Fighting Weight

by Gillian Jones

  Now to figure out a game plan. Not only is she shy, I can tell she’s got some baggage. I see it in the way she carries herself, and in the way her confidence wavers. I hope one day I’ll earn her trust, that Alina will open up to me about things like her tattoo, and what pushes her to want to hide among the shadows when I see so much light radiating from her (at least when she lets herself forget whatever plagues her mind).

  Being a famous rock musician creates issues, too. If I’m going to try and get to know her like I plan, I want it done on our terms. I don’t want it out in the open, ’cause if the media gets wind of anything, it won’t be about the music anymore—which is the whole point of this tour and having indie bands joining us. A band like Happenstance deserves exposure because they’re really good, not because Slater Jenkins finds their lead guitarist not only stunning, but also really fucking sweet. So, yeah, I need a solid plan going forward.

  “Don’t worry, little brother. Your secret’s safe with us. We get it. You’re interested, you just don’t know it yet,” Fife says, interrupting my thoughts, before heading down the stairs.

  “Where ya going, asshat?”

  “Gonna go hang with your girl, maybe ask her to dance,” Fife calls over his shoulder, raising his beer and heading right for Ali’s table, where Shiv and Roxie are now sitting, too.

  “Son of a bitch.” I put my beer down, following his path, leaving Rain and Zack barking in laughter and catcalling when I pick up the pace, wanting to beat Fife so I can sit beside Ali.

  Zack’s right. If we were on a plane right now, I just might toss Fife’s ass out.

  Assholes.

  Luckily for my older brother, he sits beside Tristan—the twat—allowing me to slip in and take up residence beside Ali. Immediately, her breath hitches, and her scent teases my senses. I want to be the person who gets to lean into her neck and inhale her sweet scent. I want to be the man who takes her breath away, with not only his proximity but also his kisses.

  Fuck, I’m pathetic.

  “You having fun?” I ask, leaning in as close as I know she’ll allow.

  “Yeah, these guys are hilarious,” she says, turning her head and gifting me with a sweet smile.

  “You wanna lose at pool?” I challenge.

  “Oh…uh, I’m not sure I know how to play very well,” she says nonchalantly, but not dismissing the idea altogether.

  “That’s okay, I can teach you,” I grin, thinking of getting to put my hands on her a little.

  “Okay, sure, we can play a game. But Rox is a wicked player. She might be more of a challenge when you finish with me.”

  I’m not sure I’ll ever be finished. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it.

  Roxie laughs out loud, shaking her head. “Oh yeah, I’m awesome. Call me when you’re ready to be schooled.” She smiles at Ali and me before we head over to the pool tables.

  Alina Cassidy is a sneak. I should have known she was a ringer when Roxie looked at her like she was crazy.

  After I “show her” how to hold her cue properly and give her a few tips, Ali proceeds to kick my ass the first two games.

  “Eight ball, top right corner,” she grins, leaning over the table and I stand there shaking my head chuckling, as she effortlessly sinks the ball into the pocket.

  “You’re a liar, Ali.”

  “Fibber. ‘Liar’ is so harsh.”

  “Whatever. You’re gonna get it next game,” I promise, as she sinks the eightball, making it three games.

  “Jesus,” I laugh. “Darts. Maybe we should play darts. My manhood is hanging in the balance here,” I say, placing my pool cue on the table, not sure if I could actually beat this girl.

  “Ahh, you give up so easily,” Ali says, placing her cue on top of mine.

  “Here.” I hand her a hundred dollar bill.

  “Nothing like the thrill of victory,” she beams, folding up her winnings before slipping it into the back pocket of her jeans. Jeans I blame for affecting my game. They fit her so nicely; I spent too much time drooling over her luscious curves each and every damn time she bent over the table to take her shot rather than focus on my own game. I might have lost at pool, but knowing Ali willingly let me get close to her in order to “show her” how to shoot makes me feel like the real winner.

  “Ready to play darts? Double or nothing?” she questions jokingly, raising her eyebrows, her demeanour playful. There’s no way I’d say no to anything she suggested at this point, I’m so addicted to the high she’s giving me right now. Hanging out with Alina Cassidy is dangerous for a guy like me.

  “Abso-fuckin-lutely,” I laugh, following behind her, not giving a shit if I lose my manhood forever if it makes her happy, because seeing her happy is making me fucking ecstatic.

  We spend the rest of the night—once she kicks my ass again, only this time at darts—sitting with the others, talking music, laughing, posing for pictures, having a few more drinks, and even dancing like idiots.

  It was nice seeing this side of her tonight—carefree and beautiful.

  Alina Cassidy deserves to shine. And I’ve decided that, yeah, I want to bask in her light, and I’ll do whatever it takes for more nights like this. Even if I can tell I’ll have to pick up a sword and fight off the darkness that tries to swallow her. Because after spending time with her tonight, I have no doubt a girl like her will be worth the battle.

  30

  Alina

  We’ve been on tour now for the past two-and-a-half weeks, and things couldn’t be better. I’m participating in online therapy sessions when I feel I need an outlet, which I’m happy to say hasn’t been all that often. I talk to Lucky almost everyday, and I even FaceTimed with Mrs. Vasquez one night when Lucky was over there for supper. Admittedly, I haven’t felt this good in a long time.

  And, not once have I missed a beat or screwed up the set list since that night in Whitehorse. Our reviews for the three shows at the Multiplex arena in Yellowknife were fantastic. The crowds love us, and my trust in Slater Jenkins has grown so much it’s scaring me.

  And now I’m sitting with Slater on our almost three-hour flight from Yellowknife to Manitoba, where we’re performing in two days at Winnipeg’s MTS Place to a sold-out crowd of over sixteen thousand.

  “I can’t believe I’m here. Sixteen thousand people…” I let slip, thinking about the upcoming concert while Slater and I sit sharing a blanket, snuggled together head-to-head watching Superbad, another movie I can’t believe he hasn’t seen.

  “You nervous, Shadow?” Slater asks, dropping his earbud, turning in my direction and giving me his full attention.

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize I said it out loud. I guess I’m getting nervous thinking of the bigger crowds. Forget I said anything,” I shrug, hoping to play it off.

  “Your worries are more important than a movie, hands down, anytime. Do you want to talk about it with me? I might have a few tricks up my sleeve. I mean I am kinda a big deal…” Slater teases. His eyes drop to my lips, and I feel a pang of something exciting between my legs, which I quickly dismiss. Slater sees me as a friend, a friend he flirts with, sure, but he’s right, he is a big deal. One who can have his pick of girls, and I know he’d be stupid to pick me.

  “I think what you mean is, you have a big head,” I say…then immediately cover my face realizing my unintended insinuation. Slater barks out a laugh that echoes throughout the plane, earning us a lot of attention and curious looks. Grabbing the blanket, I cover my face, slouching down deep into my seat. This man makes me forget I have a brain sometimes.

  “Aww, come back out and play, Shadow,” Slater says, leaning into my space and trying to coax me out. “Ali, please, if you come out…we can talk about how big my head is. I’ll let you touch it, if you want. Measure it, even,” he says, laughing so hard he lets out a snort, and I’m laughing so hard I start snorting, too. So loudly that it should make me mortified knowing I’m drawing attention to myself and one of my flaws like this, but I couldn’t ca
re less in this moment with Slater. I’m having way too much fun to care. I begin to sweat under the heat of the blanket. Eventually—laughing at his ridiculousness—I flip it off, unable to stand the heat any longer.

  “There she is. See? I knew offering to let you play with my head would do it.”

  “Oh my god, stop!” I barely get out, trying to catch my breath. Sitting up straight, I take a sip of my water, and accept the earbud once again.

  “Feel better?” his deep voice asks, sitting beside me in a way that makes it seem that some part of our bodies always has to touch in order to watch the movie.

  “I do, thank you.”

  “Can I tell you something?” Slater asks, looking down at me.

  “What?”

  “So far, this movie’s been my favourite.” With that he uncaps his own water, taking a sip. I sit, a little stunned, unable to keep my eyes off this man whom I’m learning gets better and better every time I’m around him. Staring up at his smiling face, I feel a twinge of sadness in my chest, knowing I could never have more than friendship with a wonderful man like Slater Jenkins.

  But I do want more. I’ve concluded I want him; I want the chance at more with Slater. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as badly before in my whole life. I want to bottle up the way he makes me feel. He has a way of silencing Her voice, and making me feel special. Which in my life is a rarity.

  Unfortunately, a girl like me won’t ever be worthy of a man like him.

  You’ll never be enough…

  31

  Alina

  Once I broke Siobhán’s rule back in Whitehorse, I never looked back.

  Now I can’t stop looking at social media. I’ve gone back and scrutinized every single picture with me in it taken during the last few weeks of the tour. The need to read each and every news article and comment has become a compulsion I can’t stop. And I never just read the nice ones. Nope. Like a masochist, I focus on only the bad, reading and internalizing each and every one of them.

  “Sicken Union brothers sharing more than the spotlight?

  Is it a case of Happenstance?”

  …was the headline that set the wheels in motion, and sent me spiralling down the familiar rabbit hole searching for control once again. It was a feeling that not even reaching out to my online support group could help with.

  It was just the heading on some stupid indie site called Around the Sound which was supposed to showcase the tour, the bands, and the music. But they took a different direction somewhere along the line to sell gossip rather than the music, deciding to use this clever little caption over a picture of me sandwiched between Slater and Fife, a happy smile on my face, taken at some afterparty.

  I didn’t even know it had been taken.

  Sure, both men are looking down at me, mischievous smiles on their faces.

  Sure, I’m flushed. Anyone would be, with two hot guys by their side.

  Sure, we look cozy.

  We were having a good time dancing, not having a threesome.

  “Alina does Sicken Union like Debbie Does Dallas.”

  I roll my eyes at the comment and its lame comparison.

  “Yuck. They could both do so much better.”

  That one hurts.

  “Has she gained weight again, or is it just me?”

  “Don’t they have personal chefs and trainers?”

  Ones like this feel like a punch to the gut.

  “$6.25 is your change, dear,” the lady at the pharmacy counter says, placing the money and receipt in my hand. “Do you need a bag?” she adds, smiling kindly.

  “No thanks, I’ve got my purse,” I say, as I stuff the box of laxatives down into the bottom of my oversized Roots purse.

  We’re so good together, Alina…

  “Have a nice day…” the pharmacy assistant calls, and I wave back over my shoulder.

  32

  Alina

  Vbeep!

  Vbeep!

  The alert I’d set on my watch goes off at six p.m. on the dot, and I instinctively reach behind my chair for my purse.

  Time to start taking the control back, one stage at a time.

  Knowing I’m under so many watchful eyes while here on tour, I slip four pink laxative tablets from my purse, discreetly slipping them into my mouth before chasing them down with a huge gulp of water. I look around the large room where most of the touring bands are scattered around the packed China Liang’s Buffet in downtown Regina, and feel a sense of relief at not being caught.

  When I’d first started struggling with bulimia, I wasn’t losing weight fast enough for my liking. So one night I’d asked if anyone had any tricks in one of the many so-called “pro mia” groups I’d been following on line.

  Within seconds, I had over fifty replies, all suggesting laxatives.

  “They will change your life,” a user had commented.

  “Be sure to drink them down with black coffee.” another suggested, for faster results.

  Then the advice I ended up following came in:

  “Always take them in the evening, at the same time. Kinda like birth control. Using the washroom throughout the night when everyone is sleeping is much easier—and less stressful—than thinking of excuses all day long at school or work. Good luck.”

  So, that’s what I did then, and that’s what I’m doing now.

  I’ve started setting my alarm for 6 p.m. every night, popping anywhere from four to eight (or, sometimes, ten) pink pills a night. And for the longest time they worked, giving my body the extra jump-start it needed.

  I can still remember the first time they’d started to work. My stomach had suddenly cramped up, my muscles burned, and I felt awful. I regretted the decision immediately. Well, until I went to the bathroom and lost what felt like more than half my weight in liquid form as it fell from me into the toilet. I soon felt elated, and I could have sworn—looking at myself in the mirror after the bloating had gone away—my stomach looked flatter already. For me, it was the best advice I could have gotten.

  The laxatives worked well in the beginning, but then they stopped because I got so used to them. And the reality is, it’s water weight you’re losing, and not actual fat. A fact I found out the hard way when I started to gain weight. Apparently, poop has weight, and when all you’re releasing is water…well.

  Oh my god.

  What have I just done?

  No. No. No. I can’t go back there…

  I need to get them out.

  A huge wave of guilt crashes over me and panic takes over, as I think about what I’ve just set in motion. Regret is instant, and I feel sick, weak, and angry at myself for caving like some pathetic idiot. I can feel the beginnings of Her starting to stir deep in the pit of my stomach, working to breach her way back to the surface.

  Like the fool you are.

  A feeling of deep shame and the need to punish myself for what I’ve just done comes on, all too familiar. I need to get the hell out of this place before I put on a one-woman horror show for everyone around, when I run over and start gorging myself on the buffet, the same buffet meal I chose not to order for that very reason, for fear of losing control. Instead, I’d chosen steamed white rice and chicken off the menu.

  However, right now, I’m struggling. Fighting Her voice that’s now screaming at me to do it, to eat and eat and eat, to give in and stuff myself so full that I’ll finally feel the relief I need so badly. To give the pills something to work with. Panic fills my veins, and sweat forms on the back of my neck. Shaking, I stand and survey the restaurant. I need to get out of here before I allow myself to binge, which will only lead to the familiar pattern of me giving in to the binge/purge cycle for the night. I’ve fought too fucking hard against that to give into now. I’m trembling. I can feel my ears ringing, hear myself mumbling, and I can’t see through the tears which are falling so fast. I’m sobbing.

  “Ali?” Roxie’s familiar voice cuts through the war I’m waging within myself, with Her.

&
nbsp; “Jesus, shit, Alina. Are you okay?” Concern mars her pretty face.

  “I n—ne—need to g—gooo…” I tell her, stammering, barely recognizing my own voice. I try to grab my purse, nearly stumbling over my chair.

  “I’ve got it. I’ve got it, Ali. Take a deep breath for me, sweetheart. Can you do that?” Roxie asks, and I think I nod.

  “Okay. I’m coming with you,” she says, dropping her buffet plate down on the table, and grabbing her own bag.

  And for the first time in a long time, I allow someone other than Lucky to try to help me.

  “Thank you,” I manage. My voice is weak, overcome with a whirlwind of emotions.

  “I’ll text the group and let them know. I’ll just say I wasn’t feeling well, and you offered to walk me back to the hotel, okay?”

  I don’t say anything because, although I’m not entirely surprised Roxie would be thoughtful enough to do that for me, I can’t find the words to tell her how much it means. I can’t find any words right now. Of all my bandmates, I used to think I was closest to Paisley, that she was family. I’ve realized over these last few weeks that these girls aren’t only my friends and fellow musicians, they are all my sisters, who—regardless of what I do—will always have my back when I need it.

  And look at what you’re doing to them? Soon they’ll see you’re not worth it…

  33

  Alina

  After convincing Paisley, Siobhán, and Roxie that I was feeling much better, they reluctantly let me out of their sight. But not without my promising to call if I needed anything—and they meant any little thing—before they headed down to Lulu’s for a night of drinking and dancing with the members of Ullapool and Douse.

  It was only after dinner, once they had come back to the hotel and found Roxie and me in my room, did they realize that Roxie had indeed covered for me.