by Vera Hollins
“And did you keep vomiting?”
“From time to time. Maybe like once or twice a year. I don’t know. I went to therapy then, but I wasn’t fully convinced I had a problem.”
“I see. And what brought about those moments?”
“At that point I was in a relationship, and while it gave me a confidence boost in the beginning, I kind of always felt that Rory could find someone better. One time, we went bowling with friends, and everyone ate just a sandwich or a couple of snacks, but I overdid it and ate my weight in food.”
I watched her golden pencil move as she scribbled, remembering the embarrassment too well.
“I came home, locked myself in the bathroom, and made myself puke.”
“And now? Do you feel compelled to do it?”
“Compelled? Not really. It’s like it’s an isolated incident. Sometimes, just sometimes, I think about it, but I don’t feel the need to do it. I do it when things become too hard and I feel cornered, and it’s like a way for me to let all those negative feelings flow away.”
“What made you do it this week?”
I grimaced and told her what Blake had done in the basement, and then about the pressure I’d felt when I got home.
“Did it provide any relief?”
“Only for a bit.”
“Do you think that relief was worth it?”
I tucked my hair behind my ears and dropped my gaze. I was fully comfortable around Susan, who had been my therapist since I’d arrived in Enfield six months earlier, but it wasn’t easy to open up about my tendency at all times.
“In that moment, yes. But then I felt disappointed in myself because I’d promised myself and my parents I wouldn’t do it anymore. So, no. The relief was not worth it.”
“Considering how you feel about it, on a scale of one to ten, how likely would it be for you to do it again?”
I ran my hands down my face, contemplating yet another difficult question. Susan was good. She bombarded me with questions until we reached the root of the problem, but I wasn’t always ready to face the truth. It took great courage to be able to look deep into myself and see who I actually was.
“I don’t know. I think three. Four?”
She wrote something down in her notepad. “We talked about how bad self-induced vomiting is.”
I nodded. “Yes, I’m aware of the consequences. My mom is a living example of how unhealthy it is.”
“That’s right. Your mother is a clear example of this. It may feel like just one episode isn’t a big deal, but after that may come another, and then another, and soon it can become worse, and before you know it…things can get really bad.”
I stared down at my shoes, swallowing hard. I was aware of my repetitive mistakes. I just didn’t want to return to that scary place where wrong seemed right and pushing fingers into my mouth was the way out of my problems. I had to overcome this.
“I know. I know it’s not a way to deal with my problems and it won’t lead me anywhere.” I pursed my lips. “I’ve been thinking…yes, an event or person is what causes me to do it, but if I wasn’t already having doubts and insecurities, I wouldn’t do it. Right?”
“In your case, yes, there is an underlying process, and it ends when you solve what troubles you. You aren’t satisfied with the way you look. You feel you’re not good enough.”
“Yes.”
“But the number on the scale doesn’t define your worth or the worth of your body. It doesn’t define who you are. Weight doesn’t define you. Who are you, Jessica? Think about it.”
I looked at her pencil. I didn’t need to think about that one. The answer had been burning in the back of my mind all this time.
“I’m just someone who clings to others to solve her problems. I always take the easy way out. I’m a coward who can’t even follow her own dreams. I would rather live in the infinite cycle of my mistakes and complain about them day after day than break that cycle and fight for what I actually want to be.” I chuckled. “I can’t even look at myself in the mirror without that silent voice telling me I’m not good enough. I’m not good-looking, I’m not brave, I’m not myself.”
I finally met her gaze, realization dawning on me. I couldn’t even begin to love my body if I felt so much self-hate. I kept focusing on my bad points, without ever thinking about the things I’d never want to change about myself. If I was to look myself in the mirror, everything beautiful I saw would be devoured by negatives. I loved my big breasts and thick butt. I loved how sexy I could look in dresses that emphasized my curves. It wasn’t all bad.
I always compared myself to others and envied all those slim girls, always wanting to be like someone else and never like me. I knew I had to embrace my imperfections and remember that all of us are imperfect in one way or another if I wanted to be happier, but I’d never actually tried to do it.
Sure, I would have been ecstatic if I weighed a few pounds less, but more than that, I had to stop letting everyone, especially my parents, determine my life without ever trying to fight back. I wanted to be respected for what I could do. I wanted to follow my dreams and stop living in fear.
“There you have it,” Susan said. “The first step is to identify the problem. Now you should think of a way that will help you resolve it—a bridge between what you are now and what you want to be.” She leaned toward me. “It’s your choice, Jessica. You can choose to live your life blaming yourself or others, or you can actually do something about it.”
I left Susan’s office feeling unburdened for the first time in a long time. It was like a piece of what had been troubling me had been removed and replaced with something much better, much healthier. I had a long way to go, and I still wasn’t sure if I could do it, but I felt more determined to improve and stop living with regrets and complaints.
I rounded the corner, buttoning up my coat, when the door across the hallway opened and a tall guy dressed in all black came out of an office.
It took me a heartbeat to process whom I was actually seeing, and my pulse accelerated, all my thoughts rushing to a halt.
Blake.
Blake’s previously vacant eyes widened when he saw me, rooting me to my spot. He was here. He was actually here. The memories of that darkness in the basement hit me hard as we stared at each other, and blush spread all over my cheeks.
He took a step toward me, anger replacing surprise on his face. “What are you doing here?”
I had no intention of staying a second longer. I bolted, passing by the people who gave me weird looks for running through a clinic. I didn’t care. I just had to get away from Blake.
I stopped next to my car and reached for my key in my pocket, but I didn’t manage to take it out, because Blake pressed me against my car. Damn, he’s fast.
“You think you can run away from me?” His hot breath caressed my ear, in contrast with his harsh voice. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“And what do you think? I was visiting a therapist. It’s not like I went on a picnic, Blake,” I bit back, surprising us both with my guts.
He spun me around to face him, his eyes nearly dark with fury. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”
Flaring up, I fisted my hands. With the way he was acting, it was like we’d never had a moment in the basement. I just wanted one day of peace—free of confusion and these feelings brewing in me each time he was nearby.
“And you do? You’ve been abusing me since the first day of our senior year, and I’ve always stayed quiet, but you’ve never stopped. I’m tired of the same cycle. Why are you so obsessed with me?”
The muscle in his jaw ticked. “Careful now.”
“No!” I hated how good he smelled and how much I wanted to lean into him. It was absurd, yet my body basked in it. It basked in his nearness and his attention. So sick. “You keep bullying me, and I’m losing my mind here!”
“You are losing your mind?”
“Yes!”
“Then what can I say about every
thing you’re making me go through?! It’s killing me. It’s destroying my life!” He stepped away from me, on the verge of exploding, his veins protruding from his neck.
“What are you talking about?”
“I want my life back, but I can’t have it when you’re around! I’ve been trying to get you to leave East Willow High, but no. Despite everything I’ve done, you’ve stayed.”
I’d suspected he wanted me out of school, but I’d never known why. “If that’s the case, then get away from me. I’ll stay out of your sight—”
“I CAN’T!” His roar rattled all of me, attracting attention from a few people in the parking lot, but he didn’t care, never taking his eyes off of me. “That’s the thing! I. Can’t.”
My chest throbbed. “Why?” A question I’d asked myself a hundred times already.
He didn’t say anything, observing me silently for a long time. The part of me that wanted his attention reveled in this; it clung to the fact that he obviously wasn’t immune to me. Something shifted in his expression, and he crossed the distance between us. I backed up against my car, struggling to breathe. He supported himself against the roof and leaned close to my face. A slow smirk formed upon his lips.
“My patience with you can only go so far, so you better watch your mouth.” He tilted his head to the side. “Because who knows? Maybe I see a therapist because I’m a psychopath. So I wouldn’t mess with me if I were you.”
My eyes darted between his. I didn’t believe him, but the words ventured out of my lips anyway. “Are you? A psychopath?”
His smirk widened. He cast one lingering look at my mouth then walked away.
“This is rich,” Melissa said, lounging on the couch in Hayden’s living room. She and Sarah had a day off from their part-time job at the retirement home, so we were spending Saturday morning in Hayden’s house—and Sarah’s. This was also her home now since she’d moved here after her birthday more than a week earlier.
“Hayden goes to therapy,” Mel continued. “Sar goes to therapy, you go to therapy, Kev goes to therapy—although for his speech—and Blake goes to therapy! Let me guess…Barbie goes to therapy too?”
Sarah shrugged her shoulders. She sat cross-legged in the armchair across from Mel and me. “You are who you hang out with?”
“Do you go to therapy?” I asked Melissa.
“No, but I did a few years ago. Does that count?”
“Yes. That makes you a certified member of our ‘freaks’ club,” I said with a soft smile.
Mel rolled her eyes and sighed. “Oh goodie. We’re all fucked up.”
I giggled. “That we are.”
“So how was your session?” Sar asked me.
I looped my hair behind my ears as my smile turned into a thin line. They knew about my struggles with weight and self-image, but I’d never told them about throwing up, because I was vulnerable and ashamed to admit it. I was terrified of them judging me. One day, I might be ready to talk about that, but not now.
“It went better than I expected. I was on a downward spiral after Blake’s insults during our detention—”
“What did that gorilla say?” Mel’s sharp tone sliced through the air.
I stared at my hands as I recounted his put-downs, choosing to keep what’d happened the next day in the basement to myself.
“Just the usual: I’m fat and no one would want me like this. But this time, it hit the mark, so I felt down and really, really fat—”
“Geez, Jess,” Mel interrupted me and grabbed my hand. “Are you serious? So what if you have a few extra pounds? There’s nothing wrong with that. And you look sexy. I would kill for your curves.”
“You already have curves.” I pointed at her hips.
“Yeah, but not like yours. And I’d pick thick thighs over skinny thighs any day—no offense, Sar.” She patted Sarah’s shoulder.
Sarah chuckled. “None taken.”
Mel shook her head. “Damn that asshole Blake. Don’t listen to him, okay? You’re a knockout.”
I melted a little inside because of her sweet words. I smiled at her. “This isn’t just because of him. I’ve been unhappy with the way I look way before I met him.”
“But why?” Sar asked me. “You’re beautiful.”
“Exactly,” Melissa agreed. “You look good the way you are. Like, I get how you feel because all of us complain and manage to find something wrong about ourselves, but we should accept it. Nobody is perfect. Not even those top models.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I told her. “You’re hot and your face is super attractive.”
She rolled her eyes. “And I have pimples all over my shoulders and upper back. My nose is slightly crooked. See?” She showed us her profile, pointing at her nose. “My left boob is smaller than my right one, and my right foot is bigger than my left foot. Oh, and my feet easily get sweaty and stinky…do you want me to continue?”
I laughed, shaking my head at her.
“So, as you can see, there are plenty of things I hate about myself,” she said. “We all have flaws, girl. So don’t listen to that stupid gorilla, because his opinion isn’t worth a dime. If he really thinks you’re fat, there’s something horribly wrong with his brain—if he even has one.”
“Mel is absolutely right. And since we’re talking about flaws,” Sarah started, “I hate my protruding hip bones. It just feels so uncomfortable when I lie down on my stomach. My breasts are non-existent, and I have a huge thigh gap that makes me feel like everyone is staring right at it. You see? I’m not perfect either.”
“I disagree,” Hayden said, walking into the room. He wore black sweatpants and a black Nike t-shirt, looking as handsome as ever.
But not as handsome as Blake, my inner voice said, and I almost rolled my eyes at myself.
“You’re perfect from head to toe.” He stopped behind her armchair and left a kiss on the top of her head. “That is, if we exclude unshaved legs, nasty pimples, and cellulite.”
“Hayden!” Sarah shrieked.
“What?” He shrugged and looked between Melissa and me. “I’m just speaking the truth.”
Sar blushed. “Have you been listening to us?”
He raised his brow. “Like I don’t have better things to do than listen to girl talk.”
“We all know about your stalkerish tendencies,” Mel said, sticking her tongue out at him.
“It takes a stalker to know one,” he replied to her, deadpan. “Here.” He extended the sheet of paper he was holding toward me. “I improved a few lines.”
I took it, curious to see them. Sar had suggested Hayden and I could collaborate since he wrote poems and lyrics, and I’d been excited to try it out. My lyric-writing skills were solid, but Hayden knew how to add depth and shake people to the core. These lyrics were very personal, and I wasn’t fully comfortable sharing them with anyone, but Hayden had been cool about it and hadn’t made a face when I jotted down the chorus.
I smiled as I went over the words. “They’re amazing. Thank you.”
I read them a few more times, memorizing the changed lines. This song went perfectly with the melody I’d worked on the night before.
“So? Let’s hear it.” He pointed at my Martin resting next to me on the floor. I’d brought my guitar after Mel badgered me to bring it, but I hadn’t planned on playing it.
Blush settled on my cheeks. “I can’t.”
“Come on,” Hayden said. “Why not?”
I lowered my head so that my hair hid most of my cheeks, thinking maybe I should get bangs because they would help me hide my forehead too. “I have a fear of performing in front of others,” I admitted reluctantly, wanting their attention on anything else but me.
“But why?” Mel asked. “It’s just us. We won’t judge you.”
I picked at the thread sticking out of my jeans. “Yeah, well, I’m afraid anyway, okay?”
“That’s all the more reason for you to do it,” she said. “Face your fears. That’s the only
way you’ll be able to conquer them.”
“We won’t look at you if that will make it easier for you,” Sar added with a faint smile.
“Or you can close your eyes and pretend we’re not here,” Mel said.
If only it were that easy. I wanted to sing and play my guitar in front of them—I wanted it so badly—but I was afraid I wasn’t going to be good enough or would screw something up.
“I can’t.”
“Then Blake is right,” Hayden said as he sat in the armchair next to Sarah’s. “You really are a pathetic coward.” I flinched, crimson red.
Sarah glared at him. “Hayden, don’t speak to her like that.”
He looked at her impassively. “Why not? It’s only the truth.” He met my gaze. “And you say you want to be a singer? How? Do you think your fear will disappear on its own? Or do you plan to run away from singing your whole life and do some 9-5 job you hate, until you’re old, wrinkled, and having stupid regrets? Are you going to realize then how stupidly you’re acting right now?”
His blunt words cranked up the ache in my chest. He was absolutely right. I was ready to ignore my dream my whole life if it meant not facing the very fear that kept me away from it. How many times had I told myself I was going to regret not being braver? It stung. I wanted to sing so badly and see the admiration in their eyes as I carried my notes, but I stayed in the dark and didn’t allow myself to shine.
So what if I made a mistake? So what if my voice or playing wasn’t good enough? I had to start somewhere.
Maybe it was time for me to take a leap of faith. Maybe I should embrace the spotlight for once and show the world who I was.
“Don’t pressure her,” Sar told him. “Do you think she doesn’t know that already? It’s not that easy—”
“No, he’s right,” I said in a shaky voice, my guitar already in my hands. I ignored the shaking of my hands and the furious pounding of my heart as I plucked the strings. I’m actually going to do this. “He’s absolutely right.” I started strumming the guitar, hoping I wouldn’t mess this up. “Don’t laugh.”
“We won’t,” Hayden replied and entwined his fingers with Sarah’s over their armrests.