by Carian Cole
She lets out a little laugh. “It’s like you know me.”
As I walk outside, I realize I’ve blown half the work day sitting in a hospital with some girl I barely know when I’m on a construction deadline. Where the hell are her parents? She’s cute and all, but I can’t be some kind of transportational knight in shining armor for her, coming to her rescue every time she needs a ride. I’ll take her car home for her, and then that’s it. I have to disengage.
But when I get in my truck and see her aviator hat and goggles sitting on the passenger seat, I know she’s not the kind of girl I’m going to be able to just shove out of my mind.
Chapter 8
Skylar
Our bodies give us lots of warnings. What we choose to do with those warnings is up to us, of course. My body—and my mind—have been throwing up red flags for years. Like most people, I ignored them. Brushed them off. Made excuses. My mom did the same, ignoring my attention-seeking antics since I was a little girl. Finally, my body said screw you, Skylar… and whammied me into the sidewalk right in front of Jude.
The diagnosis I was given a long time ago is mostly the same, it’s just all gotten worse.
Acid reflux.
Ulcers.
GERD.
Dehydration.
Vitamin deficiency.
Anxiety.
Depression.
Exhaustion.
And last, but certainly not the least, and my favorite to say—ARFID. Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder.
But I’ll digest (no pun intended) all that later. Right now, I’m worried about Fluffle-Up-A-Gus. Home alone in my locked bedroom with an unacceptable-to-a-cat amount of kibble and water. Not only will Gus be disgruntled, but she will seriously run out of food and water by tomorrow morning.
If something happened to her, I wouldn’t be able to deal with it. She’s my snuggle buddy.
I haven’t texted my mom about my whereabouts yet, but I know she can’t get into my room to feed my cat. She’d never climb through my window, and I’m sure there’s too much stuff between the living room and my bedroom door for her to scale over. My mom doesn’t even like cats.
Which is good, I suppose, because if she did? She’d probably have a thousand crammed into our house.
That leaves me with asking Megan or possibly Jude to go to my house, through the window, to take care of Gus.
Even though Meg’s my best friend, she’s never seen my living situation. She’ll be horrified. I know she wouldn’t tell anyone at school, but what if it changed how she felt about me? I pee in a bucket of cat litter. I shower at school. That’s a little hard to accept.
Jude will be horrified, too, but he doesn’t seem like the judgmental type. And we don’t have a relationship. What’s the worst that could happen? He’ll think I’m a mess and never give me a ride again? I can live with that.
Right?
But… Jude’s an adult. If he got caught climbing through the bedroom window of an eighteen-year-old girl, he could get into trouble. I can just see him explaining to police that he was only trying to feed my cat. Nobody would believe that.
Megan, being a fellow teen, is the safer choice. If she got caught, it would most likely be brushed off as typical teenage girl behavior.
I send her a text:
Me: Hi!
Megan: OMG where are you? I’ve been looking for you and texting you all day.
Me: I’m in the hospital.
Megan: OMFG what?
Me: I passed out right in the parking lot this morning.
Megan: Get out!
Me: I did! Jude saw me and drove me here. Sooo embarrassing.
Megan: Jude with the muscles and tats?
Me: Yes.
Megan: You lucky bish! LOL Are you sick?
Me: I have bad acid reflux and dehydration.
Megan: That sucks!
Me: I’m going to be here until tomorrow.
Maybe until Wed. I was wondering if you can do me a really big favor?
Megan: Of course.
Me: I need you to give my cat food and water and get my phone charger.
Megan: No problemo!
Me: I have to kinda tell you something.
Megan: Ok.
Me: You have to climb through my bedroom window. If you’re in front of my house, looking at the front door, it’s on the right side of the house. There’s a wooden crate under the window to stand on.
Megan: Um……. Why?
Me: Please don’t make me answer that now. I promise I will. I just can’t now.
Megan: You’re scaring me, but okay. Is your cat going to bite me?
Me: No! She’s a sweetheart. Once you get in my room, there're jugs of food and water right there. You can’t miss it. My phone charger is next to my bed. You have to leave from the window, too. Please don’t open my bedroom door.
Megan: What about your mom? Won’t she wonder what I’m doing?
Me: No. She probably won’t even hear you and she won’t see you.
Megan: This is highly suspect but I’m here for it.
Me: Make sure you shut the window when you go in, and then when you leave so the cat doesn’t get out.
Megan: Will do. Should I go tonight?
Me: If you can. I really appreciate it.
Megan: I’ll bring your charger to you tonight before visiting hours are over.
Me: You’re the best. I love you. I promise I’ll explain everything.
Megan: Don’t worry about it. I gotta go. Feel better! xo
Maybe this won’t be so bad. Megan might not even notice the buckets. I only have a dresser and a nightstand, and my mattress is on the floor, but my room looks mostly okay. It’s not messy or dirty—just sparse. So, I may just have to explain why I use a window instead of the door.
I can handle that.
I type a text to my mother that I’m at the hospital for the night, but not to worry.
Not that she will.
The nurse comes in, and we debate what I’m going to have for dinner. She doesn’t want to give me bread and water. She tries to sell me on chicken soup and Jell-o. I gag just thinking about it. We settle on tea with no milk and toast with butter on the side.
She also hands me a tiny cup with a pill in it.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“An antacid. It’s for heartburn.”
I don’t like to take pills unless I see them come directly from the bottle myself.
She eyes me with irritation as I take a photo of the pill with my phone before swallowing it. Later, I’ll google the markings on it and confirm it is what she says it is.
Half an hour later I sip tea and nibble on toast while I watch a game show on the television. I still haven’t heard from my mom, even though my message is showing as read on her end.
Thinking about her makes me think about how much this hospital visit is going to cost. I don’t have insurance. Or money. My mother is not the type to help me pay bills.
When I messaged Rebecca earlier, she was concerned but told me not to worry and to come to work when I was ready. But being out of work means not getting paid.
Of course, this had to happen right when I was given cool new job responsibilities and a raise.
My goal of saving up for an RV is going up in flames.
At around six p.m., Megan drifts into my room carrying a big pink shopping bag on one arm and a huge Louis Vuitton tote bag on the other. She immediately hugs me, then sits on the edge of my bed, piling her bags on top of me.
“First of all, your cat is the cutest thing ever,” she says. “Second, what the hell is up with all the locks on your door? I’m not feeling good about this, Sky. Is someone in that house hurting you?”
I shake my head so hard I’m pretty sure my brain rattles. “No, nothing like that.”
“You have to tell me. I promise I won’t judge you, or tell anyone. But I can’t just ignore this sitch. You’re my best friend.” She takes a breath. “How are you feeling? You�
��re looking a little like you’ve got the worst hangover of your life.”
“That would be great if I actually had a hangover.”
She touches the pink shopping bag. “I hope you don’t mind, but while I was in your room I grabbed some clothes for you, and the book that was on your nightstand in case you want to read.”
“You’re so sweet. Thank you.”
“Your charger’s in there, too. Now tell me what's up.”
Her eyes widen as I tell her about my mother, and her mouth hangs open just as wide as I divulge some—but not all—details about the hoarding and how it’s taken over the house.
“Oh my God, Skylar. I don’t even know what to say. It’s horrible and disgusting and I can’t believe you never told me this.”
“I really didn’t want anyone to know, Meg. It’s embarrassing.”
“But I’m your friend! I thought you were just being a weirdo who didn’t want me to see your toys and clothes. You can come to my house any time to shower or use the toilet. Fuck this shit. I don’t want you to feel embarrassed at all. I love you and nothing could change that.”
Leaning up, I put my arms around her and hug her. “I’m so lucky to have you.”
“I’m just as lucky to have you,” she says when I let her go. “You’ve put up with my ’tude for years.” Suddenly, she grabs on to my hand with excitement. “I forgot to tell you! Guess what!?”
“What?”
“I’m seeing Erik tonight! We’re going to the diner, so I can’t stay here long. I have to go home and fix my face. We’re meeting at eight.”
Her face looks fine to me. Unlike my own face right now.
“Wow! Who asked who out?”
“I asked him.”
“You did!” I laugh, but I admire her for going after what she wants. I’m not sure I’d ever have the confidence to ask a guy out.
“I did!”
“You have to text me after and tell me everything.”
“Of course I will. I’ll take a selfie of us together so you can see how cute he looks now.”
“That’ll give me something to look forward to.”
She squints at me and fixes the gown around my shoulders. “I’m worried about you, though. Maybe I should postpone my date and stay here with you.”
“I’m fine. I want you to go. I’m just going to read and sleep. It’ll be nice to be able to sleep in an air-conditioned room instead of sweltering all night.”
“Are you sure? I can have dinner with Erik tomorrow night.”
I smile at her. “I want you to go have fun. I’m living vicariously through you, so you have to keep me entertained.”
Sadness creeps up on me after she leaves. I watch the sun fade from the hospital window. I’d be leaving work right now if I hadn’t fainted, heading home to snuggle Gus and research photography tips. Eating a hot dog roll for dinner and a cherry life saver for dessert.
I wish I were having dinner with a cute boy like Megan is. I wish my face looked flawless instead of pale and sick. I wish I could go to the diner and eat cheesy fries and drink a creamy vanilla shake. I wish my house was a clean and normal home. I wish my mom acted like a mom.
I wish someone other than Megan and Gus loved me and cared about me. On that depressing thought, I close my eyes and try to get some sleep.
Chapter 9
Skylar
The doctors kept me in the hospital for four grueling days. Even though I wasn’t sweating all night like I do in my own room, I slept like shit, and worried about Gus constantly even though Megan snuck into my bedroom every night to take care of her. She texted me pictures while she was there so I could see that Gus was okay.
She also sent me pictures of her and Erik, who actually is super cute. She’s seen him every night since they had their first diner date. Things seem to happen so easily and smoothly for Megan all the time, while I drive the struggle bus.
My mother texted me once to ask what was wrong. I typed out a huge explanation that took up my entire phone screen, and she never replied. That's six inches of tiny words. I don’t know if she just doesn’t care or if she feels guilty. Or maybe she got distracted by something on QVC. I guess it really doesn’t matter since the end result is the same for me.
An hour ago Megan dropped me off at home and now I’m sitting on my bed with Gus in my lap, as I hold five written prescriptions I can’t afford to fill, and a treatment plan I won’t be able to commit to. I can’t pay for weekly visits to a psychiatrist who specializes in eating disorders, anxiety, and depression.
I’ve never considered myself depressed, though. Sad and frustrated sometimes, but not depressed.
Either way, I won’t be able to go to find out.
Two nights ago, I sent a text to Jude telling him how I was, and he responded with a Great. Hope you continue to feel better.
It seemed short, almost cold and formal. He didn’t even call me Sparkles. I was hoping he would, because it always gives me a little burst of happiness, and it’s been a while since I felt that way.
Maybe I am depressed.
Since I came home from the hospital on a Thursday afternoon, Rebecca convinced me over the phone to stay home until Monday morning and not go back to school or work yet. I have a doctor’s note for school, so I’m not worried about issues there, but I am worried about missing so much of my paycheck. I pay the electric and cable bill at the house. Not because my mother can’t afford to pay it, but because she forgets to. Lights and TV are two things I’m not willing to live without, so I’d rather pay myself to make sure I don’t end up sitting in the dark.
I’ve spent my entire Friday cleaning my room and researching the ailments I was diagnosed with to see what I can do to feel better without expensive doctors and prescriptions.
At five p.m., my phone chirps with a text.
Jude: Hey.
I stare at the screen with surprise. He’s never texted me on his own before.
Me: Hi.
Jude: How are you feeling?
There’s a constant burn in my stomach. It feels like there’s something stuck in my throat and chest. My ears hurt and my insides feel jittery. I’m exhausted and have brain fog.
Me: Much better, thanks.
Jude: Good. I have your hat and your book bag.
Oh, shit.
Me: I totally forgot about those.
Jude: I can swing by after work and bring them to you. I’m leaving in about ten minutes.
Me: You don’t have to do that. You can give them to me Monday when I go to school.
Jude: I’d rather bring them to you tonight.
Geez. He really wants to give me my stuff back.
Me: Okay. You can just leave them on the front steps and I’ll grab them later.
Jude: Can’t I just hand them to you like a normal person?
No, Jude. I look awful with no makeup on and I haven’t had a shower in days and I feel grimy. And I don’t want you to see me crawling in and out of the window because opening the front door is a huge nope.
The chirp of the message app pulls my attention back to the screen.
Jude: Are you avoiding me?
Me: Of course not. I just don’t feel well.
Jude: I thought you said you felt better?
Me: I meant I felt better than before, but still not great.
Jude: Got it. I guess I’ll leave it on your front steps, then.
Me: You don’t have to, but thank you.
Forty minutes later, my phone rings, and his number lights up my screen.
“Hello?” I say.
“It’s me. I’m at your house.”
Damn!
“You can just leave the stuff. You really didn’t have to come all the way over here.”
He clears his throat. “Actually, I did. I ran into your friend earlier. I asked her how you were, and she said she was worried about you. She said something like ‘especially about you having to live in that house.’”
My heart leaps up into my thro
at. I can’t believe Megan actually said that to him! She promised she wouldn’t say anything to anyone.
“Really?” I say casually. “What else did she say?”
“That’s all she said. But it was pretty obvious she’s concerned about something.”
“Megan is a drama queen. I’m fine.”
“Skylar, come to the front door. Just let me see that you’re okay.”
I haven’t seen the inside of the front door in years. I’m not even sure if my mother uses that door anymore. I think she uses the garage door to get in and out and to have her new treasures brought into the house, which still requires careful navigation through rows and piles, only with spider webs.