The Way We Get By

28 // Alex

Guilt.

I used to carry it around on my shoulders like deadweight. It used to crawl into every destitute corner of my mind and remind me of every way that I thought I was not enough.

I'm not naive enough to believe I'm okay now. To believe that I've healed, or that I won't have days when I fall apart and give up.

But things feel different. My bed feels different. My ribs and stomach don't hit the mattress like they used to. I can feel something other than overwhelming hunger as I lay in my bed at night.

And Angel's words feel different. They don't cut into me and break me down like they used to. I'm not sure if it's because he's become nicer or because my skin has become thicker. Either way, there's something relieving about knowing that things have changed. That things are different, and that there's room for growing.

The lunchroom that I'm standing in also feels different. I haven't seen Jason all day, and because this is my first day back at school since—well, since everything happened—I don't know where to sit. Jason and I used to sit together every day, but he doesn't talk to me anymore, and I truly have no other friends.

I settle on an empty table towards the back and carry my food to the table. Today I've purchased an apple, a bottle of water, and six chicken nuggets. The apple and bottled water are nothing—they're what I would've usually bought back before I started on this recovery shit.

But the chicken nuggets are the challenge, and while I'm most definitely not going to eat all six of them, I'm going to try and eat at least one. Maybe two, if I can muster it. I'm sure my mom will be pleased when she checks the lunch record to see that I've bought an entree for the first time since freshman year.

I settle into my seat and throw my backpack on the stool next to me. Before I start to freak out about the food that I have to eat, I take a look around.

Everyone is engrossed in their own conversations at their separate tables, and a few teachers are stalking around and observing the lunchroom to be sure that everything's running smoothly. Everything is, and I'm about to turn back to my food when I notice someone appear in front of me. And by someone, I mean the carbon-copy of me.

"Hey," Angel says as he nonchalantly throws his bag on the floor and takes a seat across from me.

"What—why are you sitting by me?" I question with a hesitant eyebrow raised. "Don't you have, like, friends?"

Angel shrugs as he pulls a Nutella sandwich out of his backpack and tosses it onto the table.

"Friends that aren't talking to me."

"What do you mean?"

I watch him take a bite of his sandwich as I unscrew the cap of my water bottle and take a sip of the refreshing, cool liquid. John had always said it's good to start off each meal with a sip of water and a deep breath, as cheesy as that is.

"I beat the shit out of Sean, remember? I'm an outcast 'til they decide if they wanna forgive me."

"Hmm," I note with an eye roll. "Welcome to my life, my fellow wallflower."

Surprisingly, Angel laughs at my comment.

"Yeah. It's not so bad, though."

I shrug as I bring my gaze down to the chicken nuggets I bought. Maybe it was a bad decision. After all, they're fried. Fried food is absolutely terrible for weight loss.

But I have to remind myself that I don't want weight loss. I mean, I do, but I shouldn't. Weight loss is bad.

"Do you want these?"