Useless Fan {Grapeapplesauce}

Part 4

A/N: Thanks for all the support on this story! I love writing for it. Hope you enjoy.

•

Sean's P.O.V

I clasp the door handle, thankful to be away from the chilly winter air. Strolling into a 24/7 cafe, I spot her sitting by a window, anxiously looking through at the storming twilight.

I noticed that she didn't order any food, so I quickly told the half-asleep employee that I wanted to buy two breakfast sandwiches. I grab the pastry bag and head over to the girl who didn't notice that I had arrived yet.

"You got out early!" I notice as I reach Melinda's coffee table and seat myself. We had planned to meet up here in the morning that the nurse told her she could be released.

Her face brightens at my voice, "there was nothing really to keep me at that hospital," she pauses, "Pretty weather, though."

"Not to drive home in. Are you crazy?"

"Probably," she laughs softly, turning her gaze to look into mine. "Anything interesting happen today?"

"Eh, my boss' girlfriend called him in the middle of a big presentation. My boss' boss didn't say very nice things," I chuckle from the memory.

"QQ to that guy," she quotes one of my videos.

"Yeah," I nod, smiling from the reference, "Here, I got us breakfast sandwiches. It's midnight, but in my opinion, that's the best time to have breakfast foods."

"Thanks, but I'm honestly not that hungry."

At first, I brush it off. Then, reality comes crashing down on me as I remember that she has an eating disorder. "Come on, at least try it. They make pretty amazing ones here." I bait, chewing on mine. Her eyes follow the steam waving off of the delicious snack, and then she gazes away and casually looks into the window.

"Seriously, I already ate, I'm good," Melinda states flatly.

"I should try to go to class tomorrow," she groans, "as much as I don't want to," she adds bitterly.

Wait- why isn't she at home right now? How come her parents never came to check up on her at the hospital? I frown, trying to connect the dots. I give up and ask her.

"Where are your parents in all of this?" I wonder aloud, hoping not to be hitting on a touchy subject. She goes momentarily silent, eyebrows furrowing for a split second.

"Dad's drunk somewhere. Mom is too busy with work to acknowledge my presence. My brothers couldn't care less." Melinda replies nonchalantly, even though she tenses up and tries to avoid the topic. I embarrassedly avoid her stare, not that she's trying to make eye contact, hoping I wasn't too horrible to ask her that.

"Sorry for asking," I decide to say.

"It's nothing." Melinda sighs back. She uneasily shifts in her chair, and I gaze up.

"Hey, you okay?" I ask, slightly concerned.

"Yeah. Just tired," she mumbles back, heaving a small yawn to prove it.

"You sure?"

"Completely."

"Okay, let's get home-- it's late."

•

Melinda's P.O.V

We sit in his car, lazily riding down the wet midnight streets. Mellow radio tunes flood the air, and both of us are too worn out to talk a lot. The snow turned into a slushy rain, and it patters down on the windshield. The heater warms the previously chilly car up.

Inside, it's getting rather warm, and I'm tempted to take off my sweater. At a slow intersection, Sean lifts off his sweatshirt. A small edge of his tee rides up the tiniest bit, and I can't help but catch a glimpse of his bare waist. I roll my eyes tiredly and return my focus to the passing cars outside.

It's getting hotter. For some reason, I feel like it would be rude to ask him to turn it off. I inhale slowly and inch up the sleeves of my sweater. If I don't let him see my left wrist, then it'll all be good. Why was I so inconsiderate and leave scars there, in such an obvious location? I can't take it back now, no matter how much I wish I could.

We make it all the way back to my slummy house without Sean glancing at my forearms. I thank him and exit into the rain, trudging in the building. I unlock my front door. I search around- no parents home, of course. I collapse on my bed. Did that just happen?

Dazed, I wonder how I ever got up to the level of being able to go out to coffee with Sean. Moments pass as I stare at my flaking ceiling, and I frown. Great, now I'm out of the hospital, so is he just going to walk back out of my life and I'll return to being just another fangirl?

My stomach growls emptily, breaking my train of thought. Snapping back to reality, I blink and I find myself standing up and reaching into my closet. I pull out my scarily-accurate scale that either rewards me with a weight closer to my goal of ninety pounds, or makes me scowl in disgust and break down.

It's my first time home from the hospital in weeks. They fed me there. Ruined me. The nurses told me that they were helping me-- does making my self esteem plummet off the planet sound like helping me? They called my strength a sickness and fattened me back up, but did they consider how many hours I spent resisting the urge to eat, even when hunger's claws tore apart my stomach? I was finally getting close.

"96.3 pounds," I remember breathing. I was close. I was dedicated, proud, and preparing to be happy. And now? That's all gone. My neck tenses as I swallow and wonder what number will pop up on the scale now.

If it's still under a hundred, I can shed it back off in about a month. I strip off my clothes and poke the machine with my toe, afraid to step on. My throat makes a strained, gurgling noise, and I walk on, eyes closed as it calculates. I squint, barely reading the number it displays. A pit forms in my stomach and my thoughts rage.

"110.4 pounds," I whisper. I gape at it in horror, and cover my face with my cold hands. Damn you, hospital. I pace off and glimpse in the mirror and examine myself. Damn me, for looking like this. I sniffle, and a line of tears drip down my pinking cheeks. Hiccuping and crying, I slump down a wall, chest rising and falling shakily.

I don't want to try anymore-- it took at least half a year to get at that weight. I'm exhausted and upset, but mostly just lonely.

"This is so pathetic," I mumble through gasps. Would it be stupid to call Sean? I have his number, after all, but it's not like we're close or anything-- in fact, I'm not even sure if he considers us friends. I have one of those reckless moments and my trembling hand grasps onto my phone. I click on his contact, and after hesitating, I call him.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

"Hello?" Sean answers.

"H-hi," I manage, obviously sounding like I'm holding back sobs. "It's Melinda."

"Are you okay?" he asks, concern and uncertainty heavy in his voice.

"I don't really know," I admit, "I just need to talk to someone."

He stays quiet for a few moments. Then, he speaks, "How about I drive over a few minutes and we'll talk at your place? We live only about five minutes away from each other."

"Okay..." I reply. He tells me he'll talk to me when he comes over in a few minutes, and hangs up. How will I be able to talk about what's up to him but not reveal why I'm feeling so miserable in the first place? I pull back on my clothes, and wait for the dark haired boy to pull up in my driveway.