Lost To The Wild

Everything's fine.

My fists savagely beat against the bathroom door.

"Emily!" I call. "Emily please open the door! It's Rae please just let me in."

No response.

"Damn it Emily let me in!" I yell, slamming myself against the door.

My breaths were strangled and heavy, whispering out pleas to her. Its strange how right before you start to cry it feels like the tears are in your lungs, threatening to drown you if you don't let them out. That's how I felt every time I saw her these past few months. Every time she refused to eat or lost a few more pounds. It was undeniable that she was beautiful now, like the models in the magazines, but I hated this beauty so profoundly because it was killing her.

The door unlocked with a click.

My trembling fingers open the door and I slid in silently, closing it behind me, and avoiding the scene I did not want to see. I couldn't even look at her now, because it was always a stranger looking back at me.

Whimpers were coming from the bathroom floor. I turned to the sound, and looked down on someone who used to be my best friend. She was bony and curled into herself on the dirty tiles. Tears ran down her face, streaking her mascara from eyes to chin. Her hair seemed thin and ratted, and remnants of vomit crusted on her lips.

This was not the Emily I knew. My Emily had a permanent smile, and a corky laugh. She always stood with her chin held high, but never in a snobbish way. She wasn't skinny, though nor was she fat. She was perfect. So when she gave you a hug it wasn't sharp or cold, it was soft and warm, and you felt her in your arms.

The girl on the floor was just a shell of the Emily I knew.

My tears were in my lungs again, drowning me. But I couldn't let them out, not now. Once you start there is not stopping it, and I was worried that I would never stop. That water would flow from my eyes until the people around me drowned too.

Emily did not need more tears, she needed help.

"You have to stop this," I said to her softly. "You're killing yourself, so you have to stop now."

"Y-you d-d-don't understand," she stuttered quietly, then again she yelled, "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" Throwing her purse at me. It hit my leg and fell to the ground.

"I don't think I'll ever understand," I told her honestly, "I don't think I will ever understand you again, but I care about you. You are my best friend, and I haven't wanted to admit that this is happening, but it is, and you have to stop."

She sobbed and dug her nails into her scalp.

I couldn't touch her. It was selfish of me to not comfort her in this moment, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. It had become apparent to me that I was not the one who could help her. I could support her, but she had to help herself.

There was a knock at the door.

"Is everything alright in there," an older lady asked, probably a teacher.

"Yes," I answered back. It was a lie. "Everything's fine."

I heard her footsteps fade behind the door, and sat down in front of Emily. Opening my purse I dug out an old packet of crackers I had stolen from the cafeteria.

I opened the plastic wrapping and held them out to her.

"Please eat," I begged, "Please eat."

"Please eat," I offered Luke, setting down the bowl of grouse stew in front of him. I thought it was odd that he accepted my dinner invitation, though it was probably stranger that I invited him in the first place. Especially since he attacked me less than an hour ago.

The time it took me to prepare the meal was spent mostly in silence. I just worked away at the food, and he sat quietly at the table, watching me.

I grabbed a bowl of my own and sat across from him.

"Please dig in," I said between mouthfuls of broth, "before it gets cold."

He looked at me one last time before cautiously picking up his spoon, and sipping the first mouthful. Then he was lost. He consumed the bowl of stew as if it were his first and last meal, frankly making a mess of the table. Splashing broth and bits of meat.

"There's more in the pot," I offered wide eyed. I imagine that prisoners would eat this way. Trying to inhale everything at once before someone tries to take it from you.

Oh god I hope he is not some escaped fugitive. 

He nodded, and quickly stood, serving himself another bowl. I sat observantly, sipping away at my own meal, and watched this process repeat itself. Serve. Sit. Eat. Stand. Serve.

I finally finished my bowl as he finished the last of the pot, leaning back in his chair and laying a sleepy hand on his stomach.

"Did you like the stew?" I asked with a teasing smile.

His chest vibrated with laughter, but it sounded like a painful laugh.

"Thank you," he responded, "it was very good. Can't remember the last time I had a good meal..." His voice faded out with a hint of sadness. "Can't believe you even gave me food. Aren't you frightened? I did attack you."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Misunderstanding," I simply said.

He laughed again. "Well I'm glad you are so understanding. If I were you I wouldn't have been, if I were you I'd be afraid."

 "Well you're not me," I said collecting the dishes. "It is over. And I was more afraid when I thought you were going to die."

"Why's that?" He narrowed his eyes at me curiously. I rinsed the dishes in the sink, and left them to dry, taking my seat at the table.

 "Isn't death always frightening?" I reasoned.

"I could have killed you. Isn't your death more frightening than my own?"

His question hung between. I paused trying to phrase my next words carefully.

"I'm not afraid of dying, if I were it would be silly for me to move out here. I'm afraid of being left behind. At least if I die, I'm the one leaving."

He nodded thoughtfully at my answer before looking at me and raising an eyebrow in question.

"Are you always this honest with random men who attack you?"

I gave a slight laugh.

"No not always, just recently," an awkward silence fell between us. "Well you should sleep, you're still healing. Take the bed, and I'll sleep on the floor for now."

He seemed like he was about to argue, but I held up my hand to silence him.

"Take the bed, or get out of my house. My uncle always said it was rude to reject a kindness."

He looked down defeated as he made his way to the bed. Pulling the blankets over himself, he fell asleep in seconds, leaving me alone with the crackling fire. I threw the last of the wood into the flames and curled up near the heat.

Everything's fine.