These Demons

Chapter Two

Zoe is a terrible driver and I fear for my life at the beginning, but quickly realize that her only skill on the road seems to be making it through without any damage, which is definitely a big surprise when looking at what she's doing behind the wheel.
After a few minutes I spend in terror, she pulls over at a Starbucks. "Always a good place to start, don't you think? A life without caffeine is no life at all."
"You're such a philosopher," I sarcastically tell her and slam the car door shut behind me. "You drive terribly, by the way."
Her jaw drops in faked shock. "I am so not! My skills are terrific!"
"If you want to murder someone, then yeah."
She narrows her eyes at me and our fingers brush when she hands me the keys. "If I wanted to murder you, you'd be dead." I only roll my eyes at her and follow her into the Starbucks, hiding the rising amount of fear in my mind when I mentally go through the nutrition facts of all the frappuccinos, lattes and other crap presenting themselves on the menu on the wall above the counter.

"I crave a White Chocolate Mocha, what about you?" she casually asks as we approach the barista and she places the order.
My mouth is suddenly dry, my palms sweaty. She can't know that I'm afraid. She'll think that there is something wrong with me. I know there isn't, but thin people like her don't get it. They don't have to work for their bodies the way people like me have to. They have them naturally.

"Just a plain espresso, please," I manage to get out and pay the dollar for it. "Really?" Zoe chuckles. "You go to Starbucks for espresso?"
"I didn't want to come here in the first place," I mumble while I'm handed my small paper cup and Zoe grabs hers. It smells like it only consists of sugar and vanilla flavor. You want it. No, I fucking don't. My stomach hurts, but that's a good sign. I'm staying strong. It's all that matters.
Determined to burn at least a few more calories, I head for the long bar counters where people stand to quickly drink their coffee when it's crowded or they need to get back to their workplace or school, but I should have known that wouldn't work out. Zoe picks a nice spot in the back by the window with cushioned seats, and gritting my teeth, I sit down on the other side of the table to be able to face her.

"What is it like?" she suddenly asks out of the blue and I frown.
"What?"
"Being a rock star."
"I'm not a rock star."
She rolls her eyes at me. "Whatever. You know what I mean, smartass."
Chugging my dose of caffeine to keep my metabolism going, I'm not sure what she wants to hear from me.
"It's not as exciting as most people think," I downplay it. "You know, just a lot of writing and recording half the time, and when you got something, you meet way too many people to produce and promote the whole thing. And when you got all that shit done, you get to present it to the fans and hope they'll like it. That's about it," I finish, sounding even more pessimistic than I intended to. Wow. I really am some great company.

Zoe seems to be taken aback too and raises both of her perfect eyebrows. "Do you even like what you're doing for a living?" she wants to know and the sad part is that that question is actually very reasonable... And I don't even know how to answer.
"Well," I stutter and wonder if I should tell her the truth, at least about my job. "I used to love it more than anything," I then blurt out without thinking, indulging in reminiscences. "But lately, things have been difficult."
"In the industry?" Of course she assumes that.
"More like... privately."
"Oh." I know that oh. It's the 'you're making me uncomfortable by telling me things I don't want to hear because they're so negative'-oh.
"Do you want to talk about it?" And here we go.
"I don't think so, to be honest," I try to be polite this time. What should I tell her? That I starve and exercise because my body has let me down and has turned into something repulsive? That I'm extremely lonely, but being with people doesn't make it any better? That I hate food, but I'm obsessed with it at the same time? That I purge when I can't control myself? How would that make her feel?

"Do you want me to tell you something about my life?" She really tries to have a conversation, so I just shrug and let her do the talking.
"I wanted to become an artist," she starts, "And coming here to L.A., I wanted my dreams to come true, but that's not how things work. So I just go from job to job right now. There is always something available in this city and I manage to somehow pay my bills every month, but that's about it."
"And your dreams?"
"Buried," she simply states, forming another sweet smile on her lips as I realize that none of this is real. Everything about her happiness is an act she puts together to be able to make it through everything, and that makes her stronger than I'll ever be.
"You just gave up on them?" I want to know, not quite sure if I can believe her because she seems to be too smart to let people tell her that it's better to give up.
"Yeah," she whispers and sighs, closing her eyes. Damn, that girl is beautiful. Not that I care, though. I'm jealous of her weight, that's all.

"I'm sorry," is all I got. "I can see if I can do something for you some time, though. If you have some talent." God, did I really just suggest that? What on earth is wrong with me? And how would I help her anyways?
Her face lights up and makes me feel guilty. "Thank you," she says and my stomach twists.

"I'm hungry," she then mentions. "How about we get something to eat?"

Oh, no. Please, no.