all that old either if I kept up the ED stuff. So I couldn't think too much about it. It just made me want to go ahead and get the whole death thing over with now, and I had too much dancing to do. Once I couldn't dance anymore, then I could die. That was the deal I made with myself. But as long as I was dancing, I wanted to live. Sort of.

I walked through my room and out the side door. Isabelle wasn't in her car; she was standing outside of it, leaning against the door. I guess she was about to come in. I was really glad I had avoided that scene. Although, knowing Mom, she would have pretended like it was completely normal for a stranger to bust in our house to make sure I was okay. Actually, given the circumstances, it was normal in a fucked-up way.

I gave her the thumbs-up sign as I walked towards her. She just raised her eyebrows.

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's cool. Seriously. Thank you for everything."

"Okay . . ." she said, warily, "but if things get crazy again . . ."

"I know. Thank you. And obviously I will take you up on that."

"Okay." She hugged me, hard and long. I never wanted her to let go. Maybe I should go home with her? No. I needed to feel normal. Staying with Isabelle did not make me feel normal. Good in many ways – yes. But definitely not what I would call normal.

She gave me a look before she got in the car that said "I don't want to leave you here." I just waved, turned around, and headed inside. If I stood there one more second, I would have been in her car.

The evening felt . . . emptier somehow. I was bored and restless and . . . missing. I kind of wanted to binge but I didn't have the energy to go out running around to all my stores, and it didn't feel worth it to raid the kitchen and just stuff myself with whatever crap was in there. This was not a usual feeling – usually when the urge to binge struck, I didn't have the option to say no. So, since I seemed to have that option tonight for whatever reason, I took it, and just kept scrolling through the various posts on PAM, feeling pathetic, and empty.

I got in bed early with a book. I hadn't done that in forever. It was hours after I turned off the lights before I final fell asleep. I was remembering waking up to her. And after the memory, the safety. I was looking forward to seeing her at dance again the next day.