Skinny

Chapter 16

“Kylie?”

Dr. Reynolds’ voice was clear, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was on the same red, leather couch, but had my gaze fixed on the wall to the left. It had been four days since Alex had died.

“How are you feeling?”

Terrible. Guilty. Depressed. Freaked out. Pissed off.

“Fine.” I kept my response short.

“What’s going on inside your head?” He asked.

Oh, I don’t know. Just the fact that my really good friend had just died not too long ago. How stupid I had been for running away and having her look for me. Not being able to help her when she started coughing her lungs out. Almost forgetting about her when I had Hypothermia.

“Nothing.” Another simple lie.

“Kylie, please stop shutting me out. You’ve kept yourself locked up in your room this whole time, not allowing anyone in. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on. You had seemed to trust me a little bit not too long ago, but it’s as if you have taken ten steps back. Do you at least want to know how Alex passed?”

Of course I want to know, stupid. Why would I not want to know how one of my good friends died? Are you mental? Do you belong in here as a patient, also?

“Sure.”

There was a sigh coming from him as the chair creaked, signaling he leaned back. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, though. I felt that if our eyes met, then I would burst into tears. He would see how weak I was, and that would cause me to lose it.

“She starved herself to death, Kylie.”

The lump in my throat felt like it grew ten times its size, and the knot in my stomach made itself even more apparent. She had starved herself, and I allowed her to do that. I covered for her when she refused to eat any of her meals. I lied to the doctors when we were running around ‘playing games’ in hopes to lose weight. I was a terrible friend. How could I pass off her choices as okay?

“She had Anorexia Nervosa, a serious disorder that often leads to death if not treated. It could have happened any day, this is not your fault, Kylie. I know you’re thinking that.” Dr. Reynolds said in a reassuring voice.

I didn’t believe him one bit, so I didn’t bring it up. “So what’s my diagnosis, doc? Am I some anorexic mental patient too, huh?” I hissed, finally bringing myself to look at him, anger flowing through my whole body.

He sighed and shook his head. “I can’t give you a diagnosis if you don’t open up to me, do you understand that?”

If looks could kill, he would die under the one I was giving him. “If you knew Alex was anorexic, then why didn’t you help her more? Why didn’t you try harder and make her eat? Why did you just stand by while she slowly killed herself under your roof? Do you feel good about that, Dr. Reynolds? Does it make you happy that you don’t have to worry about another patient? Are we just sick, little toys for your whole psychiatric unit to play with and figure out, letting certain ones die off one by one so you can record it in your stupid books?”