To Let Go

Fourteen

It was 7:40 when he came.

I was in my fleece plaid pants, and my Yale sweatshirt. My hair down and crumpled.They started my feed already. The pale yellow calories flow through the tube. The calories inch their way down the bag and tube into my nose and my throat, finding their way in my stomach. The cold is bone chilling.

He stands there, on his crutches. I look up from my book, Sleepy Hallow and move over. He sits down on the edge. I don't know how long until the others return.

"How do you like the new ward?" He attempts at making small talk.

"It's....okay." I sniff.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing I'm fine. It's allergies. How's the new approach at the trail going?"

"Emma, don't do this. Please. Talk to me." He can see right through me as if I'm transparent. He knows my tactics. And now he's combating them.

"It's just.... the doctors are saying my heart rate isn't improving past the high 30s. They are talking about how they are going to increase my caloric intake. I'm not improving fast enough. They say I could still have seizures and cardiac arrests." Tears come to my eyes.

"Well, I guess we both have to fight through this."

"What do you mean?" I sniff again and wipe my nose.

"I'm deteriorating. I'm dying. The cancer spread to my brain, and you know. They say I can have an aneurism or a rupture in my organs or brain tissue."

"Oh my God....." I whisper. He nods, and tears come to his eyes. We stay like that, speechless. Our true emotions showing. Broken together. But we have pieces. And those pieces make a whole.

"Promise me, Emma. You'll get out of here. You'll live a happy life. You'll be free of this disorder."

"I....I......." I stutter. "I can't. I don't want to live a happy life. I want to be thin. To be skinny. To feel the lovely sensation of cool water on and empty stomach. To look and see hip bones and my clavicle. To see all of my ribs, and to have wrist bones. I fit a dollar bill around my wrists. I need to be skinny. "

"And that's what makes me so sad. So very sad. Is that you'd rather listen to the lies than the truth."

"But I'm scared of the truth."

"Then you should become aware of the lies and accepting of the truth."

We were sitting next to each other. Side by side. Yet so distant. I wouldn't believe it. No, I can't throw away my hard work. I am a canvas. And my demons are the painter. Society is the critic. And my blood I shed from self inflicted cuts is the paint. And my tears are the watercolor.

"Leo?"

"Emma?"

"What is it like to eat?"

"Oh, It's like a feeling or warmth. Of energy flowing. Of taste and goodness," he pauses. "What's it like to starve?" I smile.

"Beautiful."