Keeping Secrets

by Lisa Eugene

  I knew I talked around his question but I had no choice.

  “What was it like growing up?”

  I needed to move away from this conversation as quickly as I could. I shrugged. “Just like any other childhood, I guess.”

  “You’d said on Thanksgiving that he didn’t like you outside.”

  “I wasn’t allowed.”

  He frowned. “You didn’t play outside? You didn’t have friends?”

  “I wasn’t allowed to. My family is very private.”

  He seemed to consider that.

  “Were you close to your mom?”

  I bit my lip, swallowing against a dry throat. I knew he was wondering about the story I’d made up about cooking with her. He’d mentioned it earlier. He was curious about the burns, about my fear of fire, but I was done talking about my childhood, done talking about my father. I’d promised Dex I’d stop purging, and I’d meant it. I intended to do it.

  For him. For us. For me.

  He took a deep breath, then started slowly. “When I was in your father’s study, I noticed his lighters—”

  I cut him off. “My mom and I were close. She’s an amazing woman. She has always supported me.” I finished the statement and stood.

  He ran his hands through his hair and gave me a steady look, his silver eyes following. His forehead was still pleated with concern and he looked like he waned to say more, but thankfully, he let it rest. We’d had enough confessions for the day. I needed to leave. I twisted my head, trying to find my duffle bag. I couldn’t remember where it had ended up in the fray. Dex must’ve sensed my intent. He leaned forward, his fingers closing around my wrist. His hand was warm, like his heart.

  “Don’t go.”

  I turned back to him, managing a wobbly smile. I pushed up my glasses. “You’re probably sick of me.”

  He donned a lazy, lopsided smile, one that raised goose bumps all over my body.

  “Never.”

  Chapter Twenty

  How do you learn? How do you grow stronger?

  Hard work. Pain.

  You must face the pain, Alexa.

  Yes, Daddy.

  Good girl. Now, take off your clothes…

  Alexa

  Over the next week there was a perceptible strain on my relationship with Dex. Part of it was because he watched me like a mother hen, silently keeping tabs on what I ate and my after-meal activities. I was starting to feel suffocated and a little resentful, but I understood his concern. I’d brought the scrutiny on myself.

  I tried to keep my promises to him. I’d never felt this much for anyone. I hated the fact that my problem was now a facet of our relationship, an inclusion in what had been a precious treasure. I wasn’t used to opening myself up. If Dex could look inside me, he wouldn’t like what he saw. It was hard to share my innermost thoughts with anyone. If anything, I went out of my way to conceal them. I’d been sincere, though, when I’d made my promises to him to stop purging.

  I lasted three whole days.

  I felt like shit. I was shit. A lying piece of shit.

  With the holidays approaching, the hospital ward was constantly flooded with goodies and treats delivered from family members and administrators thanking the staff for their hard work all year. At any given time there was a plethora of food in the back room of the nurses’ station for the taking—a freaking smorgasbord of carbs and calories. My kryptonite. My drug of choice.

  John and I sat in the back room writing up a case study. I was busy typing the report on my laptop while he rummaged through charts for information. I’d wanted to sit somewhere else, but really there’d been nowhere else to go. Medical students were like rats, the lowest on the totem pole as far as hospital personnel. If we were lucky enough to find favor with the nurses, we were set, otherwise, we had to scurry around and try to scratch out our own space. We had a good class this year. The nurses really liked us and that seriously made our lives one-hundred percent better. They shared their space, their knowledge—their food.

  Fate was screwing with me, forcing me to face demons at every turn. John and I sat around a table covered with trays of chocolates, cheesecakes, donuts, and homemade pies. I was quickly losing my internal struggle. I was weak. I had no control.

  Why did so much of life have to revolve around food? I could never avoid it. It was a constant temptation. Food was woven intimately into our social structure. People gathered for meals. It brought friends and families together. Food was given for gifts, for regrets, for apologies, and for thank-yous. A new neighbor moved in, you brought over a pie or a cake. You went to a party, you brought a dessert. Someone died, you brought food to the household in mourning.

  There were restaurants on practically every corner in Manhattan. Eating was not about sustaining the body’s needs. Those were simple. Eating was a cultural sport, a recreational activity, as addictive as a drug. But this drug you needed, or you’d die.

  I pecked on the keyboard and watched John stuff another Boston Cream donut into his mouth. The cream oozed out and collected in a fat teardrop on his bottom lip.

  With a finger pad, he flicked it inside his mouth¸ giving me a wiry grin. “Damn Alexa, had I know that was all it took to get you to look at me that way, I would’ve covered my whole body in cream a long time ago.”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head at him. “You’re a bottomless pit.” I don’t know how he did it. He practically vacuumed up food, yet he was as thin as a toothpick.

  “Just go ahead and have one already,” he laughed.

  I shook my head, knowing I couldn’t stop at just one. I’d had a horrible binge/purge episode last night. I’d seen blood again. It hadn’t been much, but if I had a scratch or worse, an esophageal tear, it needed to heal. Midterm week was particularly stressful. I was so worried about these exams, I could hardly sleep. I needed to ace every one of them.

  I’d switched from coffee to Red Bulls, energy shakes, and caffeine pills. I’d gained two pounds. That was because Dex had been keeping tabs on me and I wasn’t able to empty my stomach as often as I liked. He didn’t understand the danger. He didn’t understand what would happen if I didn’t do it. My weight would spiral out of control. I would spiral out of control.

  He’d stopped ordering in and instead cooked healthy meals. We’d gone out just a few times. Each time I’d ordered a salad or half-portion dinners, but still I gained weight.

  I sighed. My body strove to be fat, wanted to settle at a capaciously puffy size—because I was a cow. And cows were fat, ugly, disgusting animals.

  “They’re so good!” John moaned from across the table, sinking his teeth into another donut.

  “Aren’t you going out to dinner with your girlfriend?” I asked, raising my brows.

  “Shit!” He glanced at his watch. “Yeah, I’m meeting her in half an hour.”

  Folding my arms in front of me, I shot him a teasing smile. He talked a lot about his new girlfriend, but none of us had yet to meet her. Some, especially Carla, were still doubtful of her existence.

  “Is she coming to the holiday party?”

  He grimaced slightly, suddenly looking shy. “Nah…she’s working.”

  “Working?”

  “Yeah.” His lips tilted in a smile. “She’s a model.”

  “A model.”

  He nodded. “Yeah—lingerie.”

  My brow slid up and I nodded slowly, trying hard to keep my lips from twitching. Okay, I was starting to see where Carla was coming from.

  John looked at me, his face serious. “She has a photo shoot.”

  Was he really trying to tell me he was dating a lingerie model? He’d always been a jokester. I looked into his large, brown, puppy-dog eyes. Maybe his new girl was homely and he felt he needed to create an exotic persona for her, or maybe he was just trying to make himself seem more appealing. Either way, he was a nice guy and didn’t need to invent stories to impress me. But people sometimes needed to be someone they weren’t. We all craved acceptance,
praise, admiration, and love. It was how we were programmed. Or, maybe he was telling the truth.

  I smiled widely.

  “Tell her to come to the holiday party afterwards. She can tell us all about her photo shoot.”

  He shrugged and smiled. “Maybe. Are you going?”

  I nodded. I didn’t want to, but it would be career suicide not to make an appearance at the medical school’s annual holiday party. Dex had left for Germany two days ago and should be gone for a week. He was due back the night of the party.

  I hated to see him go. Since the plane crash, I was a nervous wreck every time he flew. Even though I knew I’d have a good time with him at the party, I was worried. I didn’t want everyone in my business, and Dex was someone who attracted a lot of attention.

  John looked at his watch again, his eyes rounded. “Shit, I gotta go.” He shot to his feet, packing up his books, blue scrubs and lab coat hanging off his skinny frame.

  “I feel bad that you did most of the work on this case study,” he said. “Why don’t I cover your shift tomorrow? I know you’ve been staying late and studying for midterms.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll be okay.”

  He smiled kindly. “I don’t mind. You always have my back.”

  I pretended to think about it, although I knew I’d be here bright and early in the morning. “I’ll let you know.”

  “Cool.” he grinned, grabbing another Boston Cream and enthusiastically sinking his teeth into it. “I think I’ll rub this all over my body before my date tonight.”

  I laughed as he dashed through the door. Alone, my gaze landed on the table, skipping over all the mouth-watering desserts and treats. I loved donuts and there was an open box of a dozen in arm’s reach. With a tortured groan, I snagged a blueberry crumb and took a large bite, groaning as the flavor dissolved on my tongue. It spread through my body like an orgasm, waking up my nerve endings.

  I polished it off in about four bites and reached for another one. It felt so good. I’d been tense and stressed with exams, staying late to do case studies, and missing Dex like I’d lost a limb.

  This was a pleasurable indulgence. I licked crumbs off my finger and grabbed another, finishing it in no time flat. I was alone, but still I looked around the room to make sure no one was looking. Grabbing my backpack off the floor, I stuffed in a box of a dozen donuts. Thinking that wouldn’t be enough, I grabbed another dozen and shoved that in, too. I was closing the teeth of the zipper when a nurse walked in.

  Cass shot me a smile, making her way to the table.

  “I can’t believe all this junk food.” She shook her head. “This will just put me to sleep, and tonight’s gonna be busy. There’s supposed to be a full moon.”

  I nodded, hoping my skin wasn’t a tell-tale red.

  “Where did John go?” She pushed her hands into the pockets of her scrubs.

  “Date.”

  Her brows shot up. “Really?”

  I laughed. Seems even she was skeptical.

  “Well, good for him.” She flicked on the TV. “He deserves it. You guys work hard.”

  I stood and started gathering my books. She was on her break and didn’t need me hanging around back here.

  “Hey, did your friend, Monika, or any of the other students ever recover their stuff, you know, the stuff that got stolen from the lockers?”

  Shaking my head sadly, I dropped my pens into the pocket of my lab coat. “No, security never found who stole the equipment.”

  Disgust pushed up her lips. “A shame. Can’t believe it. I’ve been here five years and nothing like that has ever happened.”

  I nodded agreement. I’d been doubtful that the equipment would be recovered. It was worth a lot of money and whoever stole it would make a hefty sum selling it.

  “Have a good night,” I said to Cass. “I hope it’s not too crazy.”

  She turned to me, then swept a hand toward the table loaded with food. My face heated, my donut-filled backpack heavier on my shoulder.

  “Hey, why don’t you take some of this stuff home. There’s more here than we can eat.”

  I shook my head, guilt gnawing at me. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”

  “It’ll just go to waste. We’re gonna end up throwing it out.”

  Gazing back at the table, a thought struck.

  “Would you mind if I took the Munchkins?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Thanks,” I said, grabbing two full boxes.”

  I stopped at the pediatric rehab ward and dropped off the Munchkins for the kids. They were excited to see me, their faces lighting up. I felt like Santa Claus.

  On the way home, I saw that I had a missed call from my mom. As I entered my building, I dug out my cell and dialed her number.

  “I just wanted to know if you’re bringing your young man home for Christmas?” Mom asked.

  I gripped my cell tighter. “After the Thanksgiving fiasco, I don’t think so.”

  There was a pause followed by a quiet sigh. “Alexa, I warned you that your father may not approve.”

  “He could’ve at least been civil. I didn’t ask for more than common courtesy,” I responded tartly.

  Another quiet sigh. “Mr. Blakewell seems like a nice young man, but do you think getting involved with anyone right now is wise?”

  I gritted my teeth. God forbid I should have some happiness in my life.

  “This is your last year of medical school,” she continued. “You need to stay focused. You’ve been distracted. You could ruin everything.”

  “You sound like Dad.”

  “I’m just saying to be careful. Don’t lose sight of what’s important.”

  I rolled my eyes, well aware of what was at stake. I was physically and mentally exhausted, getting just a few hours of sleep every night and then running to the hospital before seven each morning to polish up before rounds. I was working my ass off at school. I knew my priorities.

  “It will be just me for Christmas.”

  “Great. I think I’ll make a spiral ham and those little potatoes that you like.”

  “Sounds great,” I muttered tonelessly, then listened as she recited the planned menu and told me what she’d bought dad for Christmas.

  I was grateful when the elevator came and I had to hang up. In my apartment, I changed quickly, then sat on my sofa and pulled out my prize from my backpack. Half of the donuts were squashed, but that didn’t diminish their delicious taste. I ate as I studied, trying to avoid crumbs and jelly from falling on my laptop and books.

  An hour later, I’d finished off twenty of the two dozen donuts. Closing my text book, I pushed out a long sigh. My stomach was so full, it felt like I’d swallowed cement. The sugar rush made me giddy, a peculiar feeling since I was used to being hypoglycemic for long periods of time.

  I thought about Dex and the promises I’d made to him, thought about my sincerity in those moments. Johnson, my signed basketball, was perched on a stand on my bookshelf, a reminder of his thoughtfulness. I remembered the fear and desperation in his pleading eyes when he’d asked me to stop purging. He’d said he loved me. Me. And I think he really believed it.

  Maybe I didn’t have to purge. Maybe if I skipped dinner and exercised I could burn off some of the calories I’d just ingested. I did a quick calculation in my head, knowing by heart the calorie content of almost every food. I’d just ingested close to seven thousand calories. Maybe if I didn’t eat for the next few days I’d be okay.

  I reopened my text and flipped to the chapter I’d been studying, trying to keep my mind focused. My stomach grew heavier and heavier as the minutes circled. My throat tightened. My apartment became unsettlingly quiet, the colors around me glowing sharper, assaulting, almost burning my eyes.

  On every inhale, my bloated stomach nudged against my diaphragm, a hindrance to each breath. Instead, I started panting, greedily gulping for air. My skin flushed and heated to a fever, setting my body to flames. Anxiety sprinkled beads of sweat on my for
ehead. Something clawed inside me, desperate to get out.

  I sat on my hands, rocking.

  I could do this. I didn’t have to purge. I could do this.

  My thighs hurt, spreading and growing from the unhealthy calories. My skin stretched, body filling out fatter and fatter, uglier and uglier. The weight was tremendous in my belly. In my heart. In my head. The urge to purge was a hammering compulsion. I absolutely could not gain more weight.

  Oh, God!

  Shakes vibrated my body, taking charge of my limbs and withering my control. With a driving desperation, I ran to the toilet. Horrified, I withdrew my fingers from my mouth with the first graze of my teeth on my knuckles. Shit! Dex would know! He’d see the scrapes and he’d know.

  My anxiety peaked. Seconds raced into minutes. I had to do this now! I had to stop it before it got absorbed, before my sins became a part of me. Thinking for a moment, I ran to the other room and grabbed my winter gloves. Back in the bathroom, I pulled out a scissor and severed the fingers, leaving the distal ends open. It worked perfectly. My knuckles were protected. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of this sooner.

  Done purging, I fell to the floor with my back against the cold ceramic tile, my breath heavy and uneven. Water leaked from my eyes and spit clung to my lips. I wiped my mouth with my sleeve, then drew my knees up to my chest, trying to control the shakes. Dizziness clouded my head, singing spirals in my brain.

  Dex. Oh, God! Dropping my forehead to my knees, I sniffled. My sinuses were congested, filled up with fluid. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t stop purging. I just couldn’t stop. When I tried to stop, my anxiety got worse. I crawled to the floor-length mirror that hung on the wall. I stared at myself, seeing the same ugly reflection I always saw, seeing disgust, seeing agony.

  “You’re fucking pathetic!” I sneered. “I hate you!”

  In an emotional rage, I collected a wad of spit and flung it at the glass, watching as it dotted the image of my face. “Fat ugly cow! You’ll ruin everything.”